Dakota ‘Drag’ Michelson had always believed in two things. The first was that good always triumphed. Today was no exception.
“Full Throttle has cemented themselves in Wespero history by qualifying for a regional trial race—not once, but twice!” Snapper roared over the crowd gathered in the Watering Hole, hoisting a large mug of house brew in the air with his cybernetic hand. The metal gleamed in the low light of the room. Drag’s second-in-command stood on the small stage, a plywood platform that lifted folks about a half a foot off the ground and typically hosted music acts.
“They said we wouldn’t be capable of staging a repeat, but our fearless leader… Drag!”
Everyone looked at him. Over a hundred pairs of eyes were staring him down and had pinned him in place like a goosemert caught in the act of burrowing. His feet were locked to the floor by a silent fear that made it impossible for him to move as he leaned against the bar. He’d never been big on attention, afraid they might find a flaw in his abilities. He managed to lift his own mug in acknowledgment.
A deafening cheer erupted throughout the room. Drag closed one eye as the noise hit his audio cortex just right to send a screech through his entire body, as if the sound had triggered an adverse reaction to the nanites in his system and his nerves were revolting.
“Drag has led us to front-pole position,” Snapper continued between drinks. “Just as he has since the moment we voted him leader of Frog Lick, leader of our gang. We celebrate tonight to remember how far we’ve come, because tomorrow, after we win, we start working toward the championship!”
Another roar rose through the room, paired with the clinking of glasses, the guzzling of brew and a jovial mood that no one could erase. This was the release of years of suffering. This gang had fought and clawed their way through poor engine designs, bad luck, explosions and losing their chance at an appeal with the Mars Shipping Commission.
No amount of presented evidence could convince that three-person board to commute or reduce the sentence they had handed down to Frog Lick three years prior, all courtesy of Bebe Smith, the previous gang-town leader, who’d been in a dirty deal with a terrorist cell from Earth’s moon. She and the terrorists had almost launched an attack on the Uppers that would have made all of Mars suffer. The ruling groups of Mars had meted out the steepest punishment they could to show the APU that they wouldn’t let treason on such a scale happen again. But did Bebe suffer? No… She got locked away in a prison cell and fed. It was the people she left behind who ended up worse off.
Hardworking women, men and their children had endured lack of food, support and, in some cases, much-needed medicine. They’d trusted Drag and his close friends to help lead the way and direct their efforts.
Their labor, sleepless nights and even repeated losses had been worth it to inspire them to reach this moment. The town had even flourished, becoming the place of his childhood dreams. No one went hungry. Not a single person froze because they didn’t have proper housing. Everyone who wanted to learn was allowed to. There were no longer gender lines for jobs.
Drag dared a glance at Gaia, their bartender and another close confidant. Her long pale blonde braids were wrapped up in twin buns at the back of her head. She wore a smile that didn’t quite meet her light gray eyes as she filled more mugs with brew and handed them off to one of the staff to distribute.
As if his stare had called to her, she sauntered in his direction. “You’re pretty quiet for a man who should be on top of the world. Tomorrow is just a formality.”
“We’re not finished until we win the championship.” They had put him in charge, expecting him to lead them to a future where their social standing or parental bloodlines didn’t matter. For that, they needed to acquire the top reward gifted to gang-towns across Mars.
“Spoken like a man whose job is never finished. What then? When you win, how do you guarantee future success?”
He chuckled before swallowing a good amount of brew. “That’s a problem for future me. Maybe you’re right. I should be celebrating.”
“Not a bad idea, considering we don’t know what’s on the horizon.” Her words were soaked with the unspoken issues Full Throttle was dealing with outside of their win today. They were still without mining and shipbuilding rights and on the brink of a turf war with a rival gang.
That woman will do anything to bury me.
The memory of bright red hair, sizzling green eyes filled with hatred and a physical touch that still seared his skin… He’d exorcised her plenty of times from his mind, sometimes with a body and other times with booze. Tonight he’d have to do more of the same.
“Care to keep a man occupied?”
Gaia winked. “You know I don’t mind a good spearing, but I’ve got other plans for tonight.”
Drag didn’t miss the bartender’s gray gaze traveling across the room to a black-haired woman with bright eyes and winsome smile. Also, a nice set of tits.
