Nameless: A Renegade Star Story

by J. N. Chaney

  Pearl’s inspections were quick and thorough each time, causing me to wonder how many she had done before now. Hundreds? Thousands? It had to be as familiar to her as breathing, the way she had been with her own rifle on the roof.

  “Nice work,” she said after another inspection, handing the rifle back to me. “Come on, both of you. That’s enough practice.”

  We followed her to a bench, where she set the rifle up on the tripod. Pearl pulled a case out of her pocket and withdrew five bullets, placing them on the blanket next to the weapon.

  She held one of them up. “These are long-range precision rounds, otherwise known as nexus bolts. They’re untraceable, citywide threat scans can’t detect them, and they can penetrate four-centimeter-thick glass from three hundred meters away. This is what I used on our job.” She looked at Clem with a half-smile. “You’re going to practice now, so you can learn how they feel.”

  “Really?!” asked Clementine, her face lighting up. “Yes!”

  “Enough of that,” cautioned Pearl, lifting her hand to steady Clem. “Calmness first. Work on that. You can’t get excited when you’re using these weapons. They’re not toys. They’re death itself, and you need to learn how to wield them like adults.”

  “Yes, Ms. Pearl!” said Clem, still full of energy as she forced herself to sit still.

  Pearl’s face remained calm as she stood over us. “Now, both of you, load your weapons and get ready to fire. We’re going to be here for a while, so take your time and get this right.”

  * * *

  I pulled the magazine from its box and quickly slipped the five bullets in, then screwed the suppressor into place, rolling my shoulders as I pulled the rifle closer to me. I heard Pearl pressing a control panel, and a paper target came into view, dangling by some wires. It was near the other side of the long room, too far for me to see the details. I could only make out its shape, which resembled a man.

  “Call it,” she ordered.

  I leaned into the scope, pressing a small button on the side. It activated a laser that coincided with the crosshairs of the scope. It wasn’t visible and not used for targeting, but rather for measuring the distance between me and whatever my scope was aiming at. A display appeared, showing the distance.

  “Fifty meters,” I said, dragging the bolt back and chambering a round.

  “Most shooting instructors would tell you to aim for center mass,” Pearl said in a soft voice. “But like with Dunn, a lot of the people that you’ll be shooting at will be wearing body armor. You’ll have to get used to shooting for the head.”

  I didn’t respond, but shifted my shot up a few centimeters, taking long, deep breaths. I felt excited, oddly enough, and I could sense my heartbeat quicken. Was I nervous? Afraid? Intimidated?

  No, that wasn’t it. This was something different—the same feeling I used to get when Sister Mable told me stories of the outside world. The same feeling I had when I thought about my make-believe parents.

  I was having fun. Shooting.

  A gentle jitter touched my fingers as I leaned into the rifle, feeling the stock press into my shoulder, and I exhaled.

  I gently squeezed the trigger.

  A loud pop echoed through the room, mostly covered by the earpieces as the rifle jerked against my shoulder. A moment later, I took control again, finding the target with my scope. I had missed the head, but when I looked again, I saw that I hadn’t missed the target entirely. There was a hole about ten centimeters down from where I was aiming and a little to the left.

  “Well, your target’s dead,” Pearl said. “But it’ll be messy and showy. Carotid artery, lots of blood. Not a clean kill, but not bad for a first shot. Want to try again?”

  I nodded, chambering another round and peering down the scope. I felt a bit calmer now. Our education had covered this. I aimed higher and to the right of where I’d shot the last time.

  I heard Clem call to Pearl, telling her that she was finished with her rifle now. I didn’t pay attention. I was staring down the scope, taking long, slow breaths. Another pop, another jerk into my shoulder, and this time, the hole appeared dead in the center of the target’s head.

  No comment from Pearl, but a click from the control panel moved the target back another fifty meters. I adjusted my aim and shot again. Another two hits. The first one a little low but still on the head. After those two, she moved it out to the maximum distance of the shooting range, one hundred and fifty meters.

