CHAPTER ONE: JUST ANOTHER JOB

  BEZ dragged his useless brother Seb through the door before it could seal shut. It locked behind them. Good.

  “Did they see you?” Bez whispered, ducking behind a thick, chest-high storage container. He briefly glanced inside for anything worth taking but it was empty.

  Seb joined him there belatedly, bumping hard against the metal surface, as unsubtle as a Sandskin on ice. He held onto his tool belt as he ducked, making sure his plasma sword and plasma pistol weren’t damaged by the impact. The weapons were unpolished and uncared for – far below the standard. Bez would give him a stern talking to once the job was over.

  “No,” Seb finally replied, swallowing the nerves jamming his throat. “I don’t think so–”

  “You don’t think so?” Bez stopped himself from slapping his brother on the back of the head with a cupped hand. It was a noise they couldn’t afford. “In this line of work, you have to know so. Uncertainty is what gets a mercenary killed.”

  “Y-Yes, absolutely. We weren’t spotted, I’m pretty sure. Mostly sure.”

  Bez growled. He peeked over the metal storage container; the ground beneath their feet was also metal, an industrial kind of corrugated iron, and the thick walls surrounding this massive warehouse echoed all sound like a cry in a cave. Any clumsy movement, any hefty step or ill-timed dash, would be heard. As if on cue, some heavy-set footsteps – a series four scattered thumps – approached their position. Bez ducked his head to hide from what he assumed were two guards.

  “Why the hell is this place such a soddin’ maze?” moaned one man. “Too many storage containers and shelves – a guy could get lost and starve in here. I want an easy job one of these days …”

  “Shut it!” seethed the other man. “Just ‘cause we lured those warehouse guards away doesn’t mean the ones outside can’t hear us. Keep it down.”

  Bez braved another peak, finding the source of the noise two aisles over. These two men, one tall with ginger hair and the other short and round, were no guards. The second edition plasma pistols holstered by their sides, the same kind of old and rusty gear Bez had bartered for after donating his first edition weaponry to Seb, indicated their true origins.

  The tall man sighed. “It’s not just guards, you know. This was an open job. Any mercenary could get their stubby paws on our coin.”

  “They won’t,” the short man affirmed. “Who’s faster than us? Nobody, that’s who. We’ll be in and out of those mining drills before you know it.”

  “The Teneki brothers.”

  The short man paused, unamused. “What?”

  “You asked who’s faster than us. The Teneki brothers. Those rat bastards keep beating us to the punch. Every. Single. Time. Bah, I hate them– !”

  “Shhhhh!” The shorter man pounced on his mercenary partner, shoving a finger over his lips. “The Tenekis will not beat us this time. If I could get my hands on those damn thieving brothers …”

  They stomped off towards the other side of the warehouse, their footsteps rattling the crates of colourless crystals stacked on the shelves. Good, Bez thought. At this rate, they’ll draw the attention of all the guards in a five mile radius.

  Bez and Seb both stood, confident they were alone once more. Seb turned to his brother and asked, “Do we know them?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Beetle and Birch. They come looking for a fight sometimes when I go to the tavern to pick us up jobs. I didn’t think other mercenaries were aware of this one.”

  “Are they gonna be a problem?” A twinge of fear crept into Seb’s voice. Bez rolled his eyes, ashamed of his little brother’s cowardice. Seb was always the voice of uncertainty on a high-stakes job like this one. Eighteen years old and he still didn’t have the balls to hold his own. It was always up to Bez, his older, competent brother, to save them both and get the coin.

  “No. The goal remains the same – sneak into a mining rig, deactivate it and grab the diamond drill bit, get out in one piece. As long as we do that, nothing else matters. A hundred mercenaries and guards could stand in my way. I don’t care. I’d beat them all.”

  Seb looked at him with sickly admiration. His younger brother’s face – plain and small with a nest of messy black hair on top – was a distracting annoyance. Bez tried not to look at it whenever he could.

  “Do you think you could beat a Mage?” Seb asked out of the blue.

  Bez inhaled deeply. “Huh?”

  “Y’know, a Mage. Like the ones from the stories. The magic users fabled to turn the tides of a battle with just a flick of their wrists. Oooh, what about a Bounty Hunter? Do you think you could take one of them–”

  Bez slapped him across the face. Now they were alone, he didn’t shy from the noise. In fact, he revelled in it. The sonic thud. The confusion, the pain on his brother’s face. Worth it.

  “I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you a thousand times – Mages and Bounty Hunters aren’t real. They’re myths told by one side of the war to scare the other. Now shut up and help me find the director’s office.”