“Well, if you need a third—”
“I’ll remember you, oh fearless leader. How about you interact with the people? I bet they’d love a rendition of the drive or any kind word about how you’ll be leading us to victory.” With that, Gaia left him alone and he was back to staring out among the crowd.
Snapper had come off the stage to be replaced by Privy, their local musician, who had already started to tune up his guitar and prepare to strum. Music would fill the room soon enough and give Drag a chance to slip away.
He turned around and leaned over the bar, rummaging with his human hand for a bottle of the good stuff Gaia kept below. Emerging with an amber-filled bottle, he let out a little grunt of appreciation for the finer things, and for this moment.
“Did you ever think we’d be here? Two years ago, stumbling across the shitty terrain, outlawed, outcast and both with absent right arms.” Snapper’s voice brought a grin to Drag’s face.
The idiot was already three sheets to the breeze. He’d been celebrating the minute Drag had finished the pole-positioning challenges.
“Either your woman’s going to have no use for you because you’ll be too drunk to get it up or too annoyed with all your reminiscing about the good old days. Hell, I’ll have no use for you in the pit tomorrow.” Drag had already spent enough time in his head about the past today. He’d rather use the rest of celebration to forget.
“Don’t talk about Gina like that. She can get me up any time, booze or not. My woman is the best.”
“You’re damn right.”
Snapper pointed a cybernetic finger in his face. “Don’t you forget it. Now I may have drunk too much, but damn it, I’m in a good mood. We deserve a win, right?”
They did. The music started, a bawdy jingle about racers and the dust honeys who loved them. The crowd cheered and some even joined in. The lyrics were well-known and easy to recite. This right here couldn’t be found elsewhere, not with any other gang.
Born wild and unafraid.
A mechanic by trade.
Raised to sweat in a driver’s seat.
“Yes, but more than that, these people deserve the future we’re trying to give them.”
Snapper clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re fucking right. I’m off to dance. Join us soon, don’t wallow.”
Drag tugged the stopper out of the bottle with his teeth, abandoning his now-empty brew glass and opting to tag a swig straight from the bottle. Another swallow, another verse.
He’s known by all others.
A friend and brother.
Living for the thrill to compete.
The song and the booze were doing their job. Though he recalled another night this song had played, a time when he’d thought his path was headed in a different direction. One where he wouldn’t be alone in his bed every night.
“Brother.” Rune’s voice was in his ear. Drag slapped the bar with his other hand in shock. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t seen Rune. His younger brother was a skinny, tanner and far nicer version of him. The kid had a wicked mind too, for agriculture and farming. He’d single-handedly helped Frog Lick avoid starvation after they had lost their primary source of income the last couple of years.
“Come to give me a hard time about joining the celebration as well?” Drag could always count on Rune to hand things to him straight. His brother wasn’t afraid to tell him when he might be pushing too hard or making a bad decision. Like Gaia and Snapper, Drag relied on Rune to be a voice of reason during his time as leader.
“I’m here because you have a visitor.”
Drag smiled and downed another good gulp, letting the burn coat his throat. “Tell them to join the party.”
“Afraid that might bring more eyes to a situation we don’t want attention for. Might encourage you to stop downing that whiskey like recycle.”
“Who the hell’s out there? The commission?” Hell, their racer had passed all the tests. Gina had triple-checked everything, including their NiteOx conversion that made sure to follow all regulations. “If they’re here to accuse us of cheating, tell them it’s too late.”
Rune leaned in and whispered in Drag’s ear. “It’s Bridget.”
Drag immediately sobered and the glass of the bottle cracked in his hand, whiskey seeping out through the edges over his skin, cool and wet. “Where is she?”
“Outside. She wants to talk. To parlay, is what she said. Said you know what she meant, but I believe her. She has that Inccukai assassin with her, no entourage.”
Drag also believed no good deed went unpunished. So of course that bitch would show up now, during his moment of triumph. She’s a damn leech.
“If I’m not back in one hour, get everyone outside and prepared for a fight.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Rune asked as he grabbed hold of the bottle in Drag’s hand. “You can release the bottle.”
“Good idea or not, if I’m not back, that means I’m dead or she is. Just be ready.”
No interaction between them since that fateful day tended to end without someone injured. The one conversation with Hemi present had been an exception. From the moment she’d betrayed him, this was the way things had gone. The question was why the hell had she chosen to show up now?
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