  I could hear Clem cursing softly after she took a few shots.

  “Squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it,” Pearl told her. Clem responded with more unintelligible cursing.

  I took a deep breath and shifted my aim up about three centimeters. The jitters were long gone. For the first time in my life outside of a book, I felt in my element, comfortable and at ease.

  My heartbeat was even and slow, although I could still feel a gentle tick-tick-tick in my fingertips as I squeezed the trigger again.

  But it was good. It was right.

  This time, all three shots landed on the head, nearly equal distance from each other, forming a crooked triangle. I looked up from my scope, unable to stop my lips from curling into a stupid grin.

  Another click of the controls brought the target buzzing across the range towards us. Clem was already looking at her target after five shots, and the expression on her face was less than pleased.

  “A good grouping,” Pearl noted while examining mine. She used a pen to mark the spots where my bullets had struck with an X. She wrote the distance down too, taking the time to circle the triangle I had made.

  I moved over to check out Clem’s paper target, and I saw why she wasn’t pleased. Her shots had all been from fifty meters away, and only two had struck the head. A few had hit center mass, another in the neck, but multiple shots were missing altogether.

  “It’s because I had to take it apart again,” Clem explained, scowling. “It ruined the calibrating of the rifle. I would have had it otherwise.”

  I nodded. “That was probably it. I bet you get way more hits next time.”

  Clem smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. I squeezed back.

  * * *

  Over the next few hours, Clem did manage some improvement, even putting together a neat grouping out at a hundred and fifty meters. She had a problem with the moving targets though, only hitting one of the five through the shoulder.

  “Fucking godsdamn piece of shit!” she yelled as her last shot hit the back of the wall, missing all six targets completely. She picked the rifle up off the tripod and threw it on the dusty floor as hard as she could.

  My eyes fell on Pearl, wondering how she would react, but she was on her pad, tapping away at what looked like a message.

  “You break it, you pay for it, darling,” Pearl finally said, putting her pad back in her pocket. “Not that you have any money, but I’m sure we can find some extra chores for you to do.”

  Clementine looked angrier than I had seen her in a long time. “It’s not my fault that this thing doesn’t shoot straight.”

  The last time she’d been like this, she’d just stuck a knife in Alonso’s shoulder.

  Pearl remained perfectly calm. “Gun’s fine. You just need more practice.”

  Clem scowled. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “For what, three hours?” Pearl shook her head. “You have an affinity for close combat, but that doesn’t mean you’ll automatically excel at everything you try. Take Abigail here, for example.” She motioned at me, and I felt myself blush. “She has a talent for this, with a required patience that many otherwise lack. Learn from her as she has learned from you.”

  Clem’s eyes darted to me, still angry. I thought she was about to lash out at me, but instead, she simply sighed. “Fine,” she muttered, bending to pick the rifle back up. She put it on the blanket and started taking it apart. “I’ll clean it and try again.”

  She had to clean dust from some of the pieces, but by the time she was finis
hed and folding the blanket up, Pearl had left and come back with what looked like a thick belt made of leather.

  “These aren’t really my specialty,” Pearl said, laying the belt on the table. “It’s more Galion’s thing. Talk to him, and he’ll teach you how to use them.”

  Clem leaned in closer to the belt, her hands touching the Velcro strap that kept it closed. Eagerly, she pulled it open, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to gleam.

  There was a line of knives inside. Some throwing blades. A fifteen-centimeter-long combat knife. Another that was longer, curving at the edge. There were so many kinds, most of which I’d never seen before. Each of the grips were charcoal black, and the metal a kind of gray. Upon closer inspection, they didn’t look fully real.

  Clem was utterly entranced. “Are these for me?”

  “For your training, yes,” Pearl answered with a smile. “Keep them clean and sharp. When you’re ready or during one of your training missions, you’ll be given real and proper weapons. For now, learn to use these.”

