Episode 1: The Economics Of Firearms

The stars twinkled softly in the clear night sky above Alec Briggs. Persephone, being a moonless planet, was blessed with a particular beautiful view of the constellations. When he had time to kill he would often stand outside and gaze up at them, in awe of the majesty of the ‘verse and of the opportunities he knew lay out there in the black. Right now though, he had business to attend to. He took a careful look around the deserted street to make sure no Alliance patrols were coming, and then set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Detached apartment buildings lined the street of this quiet middle-class neighborhood on the outskirts of Eavesdown, far from the bustling slums that surrounded the docks. The types of people who lived around here were respectable citizens who liked their streets clean and their nights untroubled by the type of riff-raff that lay further into the city. I suppose they’ll have to tolerate me for tonight, Briggs thought to himself. Before long he was standing in an alleyway between two upscale six-story residential buildings. He leaned against the wall, hidden from the street by the darkness. Every floor on the building he was facing had a balcony. His quarry lived on the top floor, in a loft that would seem to be beyond the means of a lowly small business owner who sold used appliances. As if that was what really went on in Dimitri Yassir’s store down near the docks. Briggs reached into his backpack and pulled out a small device. It had a hook protruding from one end, and a coiled rope from the other. Kneeling down for steadiness sake, he carefully took aim at the wall next to the topmost balcony and pressed a button on the device. The hook shot out and automatically dug into the side of the building. Despite it’s somewhat flimsy appearance, he knew from years of experience that it would hold fine. He cut the end of the rope and put the device away. He then grabbed the rope, put both feet against the wall, and began climbing. When he reached the top he jumped onto the balcony, landing softly as a cat. He reached over the side and pressed a tiny button located on the hook, instantly releasing it. Crouching and standing to the side of the balcony window, he put the hook inside his bag and pulled out a six-inch long metal tube. The balcony window had thick metal bars on it, unlike all the others on the building. He had come prepared, however. He peeked through the window to make sure the dark room inside was empty. It was. Satisfied, Briggs pressed the tube to one side of the top of the nearest bar and held down a button as he slowly moved it across the metal. A thin white line appeared where he put the tube. He did it again at the bottom of the bar, and then repeated the process for the next one. He waited for a moment as the superheated paste worked itself through the metal, then carefully removed both bars from their places and set them down softly on the balcony. The sliding door was locked, obviously, so he applied the heat paste in a square shape next to the handle, He pushed the glass square out of the rest of the door, then put his hand through the hole and unlocked it. He was careful not to touch the edges of the glass with his wrist so as not to get burned. Briggs cautiously opened the door and stepped inside. The apartment was clean and well furnished. Expensive carpet covered the floor. There were various paintings hung on the walls, and the whole thing gave the impression of wealth and taste. Well, Dimitri’s certainly got wealth, that’s for sure, he thought. Closing the door behind him, he walked across the room to the door and looked through the peephole. The burly bodyguard with the shaved head was standing directly in front of the door, facing away from him. Briggs never once saw Dimitri without this guy at his side, but he knew that he would be standing outside tonight. Earlier that evening, Yassir had met a pretty young redhead at a club he frequented, and proceeded to take her home with him. Briggs saw the three of them enter this building together, and decided to strike tonight. Never taking his eye off the bodyguard, he silently undid the locks. He then swiftly opened the door and snapped the guard’s neck before he had time to react. Briggs dragged the body inside the apartment and shut the door, locking it once again. The bedroom door was to his right. He walked up to it, kneeled down, and listened at the keyhole. Male and female moans of pleasure were coming from inside. He sat there for a second, trying to figure out exactly where they were in the room. Ear still pressed to the door, he pulled out from his backpack a sleek black pistol with a silencer attached. Briggs stood up, gun at the ready, and kicked down the door. On the bed, the redheaded woman turned around as Yassir looked up in confusion. But before they knew what had happened, he had planted a bullet in each of their foreheads. He quickly went over to confirm both kills, then exited the way he came. A minute later he was back on the street, his gear in his backpack and the feeling of a job well done in his heart. Life was good.

