For a Few Credits More: More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 7)

by Chris Kennedy

  “Gotta hide somewhere,” Rylin said. “Can’t spend too much time in one place, especially someone in Moran’s position. Calista is just as good as any other rock. There’s the bastard.”

  Ahead, six lanes of traffic flowed in and out of Calista’s only starport. It wasn’t quite bumper-to-bumper, but the roads were far from empty. Nemis, Calista’s capital, was home to three-quarters of a million people, not to mention tourists and hyperspace layovers, making travel around the city decidedly slow during rush hour. For a moment Mac didn’t see their target, then a compact car abruptly changed lanes twice, passing cars in three lanes without slowing.

  “Not very subtle, is he?”

  Rylin grunted. “Would you be?”

  Mac considered for a moment. “I guess not.”

  Rylin grunted again. “Hold on.”

  The flyer dipped, descending toward the stream of traffic below. Even with his Peacemaker body armor keeping him snug and secure in his seat, Mac pressed a hand against the ceiling again, praying the flyer wouldn’t come apart under the stresses of Rylin’s piloting.

  If I never have to fly with this maniac again, it’ll be too soon, Mac thought.

  “Okay,” Rylin said, leveling the flyer out. He centered them over the starport’s inbound lanes. “Don’t let that son of a bitch pass the outer marker.”

  A reticle appeared on the heads-up-display in front of Mac, flashing orange and red. He turned to his trainer, unable to hide his shock. “You want me to fire while he’s in traffic?”

  “You have another way of stopping him?”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit risky? He’s surrounded by civilians.”

  “Our charge is to bring him in. You wanted to be a Peacemaker; here’s where you earn your tree.”

  Mac flexed his fingers around the fire controls, eyes focused on the traffic below. Jessup Moran’s car continued its reckless slalom, narrowing missing cars in his bid for freedom. Mac was a decent shot with the cannons, but what if he missed? How many civilians were down there? How many of his people?

  He released the controls. “I—”

  “Oh, for the love of…” Rylin flipped a switch, bringing the flyer’s weapons under his control, aimed with his upper hands, and fired.

  The cannons barked underneath the flyer, spewing bright beams of energy, and the pavement directly behind Moran’s car exploded, sending a plume of debris into the air. Lines of cars behind the explosion slid sideways, crashing into each other, trying to avoid the destruction.

  “Son of a bitch!” Rylin adjusted his arm and fired again.

  This time, the two beams cut into Moran’s car, ripping through the rear of the vehicle, sending it spinning.

  “Got ‘em!”

  Rylin brought the flyer around, making a wide circle around the smoking wreck. A lone figure crawled from what was left of the car and looked up as they touched down on an open space in the road. Mac locked eyes with Jessup Moran for the briefest of moments before the murderer turned and ran.

  The flyer’s glass canopy slid open as they neared the ground.

  “You waiting for an invitation?” Rylin asked, unbuckling his harness.

  Mac cursed, unclasping his harness, and jumped to the pavement. He caught a glimpse of their quarry disappearing through a cloud of smoke and started after him.

  “Stop!” Mac yelled. “Peacemakers! You’re under arrest!”

  Citizens backed out of his way, and he zig-zagged through the maze of stopped cars. Moran checked over his shoulder once, then seemed to push harder, opening the distance between them. Mac gritted his teeth and pressed on.

  A blast of warm air hit him from above as Rylin’s flyer shot past. It flew over Moran and banked hard, bring the bottom of its turbofans to bear. The powerful downwash knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling. He rolled to a stop just as Mac rounded a car between them and charged.

  Mac dropped his shoulder and plowed straight into Moran, knocking him back. They hit the pavement and rolled, a single mass of arms and legs. Mac ended up on his back, fending off a series of quick blows. He bucked his hips, throwing Moran sideways off of him, then spun, coming up behind him on his knees. He pulled his stunner from his belt, clicked it on and brought it up.

  “Don’t mov—”

  Something crashed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs. He fell back, his head smacking against the pavement. Pain shot through him as stars danced in his vision. He brought up the stunner and he squeezed the trigger, firing blind.