  * * *

  This isn’t good, Bez thought, stalking the aisles of the crystal warehouse with Seb stumbling along behind. If Beetle and Birch have caught wind of this job, that means it’s not as private as I would’ve hoped. If Felix finds out we were here, he’ll kill us.

  No witnesses, then. It’s them or me. I will always choose me.

  The warehouse floor was littered with small islands of desert sand, likely dragged in on the soles of miners’ and guards’ boots, which shifted each time the ground shook. A low, thunderous tremor rocked the warehouse every thirty seconds or so – a symptom of the crystal mining rigs’ violent drilling.

  Bez traced the bootprints in the sand, finding out where they all converged upon. Eventually, they found a small, closed-off room in the corner of the warehouse – the director’s office. He gave the door a light rattle with his fist. Locked.

  “Keep a look out,” he told Seb, bending low to meet the lock with his lockpicking tools. “If you see the mercenaries or any guards coming in our direction, don’t say a word. Tap me on the back three times.”

  “Got it.”

  After fiddling the tools in the lock for what felt like hours, he released his held breath once he heard the merciful click. The door swung open, confirming there was nobody inside. Most of the guards, the director included, were on their lunch break. And, thankfully, Beetle and Birch had distracted the leftovers with their amateurish antics.

  Seb looked back and sighed in relief. “Great work. Let’s go and–”

  “No.” Bez pushed Seb back into the warehouse aisle. “Did I tell you to stop keeping a look out?”

  “W-Well, no …”

  “Exactly. I’ll find the mining rig schematic. You just wait here and keep your plasma pistol ready.”

  Seb reached for his plasma pistol, but hesitated. “But how do I let you know if there’s trouble if I can’t tap you on the back?”

  “You’re a big boy.” Bez yanked Seb’s pistol from his holster and shoved it into his chest, forcing him to hold it. “You work it out.”

  He left Seb behind. Dribbling and spluttering, no doubt. The day that boy formed a cohesive thought of his own was the day Bez would finally be proud of him.

  Ain’t happening any time soon …

  Bez looked on the director’s desk, under it, inside his wardrobe, in his secret stash of colourless crystals, he checked for loose flooring or walling, and eventually found the mining rig schematic in a stack of papers above the wardrobe. Each mining rig was powered by colourless crystals – the same source of plasma energy inside their pistols and swords, and what the mining rigs were digging up in the first place – and there was a switch to turn it off in the main cockpit. Red switch, fourth from the right, the one that should have a label “A/D” for “Activation / Deactivation”. Once that switch was flipped to the down position, they should be able to climb down the ladder to the main drill. The diamond drill bit would then be theirs for the taking.

  Why did the designers make it so soddin’ hard to turn these things on and off? A great big button would’ve been easiest … But, then again, I guess it’s to stop people like me from messing with them.

  He returned to Seb and relayed the good news.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Any sign of the fearsome twosome?” Bez asked.

  “Nope. No guards, either. I think Beetle and Birch left to go straight to the mining field.”

  “Damn …” Bez ground his teeth. “Those idiots are gonna chance it. They’re gonna try and turn off one of the mining rigs without the know-how – by brute force, I imagine. The worst part is they’re probably gonna accomplish it through dumb luck.”

  Seb rubbed his head. “Well … maybe this is a good thing, right? If they start a commotion, that should draw all the nearby guards to them. We’ll get a clean go at one of the drill bits.”

  “Yeah. Come on, we’d better hurry.”

  * * *

  The crystal mining rigs were set up in a depression in the Desert of Amia. Through many years of intense digging, the miners had dug a mile-wide alcove which now resembled a shallow quarry, equipped with dozens of tall, L-shaped rigs which pounded the crystal-rich sandstone beneath. Bez chose not to go for the closest mining rig as there were a couple of guards having a drink at its base – he instead led Seb to a rig on the far reaches of the depression, tucked up against the sandstone slope.

  One solitary miner, stained orange from the sandstone dust, sat with his back facing them, eating a sandwich. Seb saw him and froze. Bez, however, knew his next move instantly.

  He crept up slowly, took out his deactivated plasma sword – just a long metal rod without its brilliant blue glow – and thumped the miner hard across the back of the head. The miner slumped over on the sandy floor, dropping his sandwich. A small tuft of his brown hair turned crimson.

  Seb staggered backwards, looking over his shoulder in quick, panicked movements. “Bez … That wasn’t even a guard!”

  “So? If he’d seen us he would’ve reported us to the guards.”