* * *

Badger looked up in surprise as Briggs entered his office the next day. “Oi mate! Didn’t expect to see you so bloody early,” he said with a grin, his Dyton accent as thick as ever. “I take it you’ve already heard the news?” said Briggs. “I have indeed, my good sir. I have indeed!” Badger was obviously very pleased with Dimitri Yassir’s demise. Not surprising, considering how he was paying Briggs two hundred credits for the service. “Mind if I get my paycheck now? I have some things I need to do,” said Briggs. “Of course, of course…” Badger reached into his desk and pulled out a thick envelope. “You’ll see it’s all there, as usual,” he said as he handed it to Briggs. He took it and placed it in his jacket pocket without counting it. He had done business with Badger enough times to know that he would get paid correctly. “Thanks. I’ll be needing this.” “Will you, now? From what I hear you’re about to ship off Persephone in that Eagle you just landed yourself. A man with your talents could make a killing with that kind of transportation.” Badger chuckled at his pun while he stood up and walked over to an ancient-looking wooden cabinet in the corner. “Can I offer you some whiskey? I’m in the mood for a little celebration, myself.” “Sure. I suppose I should be celebrating too. I’ve always thought it would be great to be the captain of my own space ship. I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” He watched Badger pour two generous glasses of pleasant smelling brown liquid. Briggs was usually drank vodka, but he could make an exception. “And it probably never would have if I hadn’t given you so much work! Or at least it would have taken a bloody lot longer, eh?” He had to admit Badger was right. Ever since the short man from Dyton had set up shop on this world a year and a half ago, he had given Briggs over a dozen contracts. He was more or less Badger’s go-to guy when he needed someone gone. He had plenty of other employers too, of course, but Badger was by far the most consistent. Two hundred credits a head, plus expenses. Yep, there sure was plenty of money to be made in the hitman business. But Briggs desired more than just cash. He wanted to explore, to travel, to be free to go wherever he pleased and do what he wanted. Sure, he wanted to make money, too. In fact, if everything went as planned he should be making more with his ship than he ever could contract killing. But it was also true that he had wanted to be a space ship captain for while. A long time ago his dream was to be a soldier, but that was behind him now. Fifteen years and two wars was more than enough for him. He sipped his whiskey. “You got a name picked out for that little beast yet?” said Badger. “Yeah, actually. I’m gonna call it the Mercury. After the Roman god of trade.” Badger nodded as if he understood, despite having no idea what Roman meant. “Well, in that case, to the Mercury!” They raised their glasses in toast. “It’s good, innit? Fifty years old, made in the famous Corrigan family distillery in Dyton. I get it shipped here special.” “It’s delicious. Good way to end my last job for you, in any case.” “I don’t know about that. I’m sure you know I have a stake in the, uh, ‘transport’ business.” “Of course. I don’t believe I’ll be trafficking the goods you’re interested in, unfortunately.” “And what exactly are you planning on smuggling past those ridiculous excuses for feds? Used appliances?” They both laughed at the reference. “Actually, firearms. Guns, ammo, maybe even some high-grade explosives if I can get my hands on some and not blow my ship out of the sky in the process.” “True, firearms aren’t really my area of expertise, so to speak. But that’s a lucrative business out on the Rim. If there’s one thing those poor old chaps want, it’s guns. You already got work lined up for you?” “Yep. Can’t really talk about it, you know, but I got something.” They chatted for a few minutes as they finished their whiskey, then Badger stood up and shook hands with Briggs. “Give me a wave if you’re ever on Persephone and need some work, alright mate?” “I’ll keep that mind. Goodbye.” “Good luck, my friend.” Briggs went out of the back office and back into the store, a sketchy looking pawnshop in a crowded slum market. He exited the building and began walking down the street. The protostar Lux was shining brightly in the clear skies, baking the bustling city in it’s warm glow. All around him, shoppers and street vendors did business while all manner of pedestrians hurried up and down the dusty dirt street. The area as bustling with activity and had the excited atmosphere common to city markets, no matter where you went in the ‘verse. Occasionally Briggs would buy a case of beers from a corner stand and spend the whole day just standing by the side of the street, watching people pass by. Not today. Briggs had an unusually accurate internal clock, which right now told him it was just after nine in the morning. He was supposed to meet Chen at the Drunken Sailor in half an hour. As he headed west through the twisting urban streets, he felt a pang of sadness at leaving all this behind. True, he had only been living on Persephone for two years now. But that was the longest time he had been living in peace since he was a sixteen-year old new recruit in the People’s Army Of Segnovia. After nine years of fighting the against the totalitarian Karkoz regime on his homeworld, he had achieved victory only to soon be confronted with a new threat: the invasion of the Union Of Allied Planets and the war for Unification. He volunteered for the Independence Army Special Infantry Division and spent over five and a half bloody years fighting the Alliance in every corner of the ‘verse. When the browncoats were finally crushed, he made his way to Persephone and started a new life. Organized crime flourished in the crippling depression that followed the war, so Briggs got in on the action by selling his impressive military skills to the highest bidder. He made enough to keep a small apartment in a quiet neighborhood called Portman’s Village, far from the docks and the gang-ridden neighborhoods that surrounded them. When he wasn’t stalking a contract, he would often walk around and see the city of Eavesdown. Home to more than eight million people, Eavesdown