“It’s a polymer that inhibits digital surveillance and protects against small caliber chem rounds. Should deflect weaker lasers, but a plasma pulse would light this thing up,” Boudicca said.
Ivan nodded his head to acknowledge her as they moved inside. The giant tent seemed to be broken up into many smaller spaces. It had a high canopy above and a table that was at least 20 feet long running the length of it. On top of the table were the remains of a feast.
“That’s why my security team scans newcomers for anything that could emit a plasma pulse,” a deep voice said. “Can’t have trigger-happy idiots burning my tent down.”
“It’s Lucky,” Crovax whimpered as the ground thundered.
Crovax moved behind Boudicca as the eight-foot-tall Tarva ducked under a flap in the far corner. The quasi-minotaur barely cleared the opening with his two bull-like horns. Lucky blew air out of his bovine snout as he stomped to the head of the table, flanked by a couple of toothy Besquith security guards.
Ivan and Boudicca had studied the Tarva, but the colossal mountain of fur and muscle was far more imposing standing above you. Half of Lucky’s right horn was missing, he had bones braided into his beard, and he was wearing some sort of leather gladiatorial girdle.
“Lucky, this is Ivan,” said Crovax. Ivan glanced over to see the bookie’s beady eyes were looking at the ground. “He is one of my regular patrons who normally can’t pick a winner in a one-man race—”
Lucky’s fist hit the table in a sudden motion. The action cut the weasel off and caused all the dishes and plates to jump. Ivan jumped, too…but only a little.
“When I want the words of a slave, I’ll demand them! Speak again, and I’ll break your neck and make a blanket out of you. Now, Ivan, is it? Who are you, and why are you here?”
From their research, Ivan knew he couldn’t show this creature fear. Tarva were bullies who took pleasure in torturing the weak. There was also their berserker rage, which he didn’t even want to think about.
He jumped onto the table and approached the beast. Leaning down, he scooped up what appeared to be an animal leg of some kind and took a bite as he walked closer. When he was within striking distance of Lucky, he took a bite, then bowed deeply in a ridiculous flourish. This was not part of Boudicca’s plan.
“Ivan Petrov: ex-merc, failed bounty hunter, and suddenly a wealthy gambler. I struck it big with the Spice Cartel and wanted to keep my luck rolling. Betting with anyone named Lucky just made sense. But the fighting pits just don’t get my juices flowing anymore. The stakes are too low. I want more blood, more excitement, and more risk. Was your furry little slave correct? Are you the one to see for this?
He wasn’t sure if his voice was trembling, or if his heart was just racing too fast. Regardless, Ivan did his best to not choke on the foul-tasting meat while he waited for a response. He noticed Lucky didn’t appear to be armed, but his one good horn was encased in metal.
“And the Zuul?” Lucky enquired menacingly, having to slightly look upward at Ivan.
“My puppy? Come on, a man can’t be too careful. Hell, you have a couple wolves of your own,” he replied, motioning toward the Besquiths. “This business venture could go south, so I made assurances for my own safety.”
Lucky gestured toward the beast on his right. The bipedal wolf pulled a slate from its pocket and handed it to him. The tablet looked tiny in the Tarva’s oversized hands. After a few moments, the bull’s mouth twisted into a smile.
“It seems like you’re a very wealthy little human. But do you have the fire in your belly to bet on the ultimate fight? The Game is an apex hunt, with species from all over the galaxy being brought here to serve as prey. You can bet, or play the role of a hunter. Hunting costs extra.”
Ivan pretended to be bored with the concept and held his hand out lazily.
“I’m in. Hand me your slate, and I’ll read the stats myself. I’ll start off betting, but will probably get bored and join the hunt. I suppose you have some Tri-Vs somewhere for me to watch this unfold?”
After studying the information provided, Ivan was going to bet on one of the Zuul runners, but a scan of the hunters showed too many who looked promising, so he bet on the underrated Flatar. The odds of the foot-tall chipmunk winning the day were slim, but he knew looks could be deceiving. After putting his yack on the reader, Ivan placed his bet and held onto the slate.
“You mind if I keep this?” Ivan asked. “My slate broke on the way here. You can put it on my tab.”
He jumped down from the table and pretended to be preoccupied with the slate. Inside, he was just hoping he hadn’t gone overboard. He could feel Boudicca staring through the side of his head in disbelief.
Lucky waved off his guards and told the group to follow him deeper into the tent. They passed through some private viewing rooms into a larger area that was complete with a bar and multiple Tri-Vs. The room was empty except for a few patrons, the bartender, and a handful of guards loitering around. Ivan figured the elite gamblers likely had private viewing tents.
