Zach Hudson stood at the entrance to Fagan’s bar, puffing on his cigar, and listening to the raised voices and excited chatter emanating from inside. Usually, he would be in amongst the ruckus, knocking back jugs of beer and indulging in typically laddish behaviour with the other mercs from Viper’s Fist, but tonight was different. Tonight, he had something far more important on his mind – a meeting with a Gogglo named Ulric Raven.

He dropped the cigar on the wet ground, swept it away with a scuffed black boot and then turned to the figure behind him. It was Magnus Gilda, captain of the Rad Veteran and leader of the Fists. He was stood in the alleyway beside the pub, but the poor street lighting had cast him in shadow, so Hudson could only make out the white feather on his black fedora.

“He’s late.” Gilda stated in his usual gruff tone.

“Nothing new there,” Hudson replied. “Raven’s about as reliable as the long-range navigation system on the Rad Veteran.”

Gilda chuckled. “What’s wrong with the navigation system? It’s how we used to sail in the old days.”

“We did a lot of things in the old days, but it don’t mean they was convenient. Can’t we get one of those modern systems? Ye know, the ones that tell the ship where to go right off the bat.”

“Never heard of that before.” Gilda replied, “Who told ye about them?”

“Bry mentioned it. Sounds exactly what we need.”

“I was never one for embracing modern ways,” Gilda said, his tone becoming more serious. “Old habits die hard.”

“Yer never too old to change.” Hudson replied with a devilish grin.

“Trust me, I am.”

Hudson sighed. The ageing captain was once a giant of a man who possessed what seemed like a sixth sense for sniffing out the best jobs. Gilda had transformed the Fists from a two-bit operation to the most feared mercenaries in the world of Lozaro. His infectious enthusiasm for improvement, rubbed off on everyone, none more so than Hudson, who was promoted to first mate a few years ago. A proud moment for sure, but lately, Gilda’s decision making had cost the gang a lot of money. His obsession with working for Raven had prevented him from taking on more suitable jobs and blinded him to the businessman's excuses about unreliable pay. As a result, some of the crew had privately expressed their concerns about Gilda's leadership.

“Where the hell’s he got to?” Gilda suddenly barked.

“Maybe he’s not coming.” Hudson replied, pulling another cigar from the breast pocket of his funnel-necked grey overcoat. “Wouldn’t be the first time he’s let us down.”

“You still don’t trust him, do ye?”

Hudson raised an eyebrow at his direct superior. “He hasn’t given us a reason to. Anyway, ye know the old saying, never trust a Gogglo.”

“They’re just the same as us. They bleed red, don’t they? Raven’s given us plenty of work since we came here. Far more than anyone else has. Vala’s been slim pickings since the cybernetic army started patrolling the streets.”

“The last two jobs were a mess.” Hudson shot back. “Half our pay on each one. The men won’t stand for it much longer, captain.”

“They got the full whack on the last one, did they not?”

“Because we paid them out of our share. I don’t like losing cash any more than they do.”

“It’s no longer an issue. Raven assures me the next job will be full pay.”

“Will it? I don’t wanna speak out of turn here, but if I don’t, no one else will. Some of the crew wanna leave Vala and head somewhere new. There's a lot of opportunities in the Uthovayan Capital right now."

There was a pause before Gilda asked him to elaborate on the crew's unhappiness. Hudson then admitted some of the men had lost confidence in his leadership and were less than impressed at his over reliance on Raven. The captain seemed genuinely shocked at the revelation and stepped out from the shadows, allowing Hudson to see every detail of his boss and mentor, right down to the grizzled grey facial hair, missing left eye and teeth that were stained yellow.

“Have you?”

“Have I, what?”

“Lost confidence in me as well?”

Hudson chose his next words carefully as the captain glared at him through one good eye.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Good.” Gilda fired back. “I’d hate to think my second-in-command was actively working against me.”

They did not speak for the next few minutes. Only the chatter from passers-by prevented an agonising silence between the two old friends. The uncomfortable spell seemed to last forever, but Hudson could only think of the times he and Gilda had fought alongside each other. They had worked jobs all over Lozaro, and always had each other’s back. For a moment, he felt guilty about the conversation that just took place.

“This is ridiculous.” Gilda said, breaking the silence. “I’ll go and look around for Raven. You go inside and grab a few beers. There’s no point in both of us waiting out here.”

“Ye sure?” Hudson said, hopeful the harsh words had been forgotten about.

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Hudson was about to enter Fagan’s bar when an angry lady came storming out, almost knocking him over in the process. She was dressed in a revealing red dress and carried a fur coat under her arm. Her handbag was half zipped open and hung loosely over her bare shoulder.

“Idiots.” She screamed at what Hudson guessed was the other mercs inside the pub.

“What’s the problem, miss?”

“It’s them rotten scoundrels drinking in that glorified toilet that’s the problem. They started hounding me cos I didn't wanna dance with one of em.”

She marched down the street, muttering obscenities as she went. Hudson scratched his head and then cried after her. It took a few attempts before she finally turned back around, her face like fizz.

“What is it?”

“Ye don’t wanna take any notice of them in there. Come back in. I’ll buy ye a drink to show there’s no hard feelings.”

“Drink in there with those creeps? I'll be safer out here in the dark.”

“I’ll make each one of them apologise. Ye have my word.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Suit yerself.” Hudson replied, as he watched her storm away.