had something of a mix between the culture of the Core and the Border planets, mostly due to the city’s long and storied history as a stopping point for adventurers, criminals, and pioneers. Despite the Alliance having a heavy presence on Persephone since the end of the war, not much had really changed on the planet, and especially not in Eavesdown. At least, not so far. Briggs knew that it was only a matter of time before the Alliance got serious and Persephone became a clone of all the other Core worlds: law abiding, safe, and boring. So he had worked hard, saved his money, and bought a space ship. It was a small Eagle-class 2501 transport vessel, in reasonable condition at a good price. Putting together a crew was difficult, but he offered a decent salary and finally managed to get some good people. There was Connor Wesley, a talented twenty-five year old pilot who flew Marine transport ships during the war. For a mechanic, he asked around and was recommended a guy named Howard Kase. Kase proved more than adept at his trade and had over twenty years of experience, and was eager to see the ‘verse again after five years planetside. Knowing he’d need a medic in his line of work, Briggs went to a hospital in the most dangerous section of Eavesdown. The staff there were underpaid and overworked, including most of the doctors. He managed to find a skillful surgeon with a low salary named Olivia Staverton, and offered her good money to work for him. Being a bored middle-aged war widow with few family or friends, she took the job. That handled the “civilian” side of things (as he liked to call it), but he still needed muscle and someone he could trust to watch his back. The first job went to a former gangster he knew by the name of Derek Marshall. Marshall was a hulk of a man who was known to hold his own in a gunfight, but more importantly he was a lifelong career criminal who had been locked up dozens of times in jails and prisons from the Outer Rim to the Core. He knew the ins and outs of the business, who the major players were, which feds could be bought off, and a thousand other invaluable pieces of knowledge. Over the past two years Briggs had gotten to know him well, and so offered him a job on the Mercury. That still left the position of First Mate. As soon as he signed up all the others, he sent a wave to his old friend Joe on Beaumonde. Briggs had first met Joseph Chen during the later years of the war, when Chen was a military intelligence field officer and served as Briggs’ team’s only contact during covert operations in the Core. Back then he didn’t know his real name, of course. Later they had worked together for months on Ariel, taking out missile-shield stations and guiding interplanetary rocket bombs from the ground. After the war they kept in touch, and Chen had visited him a few times to get drunk and reminisce about their warrior days. Despite being twelve years older than Briggs, Chen and him became close friends. A month ago Briggs asked him if he wanted to be his first mate, and he accepted right away. Ten days ago he had arrived in Eavesdown Docks and had been staying in a cheap hotel nearby. Briggs reached the tavern a short while later. The place was packed with people stopping in for breakfast, many of them ordering the bacon and eggs the Drunken Sailor was famous for. At the bar, several people sat sipping the alcoholic tea that was a staple of Persephone. He spotted Chen sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room, so he went over and sat down across from him. “Where’s Cooper?” said Briggs. “He’ll be here shortly. I got a wave from him saying he’s running late. He sounded worried.” “Worried? About what? There ain’t a problem with the shipment, is there?” “Not that he mentioned. He just said there was something he had to deal with first.” “I guess we’ll just have to wait then. You eat yet?” They ordered breakfast and sat there eating and talking for fifteen minutes. They had finished eating by the time Cooper finally came through the door. He saw them and walked over. He was a young man, just a lowly message boy for the people they were really dealing with. He seemed a little intimidated by Briggs and Chen. “Sorry I’m late, fellows. It looks like we got a little problem,” he said as he sat down, his back facing the door. Briggs swore. “What kind of problem?” “Well, it’s complicated. Don’t worry, you’ll still get the goods. My guy’s got the whole shipment all ready to go, and you can still get them tomorrow just like we planned,” said Cooper. “Then what’s the problem?” “Well… it’s the price we agreed on. Turns out, were gonna have to ask for a little more.” Briggs stared at the small, shifty man sitting in front of him. “We agreed on seventy platinum per unit. That was the deal.” “I know, I know. It’s just… how do I put it? I guess you could say there’s been a change in the marketplace that has affected prices.” There was a short but awkward silence. “And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Briggs said softly. “Let me explain.” Cooper leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The dude my guy works for – the guy I get the guns from – got popped in his apartment last night with some broad. Apparently they found his bodyguard in the living room with a broken neck. And this dude was a real big shot, you know? Like, he came to power by taking over all these different gun gangs around Eavesdown and organizing them into one big gun-running coalition. Together, they could buy bigger quantities at lower prices, making a shit load more cash. But now that he’s dead the coalition’s already falling apart. Every lieutenant wants to be the next boss, and while they’re all at war with each other they’ll have to buy separately, from different sources, and for a hell of a lot more. You starting to get the picture?” Cooper leaned back as he finished talking. Briggs stared at him in stunned silence. “Dimitri Yassir?” “Yeah, that was his name. Couldn’t tell you before, obviously, but now that he’s dead it don’t matter. You heard of him?” “Yeah.” Briggs thought for a second as he drank his coffee. What are the odds? Of all the crime lords in Eavesdown, he had to kill the one he was buying from. Sometimes he thought the ‘verse had a twisted sense of humor. He