  “Thank you, Miss Pearl!” Clem exclaimed, already jogging toward the exit.

  “Where are you going?” asked Pearl.

  “To find Mr. Galion, of course!” she replied. “I want to get started right away!”

  When she was gone, I turned back to Pearl. “So, I’m not getting a belt of knives?” I asked.

  “No,” Pearl said, a smile on her lips as she placed a hand on my shoulder. “I have something else in mind for you.”

  Ten

  My eyes flicked left and right. My heart pounded in my ears, and my stomach tightened.

  I had gone over this drill for what felt like a hundred times, but it never failed to lodge my heart in my throat. I blinked a droplet of sweat from my eyes, and my fingers held tightly to the rubber grip of the pistol in my hands.

  It was small, easy to conceal, and relatively quiet, made even more so by the ten-centimeter suppressor. The downside was that a gun this small had very little in the way of stopping power. That meant that each shot had to count. I had to be precise.

  Pearl had spent the better part of the last three months drilling me in the various advantages and drawbacks of each choice of firearm.

  And I had to admit, I liked them all very much.

  I brushed my arm across my eyes, wiping the sweat away as I moved slowly. I kept my senses attuned to any sounds around me as I moved toward the corner, careful to control my breathing the way that Pearl had taught me to. It didn’t slow my heart rate, but it did keep my hands from shaking.

  The training still wasn’t easy. I had mixed feelings every time I went to bed, and I kept dreaming about pistols and target dummies, but at this moment, I felt a whisper of a thrill inside my chest, a rush of exhilaration that pulled at me in ways I’d never felt before I learned to hold a gun. A sense of satisfaction came from doing something that I was good at. It was hard, but each solution that I reached felt natural and easier each time.

  I took in a deep breath, dropping down into a squat and twisting my body around the nearby corner. I had to hit the targets before they hit me.

  As soon as I had one in sight, I squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked lightly back into my hand, and I released two rapid shots with great precision, tagging the dummy as it swung around, bringing its laser towards me. As the red beam landed on the wall beside me, it disappeared, seemingly dead. Another rotating dummy appeared through the leftmost wall, this time knowing my exact position. Smart Targets, Pearl had called them. They learned where I was from my actions, which made things all the more difficult.

  Still, I couldn’t hear my heartbeat anymore.

  I squeezed the trigger again. The small weapon coughed and jumped back in my hands. The new target went still as the bullet slammed into its center red ring, located where the head would be, indicating a kill shot.

  Another came from the rear immediately, this one swinging its head and torso, breaking my view of the targets on its body. I brought the barrel to meet the dummy, and immediately fired two quick shots, each at its head.

  Hit. Hit. Dead.

  The dummy stopped rotating and came to a complete stop, slumping its head and arms forward to simulate death.

  Three targets. Three kills.

  Clean kills were essential to our work. They kept the organization in demand, high at the top of our clients’ call list.

  I still wasn’t sure how old the organization was. Angus the V.I. always deflected my questions when I asked. Probably Mulberry’s fault.

  He was also the cause of the extra stress that I had dealt with during this mock-mission. Over the months since our mission with Pearl, Mulberry had come to watch me train. Not all the time, but it was typical to find him watching me once or twice a week. I wasn’t sure why he did that, except that he must be trying to decide if I was worth keeping around. I couldn’t say I blamed him for that. I was nothing compared to the rest of them.

  Pearl, for example, was a real artist with guns. She could hit every target faster than me, and she knew so much about firearms that I found it inspiring. Her mind was like an encyclopedia of death.

  “Range is clear,” I called behind me.

  Pearl entered, squatting down to inspect the dummies. She put a marker on where each shot landed. I moved towards her for a closer look.

  “Not bad, Abby,” she said, a sense of satisfaction on her face. It was a rare but pleasing thing to see, and I found myself hoping for it every time we did this. “Not bad at all.”