With no one to compete with for the bartender’s attention, Ivan went to the bar and ordered a large tankard of booze while Crovax and Boudicca secured a table. Wooden tables, made of the fake wood, added to the rustic look the tent seemed to be going for. None of the credits being accessed from his yack were legit, so he didn’t mind splurging.
“So now what?” Ivan said as he approached his companions and sat down.
“Did you really call me a puppy?” Boudicca put her hands on her head and sighed. Leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued. “I’m not sure what the play is. It’s beyond the scope of what we can hope to accomplish. We’re not going to be able to use a few darts and carry him out of here without getting killed. Plus, even if we bag him and manage to get him to my shuttle, it doesn’t have guns. We’ll get blasted out of the sky before we break atmosphere.”
Ivan didn’t have a clue what to do either. Instead, he worked on finishing his drink while he brainstormed. Reaching into his duster’s inside pocket for his brother’s die, he remembered he had left it behind. Knowing ghosts wouldn’t help him, he pushed the slate he had procured from Lucky over to Crovax.
“Can you do anything with this? Perhaps create a distraction or something? You said you had some access. This is your chance to get rid of that slave collar.”
The weasel grabbed the slate and began tapping away on it. Ivan turned his attention up to the Tri-V displays. It wasn’t like watching the fighting pits, where two beings chose to battle each other to the death. This was murder, plain and simple.
Ivan and Boudicca both jumped out of their chairs as automatic gunfire erupted from somewhere just outside of the tent. Crovax didn’t flinch at all; his hands continued working.
“I just accessed those automated turrets outside! They are firing at anything that moves. Is that a good enough distraction?”
“Lower your voice! Wait…what?” Boudicca growled. “With that slate?!”
Before she could get an answer, Lucky ripped a hole through the tent with his horns as he ran into the room. He snorted, stomped a meaty leg to the ground, and charged at their table like a deranged bull. Everything was knocked out of his way or trampled underfoot as he sprinted toward them. This included two patrons who screamed as he backhanded them out of his way.
Ivan threw himself sideways, just missing a fast-moving horn. A guttural screaming noise filled the area. Crovax had been impaled. The weasel’s body twisted and writhed as he attempted to lift his body off the gore-covered spike running through his back and sprouting out of his chest. The struggle didn’t last long. Lucky grabbed the limp body off his horn and threw it at Boudicca with both arms, knocking her flat.
Ivan un-holstered his CL-32 pistol and pointed it at Lucky’s back, which was now covered in blood.
“Don’t kill him!” Boudicca shouted as she rolled away from one massive Tarva foot. Her pistol flew from her paw as Lucky kicked her in the side. Sh
e yelped as the tree-sized leg sent her rolling a good 10 feet.
Ivan felt calm, oddly so. It was a feeling of déjà vu mixed with nausea. His finger squeezed the trigger twice, and Lucky roared as his immense weight was suddenly supported by obliterated knees. While the beast tumbled to the floor, projectiles and lasers began to cut through the air around Ivan. Returning fire, he ran toward where his mentor was lying.
Moving past the thrashing Tarva, he flipped a table on its side to serve as a barricade and started shaking Boudicca with his non-firing hand. Small-arms fire pounded the table, and he wondered how long it would hold. A groan indicated she was alive.
“We’re fucked!” Ivan shouted down toward her. He peeked over the synthetic table and put down two guards that were approaching. He fired clean shots, hitting just above the sternum in the un-armored throat area.
“Maybe,” she responded rolling onto a knee and yelping in pain. Her ribs were likely shattered, or worse. “There’s good news, though.”
“Yeah, what?”
“You aren’t the worst apprentice I’ve ever had.”
Ivan laughed for a moment, then a fur-covered hand the size of his chest grabbed the table and pushed it out of the way. Lucky had dragged his crippled body across the floor by his arms. Snot hit Ivan’s freshly trimmed face as the crazed bull snorted at him from the ground.
Ripping his duster free from his back, Ivan threw it over Lucky’s head. He tossed his pistol to Boudicca and moved on all fours past Lucky, trying to keep low. While he skittered forward like an animal, he heard her firing.
Grabbing the pistol she had dropped, he flipped the fire-select lever above the dual-magazine release button, which switched the pistol from laser to tranquilizer darts. Unsure how many to use, he fired all ten of them into the bull’s meaty ribs.
The moment the last dart impacted flesh, Lucky went limp. Ivan crawled forward, awkwardly dragging a table behind him. Once he was close enough, he gripped Lucky’s gore-covered horn in one hand and pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the bull’s head with the other.