looked up at Cooper. “How much?” Cooper sighed. “A hundred twenty platinum per unit.” “I can’t make a profit at one-twenty apiece. ASI-06’s go for one-fifty on the Rim. Maybe two hundred if I slang ‘em myself.” “Sorry, but that’s what it is. Take it or leave it.” They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then Briggs thought of something. “Let me meet the guy you work for. I think we’ll be able to work something out.” “Listen, man, he said one twenty and that’s final. He’s not gonna negotiate with you and I’ll get hell for letting you try.” “That’s not what I want to see him about. Your boss was one of Yassir’s lieutenants, right?” “Yeah… so?” “I assume he’s looking to take Yassir’s place like all the other guys, right?” “Well… yeah, of course.” “How many are there?” “Excuse me?” “How many people is your boss competing against for the throne?” Cooper shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest. The coalition was made up of about a dozen gangs, but with all the pacts and internal power struggles and what-not it’s hard to tell.” “Do you want to know how I earned the platinum to buy the shipment?” said Briggs. “Not particularly. That’s generally not a question asked in this business.” Briggs smiled and took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Let’s just say I get paid to use what I’m planning on selling. And I think your boss could definitely use someone like me right now.” Cooper nodded as he understood. “I get what you’re saying. I’ll see what I can do.” They got up and shook hands before Cooper departed. Briggs turned to Chen as he sat back down. “You didn’t seem to have much to say.” “I’m a man of few words. Like the ancient Spartans,” said Chen. Unlike Badger, he knew his history. Including humanity’s existence on Earth-that-was. “Yeah, well as First Mate you’re gonna be helping me make Cooper’s boss the new kingpin in town.” “I wasn’t aware my contract had begun yet. Don’t we have to at least take off first? For all I know you don’t even have a ship.” He chuckled and finished his coffee, “I gotta ship all right. This baby’s gonna be my ticket to a new life.” Briggs asked for the check. He paid (tipping handsomely), and the two of them left the Drunken Sailor and walked over to the nearby parking lot. Briggs had let Chen borrow his hovercar, as he had not sold it yet. He lit a cigarette while Chen typed his parking code into the holographic touchscreen. A few seconds later Briggs’ 2489 Carino came flying towards them over the rows of parked hovercars, then slid to a stop and touched down in front of them. They got in and Briggs started her up. He continued puffing on his cigarette as they flew over the city towards the shipyard where the Mercury was being kept. As he drove, he thought about how much they would be delayed by this new development. If Cooper was right and there were about a dozen main targets, it could take a month or longer. And for a takeover to be really effective, you most likely had to knock out a good amount of the underlings, too. The gang’s own people would probably take care of that. “See, this is the kind of thing that guy Marshall is good with,” said Briggs. “He’s been based in Eavesdown for years. This job will be a lot easier with his help.” “You don’t know if Cooper’s boss will accept your offer.” “He will. I’m sure of it.” They flew on in silence for fifteen minutes, eventually arriving at the Anderson South Shipyard. They flew over to lot G, and passed dozens of ships before he set the car down in front of the Mercury. As they got out and started walking towards the ship, Briggs once again felt a sense of pride sweep over him. The Eagle class of ships were similar to many other small and medium sized transports. It somewhat resembled a bird with it’s neck stuck out straight ahead, and the two side engines as wings. The Mercury showed some signs of wear and tear on it’s metal exterior, but was by no means beat up. The cargo bay door was open, and as the two of them approached the ship Howard Kase walked down the ramp to greet them. “Hey, Captain. You planning on breaking atmo in this thing any time soon? I think Connor’s getting bored taking test drives around Persephone,” said Kase. “There’s been a bit of a holdup. We’re gonna be stuck here for a while longer.” “What’s that?” said a voice behind them. He turned around to see Connor Wesley walking towards them. “Something about a holdup? You’re not planning to rob me, are you?” he said with a grin. Wesley was a head shorter than Briggs, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was a nice kid with a good sense of humor, and was a damn good pilot to match. Still, sometimes Briggs couldn’t help being slightly annoyed at the twenty-five year old’s overly friendly demeanor and clean-cut appearance. He ignored Wesley and turned back towards Kase. “Have you seen Marshall? I need to talk to him.” “Yeah, actually. He came by earlier to see if you were back yet. I told him to come back around ten thirty. Which it will be in - ” he looked at his watch “ – one minute and thirty three seconds,” Kase said with the automatic precision of an engineer. Wesley and Kase went back inside the ship while Briggs and Chen waited for Marshall. Sure enough, a few minutes later a taxi pulled up and touched down next to them. Derek Marshall got out, paid the driver, and came over to them. “Mornin’ Captain. Mornin’ Chen,” he said with a nod towards both of them. “Good morning. Come with me, I need to pick your brain.” Later, the three of them sat around the common area onboard the Mercury. Briggs had finished explaining the situation to Marshall, and he was in the midst of giving his advice on the matter. “Well, there’s no question Cooper’s boss is gonna be hiring outside help now that there’s a war on. These gangs are smaller than you’d think – Yassir ran a tight operation. This guy’s probably got twenty people under him at most, maybe less. He can’t afford to lose his best guys taking power if he’s going to be keeping it. Which means he’ll hire mercenaries, as will all the other guys looking to take over.” “Good for us, then. I just know I don’t want to pay one-twenty a pop for a freakin’ ASI, ” said Briggs. Marshall shrugged. “Hey, as long as I get my cut, I’m happy.” “Ain’t that the truth.”