  “But he wasn’t even looking …”

  “He would’ve gotten in the way. Just like you.” Bez clipped his plasma sword to his toolbelt and turned to his brother. “Go cause a scene. Draw as many guards to your location as you can. Be back in five minutes.”

  “Cause a scene? How–”

  “Just do it.”

  Seb opened his mouth to speak but all that came out were a series of pathetic, ticklish coughs. He turned and ran towards some of the nearby mining rigs. Bez didn’t bother to check his younger brother’s situation once they were more than a few feet apart; he immediately stepped over the miner’s unconscious body and began climbing up a ladder to the rig’s cockpit.

  The dashboard was a series of wires, switches and sketches of a young girl – Bez assumed this was the miner’s daughter. He scrunched it up and threw it out the cockpit window. It was in the way.

  Right, let’s see here … Fourth switch from the right, a red one, should have a label stuck onto it … Yes, this is it. “A/D”. This’ll deactivate the rig and stop the drill from spinning.

  He reached to flick the switch but paused when the cockpit jolted, shaking from the vibrations of the rig’s latest boom. He waited until the tremor ceased before flicking the switch to the down position. A subtle, negligible buzz faded underneath his feet and within the cockpit chair. The dust settled around the rig. Smoke thinned from its upper exhaust.

  He would have to move fast. The guards would soon notice that one of the field’s rigs had been deactivated.

  He shot down the ladder and found the secondary, wider ladder which crawled down the side of the rig’s chassis, deeper into the sandstone. Soon the ladder ran out of rungs and he resorted to descending the jagged handhelds of the surrounding sandstone. Eventually he reached the bottommost point of the rig – the blue, glittering drill bit embedded in the sea of sandstone and crystal shards. Workers fished these crystals out of the hole with buckets and nets. He made an effort not to stand on any of the pulverised crystals; though he was wearing boots, the sharp crystals could shred his feet like a stray dog dragged through broken glass. A gruesome metaphor, maybe, but one Bez had seen play out for himself.

  He reached towards the diamond drill bit and recoiled. It was excruciatingly hot. He retrieved an old rag from his pocket and spat on it, hoping the fluid would further cool the heat. He grabbed the drill bit – a coin-sized cone of pure diamond lodged beneath a sturdy metal spiral – ignoring the pervasive heat slowly seeping through the cloth, twisted with all his might, then jerked it downwards. It came free.

  Huh. That was easier than I thought it would be. I’d better meet up with Seb and get out of here before anyone sees us.

  Right on cue, once Bez climbed to the surface he saw Seb sprinting straight towards him, plasma pistol in hand. Bez ran up to him and redirected him towards the direction of the warehouse.

  “Getting chased by the guards?” Bez asked, pocketing the small diamond and maintaining a steady pace.

  Seb, however, was not running as gracefully. He was unfit and shaky. Huffing and puffing, he replied, “No, I shook them! This is worse! It’s–”

  ZING!

  A plasma bolt, radiating a fiendish purple energy, skimmed past Bez’s face and crashed into a nearby mining rig. The guards wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later. That could only mean …

  “Teneki brothers!” An agitated man, either Beetle or Birch, screamed. Bez didn’t dare look back to work out which one it was. “Get back here! We just want a word! And your heads on a pike!”

  * * *

  The only way to run was straight, back into the warehouse. Left would mean the sandstone slope, impossible to scale due to its dusty, slippery surface. Right would mean going towards the central mining rigs, where most of the guards were no doubt catching wind of Beetle and Birch’s wild yells. Backwards meant, well, certain death at the hands of two crazed rival mercenaries. Forward seemed the sensible choice. The rear of the warehouse, where Bez and Seb had snuck into in the first place, led to a longer, flatter slope which transport carts used to export the colourless crystals from the mining site. It was the only way out.

  They sprinted into the warehouse, but it was no longer empty. A couple of guards had returned from their lunch breaks and noticed disturbances on the premises, namely how the director’s office was broken into. They held a powerful plasma rifle each, capable of killing a man standing a mile away. Bez guided Seb down an unmanned aisle. They tip-toed over the corrugated iron floor, their bodies now drenched in sweat from the running, ducking low whenever a guard peered through the shelves in their direction.

  Beetle and Birch had no such discretion. They burst into the warehouse, pistols at the ready, and caught the attention of both guards immediately.

  “Oi! You two!” a middle-aged guard cried, raising his plasma rifle but not yet eyeing the scope. “This is a restricted site. State your business here!”

