Fourteen #2
Isako gets up, slowly this time. Kob keeps his back politely turned, busying himself in the kitchen as she pulls on her leggings and tucks the oversized shirt into her waistband.
She sees him open a bottle of big white pills and take two of them with a swallow from his mug, which reminds her that she’s missing the anti-inflammatory osteoarthritis meds she left back in the hotel room.
With Kob’s back turned, she notices that his hair is starting to thin.
She and Kob met in atier training as seventeen-year-olds—paired together repeatedly for longknife exercises because of comparable height and skill, both of them well ahead of the others in their cohort on account of the head start they received, Isako from her reputed kithfather, Kob from older relatives in the edge life.
Going through training and licensing together made them friends; circumstance made them comrades.
For six glorious years, they worked for closely allied divisions—Isako in Supply Logistics, Kob in Freight the longer nights spent defending transports and facilities from saboteurs and hijackers.
She and Kob were the first ID on each other’s line, the reliable longknife at each other’s back.
They made their names together in those years. Quickblade and Strikebreaker.
Strikebreaker. A moniker Kob’s earned many times over.
Spoken with admiration and reverence in the Agency and among the Company directorship.
Whispered with fear and loathing by disruptive wagefolk who find themselves facing the man as an opponent.
It was a known fact in Tenacity: No one could quash a revolt like Strikebreaker.
Just like no one could wield the longknife like Quickblade.
Good grief, look at the two of us now.
When Isako comes over to the kitchen, Kob gestures her onto the lone stool and remains standing as he sets plates on the counter. The meal consists of not only two fried eggs, yolks soft and bright orange, but thick bread with real goat milk butter, strawberries, and black tea.
Isako’s amazed. “This is too expensive,” she protests. “You must’ve been saving all this for a special occasion.”
“Indeed I was, and that occasion is having the best longkniveswoman in the whole Company unexpectedly visit me,” Kob declares, raising his mug to her in salute before taking an appreciative sip.
Isako wraps her hands around the ceramic, warming them pensively. She doesn’t understand how Kob can eat so well while living on offscrip in such modest surroundings. Are there even grocers that sell real butter who will accept offscrip?
As if reading the question in her dubious expression, Kob explains, “I have some friends, former clients in Food Supply, who throw me work now and again. I protect their transports from thieves and hijackers and they pay me with extra perishable luxuries like eggs and fruit rather than offscrip.” He tucks into his breakfast with obvious enjoyment.
“I don’t mind, personally. Can’t walk into a nice market and buy eggs with offscrip, anyhow.
I’d rather earn a good meal than some bits. ”
Isako cuts a piece off the fried egg on her plate and puts it in her mouth.
The soft, warm, salty sensation makes her sigh with pleasure.
When Astrocom was a prosperous, growing division, she used to regularly indulge in fresh fruit, dairy, even meat.
During the war, however, survival became the only goal and everyone took home less scrip, even the director and his atier.
She hasn’t had real eggs in months. Strange to be enjoying them now, in the home of a ronin.
They eat in silence for several minutes, savoring the food, before Isako finally asks the question she can no longer hold in.
She sets down her fork, her plate clean.
“So what happened?” She tries to sound as neutral as possible, to keep any sign of astonishment or pity out of her voice.
“You’re the last atier I’d expect to find without his badge. ”
Kob finishes his bread and tea, then pushes aside the empty plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“What happened,” he begins slowly, “is that I got tired. My last long-term assignment was the Utilities Strike. Three divisions were involved. It was a bad one, Isa. A lot of terms. That’s when I injured my shoulder, too—took months for it to heal. That job really took a lot out of me.”
She’s unsure of what to say. She doesn’t buy it.
Kob thrives on difficult jobs. He has a reputation for handling the most contentious situations with aplomb, integrity, and unparalleled effectiveness, then moving on to the next challenge.
Strikebreaker is an anomaly among contractors.
Although he’s had directors wanting to sign him to an Exclusive contract, he’s always turned them down.
He’s even had two directors offer to hire him as a permanent wageman, but he turned those down, too.
Other contractors would gladly give a limb for the offers he’s received.
But Kob’s too independent. He’s said before that he can’t imagine staying with one client or one division.
He goes where he wishes and where he’s needed, resolves the thorniest problems, commands the highest fees.
She heard about the Utilities Strike, of course.
It was all over the Companynet at the time.
Whole sections of Tenacity facing intermittent power outages, water shortages, reduced heat and oxygen.
Panicked people making a run on portable heaters and o-masks, hoarding food, water, and inexplicably, toilet paper.
Premature but rampant fears that the situation could escalate into a violent, widespread conflict on the order of magnitude of the Prosperity Revolt.
The whole mess came to an end when one of the rebellious parties agreed to a secret deal with the directors.
One entire striking faction was obliterated in a single overnight raid; the other was forced into terms of surrender.
The backroom deal that solved everything and restored citywide operations was orchestrated, naturally, by Rain Kob.
Strikebreaker received a commendation and special bonus directly from the Sweetsea. He was a hero of the Company.
Isako doesn’t begrudge her friend any of his success, but it’s galling how the same unpleasant, difficult DTE work can make a longknivesman into a villain or a hero.
No one wants to see a bunch of forced resignations.
But they really, really don’t want the flow of water and oxygen interrupted.
The Company supplies both, so a hero of the Company is a hero of the people, even if Kob’s gloomy tone makes it clear that he doesn’t feel like one.
Still, she doesn’t believe any one job could make Kob give up his badge.
Besides, the Utilities Strike was nearly two years ago.
“You haven’t taken another contract since then?
” Isako’s flabbergasted. “You must’ve had your pick of clients.
Directors would hire you just to intimidate their rivals and grumbling wagemen.
You could’ve found an easy assignment, taken a breather if you needed one, but stayed in the game. Kept your atier license, at least.”
Kob folds his arms on the counter and nods sagely at this wisdom.
“I didn’t want to stay in the game anymore, Isa.
” He looks around his apartment thoughtfully, as if contemplating anew how he ended up here.
“I took on one more job—another nasty bit of DTE—but my heart wasn’t in it.
After that, I turned down all the contracts that came my way.
Every one, no matter how well they paid, or how prestigious the client.
After a while, people stopped asking. When it was time for me to go into the Agency to renew my license, I just…
didn’t. I was automatically demoted to midtrac and then to gencon, and then my license expired and my black badge and scripline stopped working.
I became a ronin by default. It wasn’t like I woke up one day and made the decision. I just fell into it.”
Isako understands getting tired of the edge life.
Tired of client service, tired of violence.
Just tired . But she’s never contemplated turning her back on the Code.
Freelancing is what happens to wagefolk who are out of options and unemployable ronin who can’t land new clients.
Not legendary atiers who have plenty of prospects.
And when no prospects are left, at least there’s the dignity of a proper exit, an untarnished career, recognition of one’s final bequest.
A younger Rain Kob would’ve had nothing but contempt for this man in front of her.
There must be more going on that he’s not telling her about, some mental breakdown that made the great Strikebreaker just… give up .
Kob smiles knowingly, not with his broad white teeth, but with thick, closed lips. “You’re wondering why I didn’t resign.”
She hesitates. “I wasn’t going to ask.”
A shadow crosses Kob’s face as he looks down at his empty plate. “You’re probably thinking that if you were in my situation, you’d do the respectable thing. I can understand why you’d judge me.”
She should’ve kept in better touch with Kob.
Just like she should’ve stayed in contact with Martim.
If she had, maybe she could’ve supported him when he needed it.
At the very least, she’d understand him better now.
“It’s not my place to judge,” she says. “Or anyone else’s place. It’s a personal decision.”