* * *

The three of them drank beer and watched sports on the Cortex screen while they waited for word from Cooper. Occasionally Kase would stop in to check the score or grab a beer, and Wesley was off checking out the other ships in the lot. At around one-thirty, his Portable Cortex Unit beeped, indicating someone was waving him. When he answered, it was Cooper’s face on the miniature screen. “Hello, Mr. Briggs. I talked to my boss, and he’s agreed to discuss business with you personally. I’ll be there in an hour to pick you up.” Without waiting for a response, Cooper signed off. When the black hovercar with tinted windows arrived an hour later, Briggs, Chen, and Marshall were already waiting outside to meet it. They got in, and after a twenty minute flight they arrived at what appeared to be a used clothing store. God, these people are all the same, Briggs thought to himself as they went inside. Cooper led them to a door in the back and knocked. “Who is it?” said a voice inside the room. “It’s Cooper, sir. I have Alec Briggs and two of his crewmembers with me. “Come in.” He opened the door for them and Briggs walked into an office much like Badger’s. Sitting at a desk was a tall, dark man in his late thirties. As they entered the room, he looked up from some documents he was examining and took off his glasses. Standing in the back two corners of the room were two stone-faced men holding what Briggs recognized as AC4 carbines with extended clips. The man waited until Cooper had left the room and closed the door behind him before he spoke. “So... why don’t you tell me why you’re here.” “You already know my name. I’m sure you know what I do,” said Briggs. “I’ve heard tell you’re a hitman of sorts.” “Not just a hitman. I’m also a mercenary. A soldier of fortune, so to speak.” The man leaned back in his chair and seemed to size him up. “Truth be told I have heard good things about the name Alec Briggs. Folk say he’s the man to go to if you need someone taken care of with no complications. But they also say that you don’t work for cheap. So tell me, out of all the hitmen and mercenaries in the ‘verse, why should I hire you?” “The reason I came here was because I had a deal with your boy Cooper out there for seventy-five ASI-06s, and he told me about your situation. I’m sure you’ve seen my military record. 1st Special Infantry Division, 3rd Special Forces Group. I’ve tracked down and killed top-ranking Alliance government and military officials. Taking out a few gangsters shouldn’t be a problem. Plus, I’ve already done thirty-seven contracts in the past two years. You know I can be counted on.” The man shifted his gaze from Briggs to his companions. “And would I be hiring these two as well?” “Chen and Marshall are part of my crew. Assisting me is part of their job on and off the ship.” “Say I do hire you. How much do you charge for your services?” “I’m not interested in cash. I want guns. Seven ASIs per head, plus the shipment I set up with Cooper at the original price per unit. “Five ASIs per head. I’ll give you a list of six names. Take out all six, and I’ll honor our original arrangement as well.” That meant thirty ASIs plus seventy-five at the original price. That could bring over fifteen thousand platinum on the Rim. “Deal,” said Briggs. They shook hands. “My name’s Williams, by the way. Gary Williams.” “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Williams. How about that list?” That night, the three of them were sitting in the living room in Briggs’ apartment. Marshall was once again reading over the six names Williams had given them. “We should definitely start with this guy, Andrew Nebekov. I know what neighborhood he’s based in and some of the people who work for him. Not personally, I mean, but I can tell who they are,” he said. “Good. We’ll head over there to scope it out tomorrow, then. What about the others?” asked Briggs. “None that I recognize of the top of my head, but I’ll wave some dudes I know from lockup and see if they can’t ask around for me. You guys do your thing and let me do mine, alright?” Briggs’ “thing” was obsessively taking apart and cleaning every gun he owned. In addition to being good maintenance procedure, it was calming for him. He had an impressive personal collection of firearms, and he loved any excuse to take them out and examine each one individually. Chen had a similar (if not quite as obsessive) habit. Right now he was working on one of his favorite guns, a Hartmann-2500 carbine with scope and grenade launcher attachments, black finish, and a thirty round 5.56x45mm magazine. One of the many firearms he had brought back from the war, he had used the Hartmann plenty of times while working contracts. Lying next to the neatly laid out Hartmann components was a chrome semiautomatic .50 Feng pistol, a handgun so powerful it could tear through most body armor. Most people thought the .50 Feng was too bulky and that the recoil was too strong for practical combat applications, but Briggs had taken a liking to it after being confronted one too many times with a small room full of armored men looking to end his life. To the left of the .50 was the slightly less powerful but equally deadly .357 variant of the Feng. The .357 had the advantage of holding nine rounds instead of seven, but he loved the feeling in his bones when he fired the larger .50. Marshall left to do some ‘research’, and a short while later Chen took the hovercar and went back to his hotel. After Briggs was finished with his collection he sat on the couch smoking cigarettes for a while before drifting off to sleep. That night he dreamed that he was back in the war, fighting for the browncoats. It was dark and rainy and he was crawling through the mud in a field chock full of barbed wire, land mines, and enemy patrols. In the darkness of the night Alliance soldiers would come within feet of his team and not see them, and besides they were busy sweeping the field for mines so their Army divisions could march through without being blown to bits. Then it was days later, the rain had let up and his team was hiding out in the occupied town where an Alliance rear command post was headquartered. He sat hidden in the attic of an abandoned civy’s house and observed the fortified town hall that served as a temporary military base. For an entire day he sat perfectly still, memorizing the routines of the purple-armored guards patrolling the streets below him. Other team members hidden in positions throughout the town did the same thing, reporting back to him with laser communications. Suddenly the dream