  The mercenary duo gave no reply. They dove behind two criss-cross patterned crates, one on either side of the door (the tall man went for the bigger crate while the smaller, fatter man went for one more his size), opening fire with their plasma pistols. The guards cursed and found cover – one inside the director’s office and the other within one of the shelving units.

  “What do we do?” Seb whispered, his voice breaking. “They’re gonna shoot each other’s heads off!”

  “Suits us just fine.” Bez eyed the far door, the one that had once sealed shut behind them when they first entered the warehouse. It was now wide open – presumably after a guard opened it after returning from his lunch break. “Let’s make a move in this commotion. Keep low and don’t stop.”

  They remained hunched and light-footed as they sped away, cruising at a pace between a sprint and a light jog. A guard ahead of them skipped into the next aisle over for better cover; Bez and Seb also jumped between aisles to counter this. As they did, the ground shook due to a mining rig tremor; Seb lost balance and cracked his head on a shelf with a painful thud. He caught the yelp in his throat but the damage was already done.

  “Teneki brothers!” Birch cried out, shooting two plasma bolts at the guards before pointing straight at Seb. “Guards, stop them! They’re the ones who stole from you!”

  Both guards turned to look. Birch seized the chance – he shot one of the guards, the one camped in the director’s office, through the side of the head. The guard fell with a thump; no blood oozed from the gaping hole initially, as the plasma had cauterized the wound, but after a pause the red soon stained the corrugated iron floor. The ground shook again, exactly thirty seconds after the last, spreading the flow of the red puddle.

  An idea spawned in the back of Bez’s mind.

  The remaining guard, the middle-aged one dancing between aisles and shelving units for cover, saw the brothers fleeing for the rear door and stared wide-eyed.

  “Hey! Get back here!”

  He aimed his plasma rifle and fired; a box of crystals erupted next to Bez’s head, sending a sea of colourless glitter cascading to the floor.

  Bez grabbed Seb by the hand, held his plasma pistol in the other, and sprinted. “Time to go! Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen …”

  Beetle and Birch continued to fire haphazardly behind them, and now heavy, scorching vessels of rifle plasma bombarded them from the side. Bez caught Seb’s eyes; his younger brother was stricken with a paralysing fear, only moving because Bez was dragging him along.

  Go on, Seb, you coward. Piss yourself. You’ll run quicker. Nine, eight, seven …

  The surviving guard sprinted alongside them three aisles down, matching their pace. He skipped over to the next aisle – now only two aisles over. Seizing a gap in the shelving units, he prepared to jump again, mere boxes away from Bez and Seb, surely close enough to guarantee the killing blow–

  The ground shook. The guard lost his balance.

  BANG!

  The guard flopped over unceremoniously, his chest and heart penetrated by a plasma shot. He stirred for a moment, trying to move his limbs, but his energy was wasted. He slumped over a crate and breathed his last.

  Bez holstered his plasma pistol, still hot after firing, and led Seb through the rear door. He looked back into the warehouse; Beetle and Birch had given up hiding and were hightailing it down the central aisle, screaming and cursing as they approached. Behind them, dozens of guards filtered into the warehouse’s front entrance, plasma pistols, rifles and swords at the ready.

  Bez smirked and gave two big middle fingers. “Sorry, boys. Say hi to Felix for me.”

  He slammed the door, sealing it shut with a large metal bar. Through the door he heard banging, shots fired, the moans of two exhausted men, before the guards came and ordered Beetle and Birch to drop their weapons.

  Bez and Seb escaped up the steady slope until sure they could catch their breath in peace.

  “So …” Seb groaned, chest heaving. “Did you get it?”

  Bez retrieved the diamond drill bit from his pocket, now a cool, deep blue. It seemed small and insignificant now the dust had settled. Size mattered not. It was worth some serious coin. It was worth the hassle of stealing it.

  “Come – let’s get some lunch, then we’ll head back into the desert.”

  Seb paled. “The desert? Don’t tell me you have another job lined up for us already?”

  “It’s just another job. This is how we survive, Seb. This is the life of a mercenary. You can’t pause to catch your breath.”

  He began walking away, but noticed Seb wasn’t following. “What is it?” he asked.

  Seb shied away, tapping his plasma pistol subconsciously. “You killed that man.”

  “What? The miner? Nah, he’ll be fine. He’ll have a sore head in the morning, sure, but he’ll–”

  “The guard. In the warehouse. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”

  Bez shrugged. “He was gonna shoot us.”

  “You’ve never killed before.”

  “You’ve never seen me kill before.”

  This shut Seb up. He started walking, but didn’t look Bez in the eyes as he passed. “Lunch sounds good.”