  A scream ripped through the air and Mac forced himself to ignore the nauseating pain, pushing himself upright. Moran had fallen to his side, his entire body locked in convulsion as 50,000 volts pulsed through his body.

  Mac got to one knee, keeping the stunner aimed on Moran, ready to fire again. “Roll to your chest!”

  Moran groaned. A second later the charge subsided, and his body stopped twitching. He rolled over, but instead of laying down, he got to his hands and knees.

  “Stay down!” Mac yelled, getting to his feet.

  Moran rose to his knees, glaring at Mac, anger and hatred filling his eyes. “Peacemakers.” He spat. “Bunch of crooks with badges.”

  “I’ll hit you again,” Mac told him, emphasizing the stunner.

  Slowly, Moran started to raise his hands. “Fucking pig—”

  Something connected hard with Moran’s head, knocking him sideways. He cried out, landing hard against the pavement. Out of nowhere, Rylin was on top of him, slamming gloved fists into Moran’s face.

  “You son of a bitch!” Rylin yelled between blows, his four fists punching like pistons.

  Stunned, Mac lowered his weapon and watched as blow after blow landed, turning Moran’s face into a bloody mess. Rylan held him up with his lower set of hands, while the upper set continued to pummel him. The sheer brutally of it all gave Mac pause. Unsure of what to do or say, he stood, frozen.

  “Kill a fucking Peacemaker, huh?” Rylin shouted, his voice cracking as he landed another punch. Moran’s body started to sag to the pavement. Rylin pulled him up by his collar. “Oh no, you don’t!”

  Mac looked over his shoulder at the line of traffic, now completely stopped and sitting in the roadway. People stood outside their vehicles, their watching faces covered in horror and fear. Their expressions mirrored what Mac was feeling.

  He stepped forward, putting a hand on Tobias’s shoulder. “Rylin.”

  “Not now,” Tobias said.

  Mac persisted, squeezing his shoulder. “Peacemaker Rylin, that’s enough.”

  Rylin hesitated mid-swing and looked back at Mac, his eyes filled with rage. “What did you say?”

  “He’s had enough.”

  “Enough?” Rylin let Moran’s limp body fall to the ground. He leaned in close, speaking so only Mac could hear. “He’s had enough when I say he’s had enough, Rookie. Cop killers don’t get to just walk into jail. I figured even you backwater Marshals would understand something like that. We protect our own out here, it’s us versus them.”

  “This isn’t protecting anyone.”

  Rylin held both of Mac’s shoulders while he jabbed a finger into Mac’s chest. “Listen up, Rook, and listen good. This is how it’s done. Don’t forget whose side you’re on. You give these assholes an inch, they’ll take you for a mile. You wanted to be a Peacemaker; this is what it’s about. Murderers don’t get any compassion from me, much less a murderer of a Peacemaker. There’s a special place in hell for this asshole and those like him.”

  Moran moaned. “I didn’t…”

  Rylin turned and kicked him, hard, and the man gasped in pain. “Shut up!”

  Sirens echoed in the distance. Mac looked up and was relieved to see a familiar flash of red and blue in the distance. He wondered who it would be. He’d had little contact with his old Marshal unit since he’d started training, one of the many requirements Rylin had imposed after he’d signed on with the Guild.

  Please, don’t let it be Tonks, he
thought as the Marshal flyers dropped out of the sky.

  Moran groaned again, rolling to his side, clutching his stomach, spitting blood onto the pavement. At that moment Mac felt something he’d never felt in his ten years as a cop, something he never thought he’d feel for a criminal. Sympathy. He tried to force it down, tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Instead, it grew, overwhelming him. His stomach turned.

  Several Marshals ran up as Rylin finished putting Moran in cuffs. Tonks wasn’t among them.

  “Jessup Moran is in Peacemaker custody. We need to secure the area and get those people back. You two, escort the prisoner to our flyer.” He turned to Mac as they escorted Moran away. “You have something you want to say?”

  Though there were plenty of things he wanted to say, Mac simply shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “Good. Get him loaded up and let’s get the hell off this rock.” Rylin turned and walked toward their flyer, ignoring the chaos around him.