shifted again and he was in the midst of battle. They had assaulted the base, and dead Alliance soldiers lay scattered on the ground around him as he and the rest of the SID team blew open the fortifications and rushed into the building from all sides, taking out the supposedly elite Alliance guards with a deadly accurate stream of single shots. Then he was in a forest, miles and hours away from the site of the attack. An Alliance colonel was sitting against a tree with his arms tied behind the trunk. His face was already bloody and several of his fingers were missing. Briggs was asking the man questions about troop movements, locations of the other command posts, names and ranks of Alliance officers. The officer was slow to give up information, but once Sergeant Mendoza started sticking sharpened sticks beneath his remaining fingernails he began to talk. Hours later they had received satellite data confirming some of the colonel’s info. The last image in Briggs’ mind before he woke up was of him pulling out his Feng .357 and splattering the purplebelly’s brains all over a tree trunk. He woke up to the early morning sun streaming in through the window, basking the room in a pleasant warmth. He got up from the couch, yawned, and made breakfast. Thirty minutes later he had showered and changed and was out the door. After meeting up with Chen and Marshall at a nearby coffee house the three of them flew off to Ruskinton, a slum neighborhood near the docks. On the way, Marshall told them what he knew about Nebekov. “Andrew Nebekov was one of the more powerful bosses before Yassir took over. In addition to his profits from the gun business, he’s got every business in Ruskinton paying him protection fees. Sixty thousand people in that neighborhood, and damn near every one of ‘em is scared to death of him.” “I’m sure he’s very frightening,” said Chen sarcastically from the back seat. Marshall turned to him. “It’s common knowledge that if you don’t pay your dues in Ruskinton, they’ll send your balls to your wife, your eyes to your mother, and your body to the bottom of the West Bay.” Chen shrugged. “I saw worse when I worked for BIS. Hell, I did worse.” He chuckled devilishly. Chen was intensely proud of his former career with the Beaumonde Intelligence Service, before Unification. While serving as a paramilitary operations officer, he had seen and done things that most people couldn’t imagine. That was something that he and Briggs definitely had in common. “Well, something makes me think that a seventy old shopkeeper might not be quite as thick-skinned as you are,” Marshall replied. “I guess not.” After they had parked, they walked around the neighborhood. Marshall naturally led the way, occasionally discretely pointing out certain black-clothed tattooed thugs as Nebekov’s men. “Did you see that big claw design that covered the right said of his head and neck? That means he’s one of Nebekov’s personal assassins. Probably on his way to torture some poor guy to death with a blowtorch,” Marshall quietly explained after they passed a particularly scary-looking group on a street corner. “The other dudes were just muscle. They didn’t have the claw, but you could see the five-pointed star on their wrists. Anytime you see that - ” he abruptly stopped talking as someone walked within earshot “– anytime you see that it means he’s one of Nebekov’s, but just he’s Nebekov’s doesn’t mean he’ll have the star. You follow?” “Yep. Go on,” said Briggs. Marshall continued sharing what he knew, and pointed out which businesses would be frequented by Nebekov’s thugs the most often. It was the places that actually needed protection, as opposed the ones that were simple extortion victims, that you could find groups of tattooed gangsters coming and going at all hours. Marshall had done enough time in Eavesdown City Jail to know which tattoos symbolized low-level leadership positions. After a day spent getting the feel of the neighborhood, they flew off. Briggs dropped off Marshall at his house on the other side of the docks and Chen at the hotel before going to a steakhouse near his apartment for dinner. The next day, he and Chen started scoping out Nebekov’s men. This was Chen’s area of expertise, having carried out countless surveillance missions during his years as an intelligence officer. He identified the street-level leaders, tracking their movements and following them to their hangouts. The street-leaders would spend part of the day going into stores with their bodyguards and coming out with a small sack of platinum or an envelope of credits. Next, they would usually return to a particular area and consult with their foot soldiers, who spent their days shooting it out on the streets with Nebekov’s rivals. Eventually, they would return to a seedy bar at the south end of Ruskinton. They would stay in the bar for anywhere from five minutes to several hours before leaving again to conduct business on the street. When Briggs sent Marshall to check it out, he reported that the bar was usually fairly crowded and split half and half between armed gangsters and working stiffs. The gangsters seemed to be conducting some sort of business upstairs. Chen would have went in himself, but he wanted to keep hidden so he could continue street-level surveillance. Marshall kept returning to the bar disguised as a factory worker, until finally one morning he saw Nebekov himself come in through the back, flanked by several bodyguards. When he left, Chen followed him and made a note of his hovercar’s serial number. From then on whenever that car parked in the nearby underground garage, they could count on Nebekov being inside the bar. He usually stopped in for a while between eight and nine in the morning. After twelve days of surveillance, they were ready to strike. Briggs had gone over different strategies in his head, and finally decided that a full frontal assault would be the best course of action. He wanted to see the inside of the bar for himself before they attacked, so he went there the day before the assault. Like Marshall had said, it was a run-down dive bar with a seedy atmosphere. Dirty and tired factory workers sat at the bar tossing back shots of hard liquor, while the tables were occupied exclusively by stone-faced men covered in tattoos. As he entered, several of the men turned to look at him. One of them shifted his coat purposefully to reveal a holstered submachine gun. Briggs walked up to the bar and ordered a cheap vodka. From the way he was dressed and carried himself, no one could tell that he wasn’t just another working-class