The rain began to fall so Hudson pushed open the doors of the pub and stepped inside the smoky pit. Thumping music blared from the jukebox, mixing with the raised voices to create a terrible din that assaulted Hudson’s ears. It seemed everyone was shouting back and forth to one another, desperate to be heard over the music.

"Over here.” Hudson heard someone shout above the noise.

The eight mercs from Viper’s Fist were seated at the first table around the corner, across from where the bar veered off in a different direction. A grizzled bunch of scallywags by anyone’s standard; the loudest of them all was Brycen “Bry,” Tanner, a Pavellian-born human who always seemed to have more than one drink beside him. He noticed Hudson coming and chanted his name, beckoning him over in exaggerated fashion. Hudson pointed to the bar and mimicked a drinking motion.

“Well done, captain,” Bry yelled back. “You’ve got your priorities sorted.”

Hudson nodded and then made his way across to the bar where the owner, a man named Fagan was using a dirty cloth to wipe down the splintered, wooden surface. He wore a ripped black eyepatch and had tufts of thin black hair sprouting from various parts of his scalp.

“What’ll it be, Zach?”

“The usual…. on the slate.”

Fagan raised an eyebrow. “More drinks on the slate? I’m not sure you understand how these transactions work.”

“Give it a rest will ye.” Hudson said, in a half-serious, half-jokey manner. “I’ll settle up later. Things have been a bit rough lately. That last job didn’t go according to plan. Me and Gilda had to pay the crew out our own share to stop a full-blown mutiny.”

“Why the hell did you take the job then?”

“Ask Captain Gilda.” Hudson replied, shaking his head with exasperation.

Hudson watched Fagan place a jug under the beer tap and hold it in place until the froth spilled over onto the drip tray. The barman let the frothy liquid settle for a while and then handed the jug over. Hudson took the jug and then swung around but he almost knocked into someone who was heading towards the bar. He was about to throw the clumsy idiot across the pub but stopped when he noticed it was Bry who had bumped into him. The bearded merc immediately held his hands up in a jokey manner. Hudson rested his jug of beer on the bar, and then stood in a sideways position to speak with Bry.

“Back up for more.” Hudson laughed.

“The boys are thirsty, sir.”

“No change there, then.” Hudson replied, taking a sip of the cold, refreshing beer.

Bry pointed at the jug. “Just the one?”

“Damn right.” Hudson insisted. “The last time we had a jolly in here, I ended up with a two-day hangover.”

“You’re getting old.”

“I’m only fifty-three.”

“Only.” Bry was laughing now, perhaps to let Hudson know the comments were tongue in cheek and not meant to be disrespectful towards his superior. “You should be taking things easy at your age.”

“I’m in my prime Mr. Tanner, now excuse me while I go and sit down. My feet are killing me.”

It was a weak comeback, but as Hudson walked over to sit with the other mercs, he pondered the joke for a second, and wondered if there was more than an element of truth to it. The hangovers had really gotten worse over the last few years, not to mention the aching bones after each mission. Maybe, he was getting old.

“Have a seat.” Said a clearly drunk Serk Kleinro.

Hudson sat down at the table beside the scar faced Remman who like every male of the species; was bald with a white complexion. He was only around five feet six, but his gruff tone seemed hilariously at odds with his physical stature.

“What’s happenin?”

“Nothing’s happening.” Hudson replied, taking gulps of beer from his jug. “Why’d you ask?”

“Nuffin.”

Hudson could smell the booze on Serk’s breath, so he pushed his chair further away and almost bumped into the youngest merc in the crew; 18-year-old, Orson “Squeak,” Raggett, who had recently completed his first mission. He was a tall and lanky human with short blonde hair who still bore that fresh-faced look that every merc once did. The others had nicknamed him Squeak on account of the strange noises he made when chewing his food.

“How are ye, young Squeak?"

“Not bad, sir. I enjoyed my first mission. It's an honour to serve with Viper’s Fist.”

Hudson chuckled. “Save yer brownnosing for the captain.”

“Sorry sir.”

Hudson was about to speak again but a comment from behind made him turn around in his chair. It was Serk mumbling under his breath. Although it was mostly drunken gibberish, Hudson was convinced Serk had made a derogatory comment about Captain Gilda.

“Problem?” he asked the drunken Remman.

“The only problem is how long we have to put up with Gilda.”

“That’s Captain Gilda.”

“But he’s not a captain anymore, is he? He’s a liability now.”

Hudson was stunned at Serk’s audacity, even if he was drunkenly swaying back and forth in his chair, there was no excuse for such blatant disrespect. If this was how Serk spoke about the captain in the first mate’s presence, what was he saying in private?

“He deserves another chance,” Hudson said, sternly. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Well, I think it’s time for a change.”

Hudson slammed his jug down on the wooden table. “The only way change is coming is if every one of you call for his removal. Some still have his back so shut yer mouth."

Serk appeared taken aback by the fiery response but he nodded slowly and raised his glass to indicate Hudson had well and truly made his point. It was then Hudson saw the captain trudge into the pub.

“Looks like you're wanted, sir.” Bry said from behind, as he returned from the bar with a tray of beers.

“Looks like it.” Hudson said, noticing the captain calling him over. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hudson walked across to the captain. There was an odd expression on his face. It was a look of excitement. A twinkling in the eye that Hudson had not seen for a long time.

“What’s going on?”

“Raven has changed the meeting place.” Gilda said, excitedly. “Let's get back to the Veteran.”

“Why?” Hudson asked. "What's wrong with here?"

“Let’s just say a new opportunity has presented itself.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“The once in a lifetime kind.”