  Mac watched as the two Marshals led Moran to the flyer. The sympathy he’d felt only moments before was fading, replaced with something entirely different, determination. He’d spent the better half of his adult life on the road to becoming a Peacemaker, and now, here, when that goal was in sight, a stark realization came over him.

  Macintosh Sacobi knew he would never be a Peacemaker.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Mac wasn’t a slow runner, but trying to keep up with an Amore at full sprint was damn near impossible, even for the fittest of Human runners. The Amore looked a lot like a Veetanho, but was leaner and fast. He caught brief glimpses of the furry alien as he bounded through the crowd. The more he thought about it, the more Mac was convinced his partner enjoyed startling the crap out of civilians. A woman screamed, throwing her hands into the air and backing away as Tonks abruptly changed direction, disappearing into an alley.

  Mac reached the corner a second later, gasping for air. He heard another scream, but this time it was male. Halfway down the alley, Tonks was wrestling with their suspect. Both were scrambling for better position, but it was a losing battle, Mac knew. For his size, Tonks was a better-than-average scrapper and much stronger than he appeared.

  Tonks snarled as the man grabbed for his long tail, trying to pull him off. Tonks lashed out, tearing the man’s clothes to shreds with razor claws. The man pulled hard on his tail, causing the furry alien to squeal.

  “I’ll rip your damn face off for that!” Tonks yelled.

  Mac skidded to a stop, leveling his pistol. “Enough, Sullivan. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  After another second of wrestling for a better position and neither finding one, they both stopped and stared up at the barrel of Mac’s 10mm pistol.

  “We done here?” Mac asked.

  Sullivan relented. Keeping his gaze fixed on Mac, he rolled onto his stomach. Tonks cuffed him, stood, and stepped next to Mac, his head barely reaching the Human’s chest.

  “I almost had him.”

  Their prisoner flicked hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. “You didn’t have anything you filthy little space-rat.”

  Tonks lunged forward to attack, but Mac caught him by the shoulder, pulling him back. “Whoa, hang on, Tonks. Now that wasn’t very nice, Henry.”

  The man spit, pushing himself up to his knees. “Like I give a shit about what you or that rat thinks?”

  “You might,” Mac said. “He’s the one that’s going to be doing your booking paperwork, and sometimes it takes him hours to get the reports typed up.”

  Tonks held up his small, four-fingered hands, sneering. His razor-sharp teeth made Sullivan’s eyes widen.

  “Yeah,” the Amore said. “That’s what I thought.”

  Henry Sullivan, gambler, conman, and all around deplorable, didn’t resist on their trek back to the street.

  A Marshal prisoner transport kicked up a cloud of dust as it touched down beside their patrol cars. The transport officer had the back door open as the two Marshals and their prisoner approached.

  Tonks gave Sullivan an extra kick as they ushered him into the transport.

  “Hey,” Sullivan cried, his voice echoing inside the metal enclosure. “You can’t do that, I want your name and shield number.”

  “T-O-N-K-go screw yourself!” Tonks said, slamming the door shut with a clang.

  The transport officer looked up from his slate. “Gees, Tonks, what’d he do to you, skin your sister?”

  Tonks pointed a short, brown finger. “That’s strike two, Binelli.”

  “What happens when I get to three?” Binelli asked, laughing.

  “Bad things,” Tonks told him in a low, ominous tone. “Very bad things.”

  The officer raised his hands above his head in mock surrender, eyes wide. “Oooooh.”

  Mac shook his head. “Make sure he gets straight to booking, Binelli. And have the escort team help you, he’s squirrelly.”

  “Not a bad day’s work, Mac. Glad to have you back. The streets of Nemis are in good hands.”

  “Not that they weren’t while he was gone,” Tonks said.

  Mac grinned. “Good to be back.”

  “And don’t forget,” Tonks said as Binelli pulled himself into the driver’s seat. “Fast and furry-ous my friend. Fast and furry-ous.”