stiff looking to get numb before he started his shift at the factory. In truth, he was taking in every detail of the bar, committing everything to memory. He took note of a door marked “DO NOT ENTER”, which apparently led upstairs. Briggs ordered another drink and watched for a while, then paid his tab and left. The next day, Nebekov arrived at the bar at eight thirty. Marshall was already inside, sipping on a vodka and tea. Every so often an enforcer would get up and go out to check on the two men with assault rifles guarding the alley in the back of the bar. The door that lead into the alley only opened from the inside, which is why he was paying attention to the enforcer. When Nebekov arrived, Marshall transmitted the first signal to Briggs and Chen. The next time the enforcer goes out back, he would transmit the second signal and then get his ass in the bathroom so he wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. Briggs was currently sitting in a café across the street from the bar’s front entrance. The Hartmann lay in a black satchel at his feet and his Feng .50 was holstered at his side. Hidden under his dirty black coat were some grenades and several extra magazines for both guns. He was wearing a black hat pulled low over his eyes, and had sat facing the window since he had arrived an hour ago. Every so often the barista would come over and wordlessly refill his cup. Chen was just another homeless junky passed out in a slum alley. Although he was laying on the ground right around the corner from the alley that the two thugs were guarding, they paid him no mind. Drug addicts and alcoholics were such a common site in these parts of town that they might as well be part of the streets themselves. He huddled under the filthy rag that he used as a blanket, ignoring it’s distinct stench of vomit and fecal matter. Hidden underneath the rags, he held a Greenfield F4 9mm semi-automatic pistol. Inside the bar, Marshall watched out of the corner of his eye as a well-dressed mobster stood up from his table. Despite his suit, the man had a distinctly thuggish look about him, probably from the tattoos which covered his neck, hands, and no doubt the rest of his body. As the man made his way towards the back of the bar, Marshall scratched himself behind his ear. He touched the tiny transmitter that was located there, and instantly both Briggs and Chen heard a beeping noise in their own transmitters that told them it was time to go. He got up and went to go take a piss. Briggs grabbed the satchel, stood up, and left a half-platinum piece on the table before he quickly walked out the door. He headed straight across the street towards Nebekov’s bar, discarding his hat and pulling a black balaclava over his head as he did so. As he reached the front door he prepared to take his carbine out of the satchel. Meanwhile, Chen got himself up off the ground and began hobbling drunkenly around the corner of the alley towards the two armed guards, still covered rags. An enforcer was holding the back door open and saying a few words to the guard nearest to Chen, while the other guard casually held his rifle at his side. All three of them suddenly noticed the drunken hobo stumbling towards them. By the time the nearest one began raising his rifle and commanding him to stop, it was too late. In a split second Chen raised his pistol and fired off three shots as the dirty blanket dropped to the ground around him. The three gangsters collapsed. The enforcer from inside’s body was blocking the door from closing. Chen quickly put on his own balaclava as he went inside, kicking the body out of the way so the door would close behind him. As soon as he heard the three shots, Briggs raised his carbine and kicked in the door. To his right, civies were getting up from the bar and looking in the direction of the gunshots. On the left and far walls, armed thugs were drawing all manner of firearms as they got up from their tables. Briggs entered the room slightly before Chen, and instantly began firing and hitting the gangsters. By the time they started firing back, he was using the bar as cover while Chen came in through the back door, pistol drawn. The gangsters were pinned between the two sharpshooters as both of them let off a rapid, yet extremely precise series of shots. Briggs took down eight of them with as many rounds. Chen got four, not counting the three in the alley. Within a few seconds of them entering the bar, a dozen people lay dead or dying on the floor while screaming civies rushed out both exits. Briggs went over and stood next to the door marked “DO NOTE ENTER”. He heard shouting upstairs, but no one had come down. Chen positioned himself on the other side of the door, where the hinges were. Slowly, he reached for the handle and pulled the door open towards him. A few rounds splintered the hardwood floor, then someone shouted. “Where the fuck are they?!” Briggs waited for a moment, listening. Then, he took out a grenade, removed the pin, and tossed it around the corner and up the stairs. As soon as he did so they both moved back fast, in case it got thrown back down. Luckily, the boys upstairs must not have thought of that, for there was more shouting and then a satisfyingly loud explosion. As soon as they heard the grenade go boom, the two charged up the stairs. The upstairs part of the bar had been torn up by the grenade, but Briggs could tell that before today it was quite fancy. Right now, though, there were two dead bodies near the stairs and a few more men with horrific injuries from the shrapnel. As the dust settled Briggs saw one guy trying desperately to lift a pistol of the ground with a mangled arm, so he finished him off with a round to the head. Briggs looked around and saw Nebekov squirming on the ground. He looked older than in the picture and had half his jaw torn off, but there was no question it was him. Briggs slung the Hartmann over his shoulder and took the Feng .50 out of his holster. At eleven inches in length it was an almost comically oversized gun, but it was incredibly effective when it came to sheer power of intimidation. A visible mixture of pain and terror was visible on Nebekov’s face when Briggs kneeled down next to him and shoved the barrel into what was left of his mouth. Before he pulled the trigger, he leaned in close to say a few words. “Gary Williams says hi.” The bullet tore through back of his head and through the floor. Although muted by walls, he started to hear sirens in the distance. He stood up and turned to Chen. “Time to go,” said Briggs matter-of-factly.