  I grinned back, doing a small mock-curtsy. “Why, thank you, Miss Pearl.”

  “Keep in mind, no matter how good the dummies, real people are unpredictable.” I heard a deep, rumble of a voice from behind me.

  I had learned to anticipate Mulberry’s silent approaches. They no longer took me by surprise like they had when I first came to this place. Back then, I could have sworn to the gods that he was actually a ghost, capable of walking through walls.

  Perhaps he was, and I had only grown used to it.

  “Headshots all around.” Mulberry came closer. “You know, I think we may have a budding prodigy on our hands.”

  “Pearl’s a great teacher, Mr. Pryar,” I answered. “She could teach anyone to do this.”

  Pearl cocked her brow and smiled at me, taking a moment to ruffle my hair playfully as she walked past me.

  “Keep it going, kid,” said Mulberry, giving me a slight nod. “You have a long way to go, but you’re getting there.”

  I smiled and returned the nod. I wanted to ask if Clementine could join me but refrained. The two of us still had class together, as well as general exercise and hand-to-hand combat lessons, but the specialization lessons were taken individually. Pearl was teaching me how to handle a wide selection of firearms, while Clem was undergoing similar instruction in knives and blades of all sorts from Galion.

  I had seen him fighting, and I estimated that he had to be Number Four or Five in the guild. I took a few classes from him myself, trying to expand my skill set. While I wasn’t at Clementine’s level, I could feel myself improving a lot with each session. My confidence was better than it had once been, and it made everything else so much easier.

  “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Mulberry said. “But I want you and Clementine reporting to my office right after. I have something that I need to talk to the two of you about. Understood? Shall we say, an hour from now?”

  “Yes, Mr. Pryar,” I said, inspecting my pistol and twisting the suppressor off the barrel. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  “Did he tell you what this was about?” Clementine asked, jogging to catch up with me.

  I shook my head. “He just said to be in his office right after lunch. Said he had something he needed to talk to us about.”

  Clem narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

  I turned around, surprised. “What? Nothing. I didn’t do anything. He just told me—”

  “I’m kidding, you idiot,” she said with a laug
h. She grinned and pressed her fist into my shoulder. “You need to work on not being so gullible.”

  “I’m not that gullible, I—” I paused, not sure how to continue that argument. “Okay, fine. I’ll work on it.”

  Clem grinned. “Adorable.”

  It was my turn to playfully punch her in the shoulder, so I did.

  The door was open when we arrived, and Mulberry was already seated at his desk, reading over something on his pad. We quietly entered and took our seats opposite him.

  “We have a new assignment on Osiris,” he started, the low rumble of his voice still unmistakable as he set the pad down on the desk and looked up at us. “A kill order on a member of one of the criminal factions here in Ruto.”

  So, this was another job. We’d gone with Pearl on fourteen individual assignments by now. Each time, the work had been easier, smoother, simpler than before. We had done as she’d told us, and slowly we were able to take more responsibility. Never any kills, though. We both still had yet to pull the actual trigger ourselves. I suspected that time would come eventually, although I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Why isn’t Pearl here for this?” asked Clementine, and I suddenly realized she was right. Pearl had always been in the room during a mission brief.

  “She’s not going with you this time,” he said, plainly.

  The two of us paused, blinking curiously at the old man before everything finally clicked.

  “Are you saying—” Clementine paused, excitement bubbling up in her expression. “Are you saying this is ours?”

  He nodded.

  I raised my brow. I could see Clementine almost jumping out of her seat, only stopping herself by gripping the arms of the chair.

  “I—we’re ready, Mr. Pryar!” she said, grinning.

  Again, I found myself caught up in my sister’s excitement, smiling despite the growing dread in my stomach.

  A job of our own? I couldn’t fathom the idea. We’d improved in our training, been on a handful of missions, but we weren’t experts yet. Far from it, actually.