Brannigan was a mercenary, no doubt about it, wanted everyone in the damn universe to know too. He walked around with Tara the pulse rifle all the time. He even had the thing programmed to complement him in a sexy female voice everytime he killed someone or something with it. But he was honest, he didn't fuck around, and moreover, he got the job done. These are qualities that I value, but Simon Magnus did not. Magnus, of course, only valued things and people that increased or protected his own. He'd enlisted in Magnus' personal security retinue when Brannigan and I had first come here years ago. Rose right to the top of the ranks, of course, and even had taken a titanium bolt to the shoulder when the water-farmers went on that union strike a while ago. The Nurses of Nereid were able to save him, but Magnus had no more use for him and fired him. A couple of months later, Magnus was re-elected, and I collected that big ol' check. Part of the money went to Sydney's bar, another big slice went into rebuilding Brannigan's shoulder with cyborg parts. As hardcore as that rifle of his was, it was nothing compared to the sheer poetry of seeing him connect with a right hook.
Either way, there was no way I could tell him he was directly or indirectly working for Magnus.
Derek was my scout, my recon. He'd be packing his bags for Triton soon enough. I'd need to know everything about the site, logistics, topography, everything. Derek was good for that kind of stuff. He'd been your garden-variety Tech-addict for years, his father dying in a farming accident. I pulled out all the Tech ports in his flat, smashed all the equipment, and sat with him for a month until he was clean. Derek hadn't gone near Tech since, and had been with me on just about every job I'd taken. Tech changes the way the brain is wired, moreso when teenagers get hooked on it. It left him with a certain kind of hyper-attention to details, to the point of obsessive-compulsiveness. The mannerisms he'd developed as a result left him a sort of outcast, but he was a great kid. And why not turn the negative into a positive? I got him his own Scally Cap for his birthday a few months ago, and it was the first time I think I'd ever seen him really happy.
But he didn't trust Magnus, and hated every second of working for him. It was looking like I wasn't going to be divulging to the guys who our employer was.
I glanced over at A-Ron, and thought that it couldn't give a flying fuck who was paying the bills, just as long as the check showed up. So no big thing there. But I still wasn't saying who hired us, at least not at this point.
"I don't know why I got this job, and I don't even know who's the employer. I got anonymous holograph message last night, with the terms and the conditions spelled out." Which was easily the lamest lie I've ever come up with in my life.
Brannigan finished his beer in a gulp, and exchanged a glance with Derek. Derek nodded.
"You saw Magnus last night, didn't you?" Brannigan asked. Well, shit. There went that.
"Yeah."
Brannigan got up immediately. Derek sat back in the booth and folded his arms. A-Ron didn't bat an eye, or, thing, or whatever the fuck genetically-altered spiders used to see.
"Mickey, there's no fucking way I'm doing anything associated with that dickbag. He's lucky I haven't blown his perfect little skull off his shoulders," said Brannigan in his outdoor voice. Sydney took notice of Brannigan from behind the bar. Derek sort of nodded to her, and held out a hand to Brannigan.
"Just settle down, Brannigan. I'm sure Mickey's got a good reason for this. Boss?"
I sighed. I only really had just the one reason, which I guess made me a sort of mercenary, too. I was just cuter about how I went about things, I supposed.
"There's 125 thousand each, for us, if our two regal guests get married and go on their way." I lowered my eyes to my drink, and slammed it back in a gulp.
I didn't look up at my partners, but in retrospect I think they must have all agreed that my reason was good enough for them, too. I heard Brannigan sit back down. When I looked up, both he and Derek had that 'I hate that I'm friends with you sometimes' look on their faces. A-Ron polished off wine cooler number twenty.
"Click-click. Click. Click."
"We don't speak spider, A-Ron," said Derek.
Then that head of his turned to us, and it rubbed two of it's legs together.
"I said 'this stinks, but fuck it'". There was a moment of awkward silence, and then the four of us belted out a burst of laughter.
"So tell us what to do, boss," said Derek.
And then I told them.
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