  Binelli shook his head, and the two Marshals stepped back as the transport’s engines spun up. Mac held up a hand, shielding his eyes as the transport lifted into the air, kicking up dust around them again. A second later it disappeared into the traffic above them.

  “It is good to have you back, though,” Tonks said.

  “Nice to know I was missed.”

  “Eh, I wouldn’t say that.” Tonks reached down and pulled a small cylinder off the rear-end of Sullivan’s car. “I knew you’d be back. It was just a matter of time. I won’t say I told you so, but…I told you so.”

  Mac grunted. The Amore was right, not that he’d never admit it openly. “How’d you manage to get Command Staff to approve those things anyway?”

  Tonks tossed the device in his hand. “What, this old thing? It’s all in how you present it. They love it when you start throwing around phrases like ‘reduced liability’ and ‘increased safety’ and blah, blah, blah. Gave me a six-month test period, and had them installed on our units.”

  Mac held out his hand, and Tonks tossed it over. “And they’ll track anywhere on the planet.”

  “Wouldn’t be much good if they didn’t.”

  A loud commotion across the street drew their attention.

  “You’re a real piece of shit, Boss!” a woman yelled.

  “Whoa,” Tonks said. “What’s this?”

  Two groups of mercenaries surrounded a man and woman who seemed to be in the middle of a really good argument. Mac cocked his head to the side, trying to hear.

  “Oh, it’s Boss now? What happened to Johnny?” The man leaned forward, speaking so only the woman could hear. The woman shook her head, pulling against a tall Besquith wearing a wolf’s head helmet. To Mac’s surprise, she actually managed to pull the massive alien off balance.

  “You haven’t changed, Boss,” the woman said. “Always blaming everyone else for your problems. I told you going after Protness was a bad idea. Did you listen? You left us there to die!”

  “You refused to exfiltrate when I gave the order!”

  A transport flew past, its engines kicking up dust and drowning out all other sound. Mac cursed, looking away, protecting his face.

  “…I divorced you the last time, Johnny Boss!” the woman said, pulling free of the Besquith. She turned and stormed away, her small group of mercenaries close in tow.

  “And I thought my wife was crazy,” Tonks said, pulling off his gun belt. “You working another double?”

  “Yeah,” Mac said, watching the other mercenary crew turn and make their way through the quarter.

  “You really should take some time off, my friend. I know you feel guil
ty about leaving, but working all the time isn’t going to do anything but burn you out.”

  Mac shrugged. “Don’t have anything better to do I guess.”

  “Yeah, well, if I don’t get home, Grinna will do more than just divorce me.”

  “You better get home then; I wouldn’t want to find your body left in a field somewhere.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Tonks said. “If my wife has anything to do with it, there won’t be a body to find.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Three

  Mac spent the next hour typing the Sullivan report, then returned to his patrol route above the city. His Marshal squad flew smoothly through the congested traffic skyways, soaking up information. Registration numbers, facial recognition programs, and active sound sensors provided Mac with an almost overwhelming amount of information, but aside from a few expired registrations, the night was relatively quiet.

  Every so often his thoughts would drift back to the argument from the mercenary quarter, something nagged at him about it, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. A search through the transit logs showed that Boss had arrived on a ship registered to the Ogre Fist Company, a small mercenary outfit. Mac’s last option was a long-shot, running it through the regional contract database. The less secure records weren’t the most reliable, but they were better than nothing.

  The OFC had bids on several low-priority contracts, nothing compared to what the Four Horseman groups would typically pull, but they appeared to make a livable wage at least. Most of their contracts were attached to back-water worlds where the Peacemakers and the larger mercenary groups didn’t operate because the return on investment was next to nothing.

  An alert flashed on his cockpit’s display, a bar fight at the Twelve Gage Laser. Mac shook his head as he read. Two merc gangs fighting, several units en route. The bar was only a few kilometers outside his response area, and he knew from experience, mercs had a propensity to take things much further than they needed.

  Mac adjusted his course, then turned back to his information on the Ogre Fist, scrolling to a list of registered members. He didn’t recognize any of the names, but hadn’t expected to. He clicked through to a list of past members. Halfway through the list his breath caught in his throat.