* * *

Escaping from the police was no problem. They exited through the back door and quickly changed clothes in the alley, stuffing their old clothes, balaclavas, and all their weapons except the Greenfield into Briggs’ satchel. By this point the street was nearly deserted on account of the gunfight. They made their way through a maze of alleys and back streets and eventually disappeared into a crowded marketplace. Marshall stayed behind, as he had played no role in the actual shooting and could therefore safely claim he was an innocent bystander. A short while later they were picked up by Wesley in Briggs’ hovercar. Briggs let out a yawn as he leaned back in his seat. The sense of deep satisfaction of a job well done was a familiar feeling to him. He looked out over the bustling city rush past beneath them, already deep in thought over their next mark. Over the next month, they crossed off the names on Williams’ list one by one. They followed the same pattern for each hit: Marshall would use his unmatched knowledge of the Eavesdown underworld to gather as much information as possible about the target, and then Briggs would formulate a plan based on what he received. With Chen’s invaluable help, the hunting and killing of the five remaining gang leaders went off without a hitch. Two of them were incinerated in explosions as their chauffeurs started the ignition to their hovercars. One of them was sprayed with automatic fire in a crowded upscale restaurant. Another had his throat slit in his bedroom while sleeping next to his wife. The final name on the list was a man named Nicholas Murphy, and it turns out that Mr. Murphy would be out of town for weeks. Thankfully, he had only traveled to the other side of the world and was still on Persephone. Briggs had Wesley take the Mercury and fly him to Huang Di City, population 5 million. Finding out what hotel and in which room Murphy stayed in wasn’t a problem. That was how Briggs found himself laying prone on the roof of a tall downtown office building one late evening. His eye was pressed against the scope of his Demidov sniper rifle, another souvenir from the Unification War. Murphy was lounging around his hotel room in a bathrobe three quarters of a mile away, and every so often Briggs would watch him pass by the window. At this distance, things like wind speed, bullet drop, and other factors all had to be taken into account to ensure accuracy. These calculations were second nature to him, however, and shortly after Murphy came to his hotel window and paused to take in the beautiful Huang Di City skyline, he fired. A second later, the window shattered and Murphy was knocked back by the force of the 12.7x99mm round. As his target lay sprawled on his hotel room floor in a pool of blood, Briggs got to his feet and took one long look at the skyline that had so entranced Mr. Murphy. It really was a beautiful city. He turned around and made his escape.

* * *

“You really are a useful man to know, Mr. Briggs.” Gary Williams was sitting at his desk, an elated expression on his face. Briggs had just returned from Huang Di with the news that all six targets had been eliminated. He sat across from Williams, this time alone. “I did what you asked. Now I want those guns,” said Briggs. “Ha! Always to the point, I see. I like that. Well then, let’s get down to business. Five ASI-06 assault rifles per head, just like we agreed.” “Don’t forget the other part of our deal. I get the shipment I set up with Cooper at the original price, not the inflated one.” Williams laughed. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Briggs. With those hwoon dahn out of the way, I’m on my way to be the next… well, the next Dimitri Yassir, may be he rest in peace.” He grinned. “Which means Yassir’s connection is now my connection. Buy in bulk, get a discount, and pass the savings on to the customer. That’s how business works.” “So I pay seventy per unit, as we agreed.” “Seventy platinum per ASI. Not a bad deal, I might add. Not a bad deal at all.” “When can you have the shipment ready?” asked Briggs. “Tomorrow. I’ll send Cooper to where– It’s the Mercury, right? – to where the Mercury is docked. I’ll even tell him to help you load them,” said Williams. “Excellent. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Williams.” Williams extended his hand, which Briggs shook. “Remember, next time you’re on Persephone, send me a wave. I’m sure we’ll be doing business again, Mr. Briggs.” “I’m sure we will,” Briggs replied as he left.

* * *

The Mercury was loaded and ready to go. Earlier that day, Cooper had arrived as promised with the shipment. They loaded several crates that together contained a hundred and five ASI-06 military-grade assault rifles onto the ship. Williams had even been kind enough to throw in another crate full of ammunition for the rifles at no extra cost. When they were finished, Briggs handed Cooper a briefcase that contained over five thousand platinum inside. The young man took it and departed. The entire crew was assembled in the cargo bay, looking at Briggs expectantly. “Well, Captain? Can I do my job now?” said Wesley. He was twitching, obviously eager to break atmo. Briggs couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his face. “You sure can. Why don’t you head to the bridge and get us off this rock?” Briggs turned to Kase. “Get to the engine room. I want this ship up and running ASAP.” The plump forty-three year old woman who stood to his right spoke up. “Do you need me to anything?” asked Olivia Staverton. “I’m all set up in the infirmary,” she added. “I’m hoping you won’t need to actually earn your paycheck for a little while. I don’t plan on sustaining any major injuries during takeoff,” said Briggs jokingly. “Well, in that case I think I might head to the bridge. I’d like to look out the window as we leave.” In fact, everyone except Kase (who needed to be in the engine room) was crowded around Wesley as he prepared to initiate the launch sequence. “We’re all ready to go, Captain. Want to do an old-fashioned countdown, this being the maiden voyage and all?” said Wesley. Briggs smiled. “Sure. Everyone with me, now… ten…” they all joined in. “Nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…” Briggs was overcome with excitement. In an instant, he felt like the whole damn ‘verse was his for the taking. “…Three…two…one…” The ship shook as the engines roared to life and they lifted into the air. Out the window, the Eavesdown Docks began to disappear beneath them. The ship gained speed and the City Of Eavesdown shrank to a dot as the wider planet came into view. Soon, the whole planet of Persephone disappeared behind them as they headed out into the black. “Blastoff,” said Briggs softly.