Holding the Tarva head in front of his chest, he kicked the table out of the way. If the remaining security team wanted him, they’d have to shoot through their boss.
He smiled as the two remaining Besquith guards and the one Lumar stopped firing and ran to flank him. Boudicca didn’t let them move far, pinging them with laser fire before they could take a handful of steps. With no threats remaining, and the automatic turrets outside going silent, Ivan dropped Lucky’s head to the canvas deck with a thud.
“Get him shackled,” Boudicca said, while she struggled to stand.
Ivan had to use three pairs of electromagnetic cuffs to successfully bind the giant Tarva’s arms behind his back.
“How are we going to carry this big—”
His question was cut short as an object punched a hole through the tent’s canopy and landed in a blast of rocket fire. In the center of newly formed crater was a stark black CASPer with bright golden markings and the seal of a blue tree on the chest. Ivan knew a little bit about CASPers, but this seven-and-a-half foot mech suit looked regal as fuck.
“I am Peacemaker Enforcer Erlor Tram,” the CASPer’s speakers blared. “Surrender your weapons or face immediate verdict!”
Ivan tossed his pistol to the deck. Boudicca sighed, handed it back to him, then limped toward the CASPer with her badge out in front of her, motioning for Ivan to do the same.
The CASPer took three earth-shaking steps toward them and scanned their badges. When finished, Enforcer Tram looked around the space, taking obvious note of Lucky.
“Fine work, Bounty Hunter Boudicca,” Enforcer Tram stated via loudspeakers. “You and your apprentice have stumbled into a larger investigation into the Syndicate. After I dismantle this operation and secure those who have been kidnapped, I will meet you on your vessel to discuss the evidence you have collected and question your quarry.”
Enforcer Tram marched away in his machine of death and destruction. Ivan righted a chair and let Boudicca sit down. Crovax was dead, Lucky was tranquillized, and the contract would be fulfilled. There was only one thing left for him to do.
“Boudicca, you mind if I stay on with you for a while?”
“Ivan, you’ve earned a place on my ship, but not as my apprentice. I’ll recommend you for advancement to Tier-1. What do you say? Partners?”
“Deal.”
# # # # #
CONTRACT FULFILLED by Tim C. Taylor
Chapter 1
“That’s the last of our drones,” replied the MinSha from the acceleration cocoon secured near the combat information center’s, or CIC’s, dorsal bulkhead. “Five missiles got through. Seventy-eight seconds to impact.”
Branco sensed a question hanging in the air, an unspoken hesitation. The whole setup of this starship made no sense, though; maybe he was picking up on another epic-level incongruence. For a start, instead of using Tri-V holos or implant virtual spaces, the deck officers were wearing virtual reality glasses straight out of a museum.
“Helm, estimate time to transition.” The captain’s words were beginning to sound strained, which was disappointing. Branco had her down as the type of captain who never showed anxiety, no matter what.
“Ninety-one seconds, ma’am.”
Ah, that was the unspoken issue: they were all going to die.
“Captain,” said the weasel-like Zuparti who seemed to be the XO, “you nearly got away. You did well. Gloriana would rather you release the tail then lose the Midnight Blue.”
“True,” replied the captain, “but she would be pissed nonetheless, and angering our silent partner is not on my list of priorities. We are in disagreement, Venix. Should we ask our prisoner for his unbiased judgement? Mr. Branco, are you hearing this? The tail my XO speaks of is the outer shell of the ship, which we can jettison as a last resort. If we allow the missiles to catch our tail, perhaps we can break free of their pursuit long enough to make it through the stargate. What do you say?”
Branco tried to twist around to see Captain Sue Blue’s face, but the Midnight Blue’s acceleration pinned him in position as if the mass of the entire ship were resting on his ribcage. “I say…” he started, but the acceleration was squeezing his voice too hard. That wasn’t all it was squeezing. His poor, suffering testicles were demanding a frank discussion when this was all over about what he was subjecting them to. How did those spacers manage this? Branco tried raising his pitch and managed to gasp out a reply. “I say you make up your fucking mind, and you do it fast.”
What were these idiots thinking of, with just a handful of seconds before the missiles blew them to hell…? Or would they? Was this all just an elaborate piece of theater for his benefit? That would explain the weirdness he was sensing.
“Make up your mind, he tells me,” purred the captain. “Very well.”
Branco had the uncomfortable sense he was a saucer of cream that Captain Blue was licking up with sensual delight. She was toying with him.
“Oh!” she said suddenly. “Mr. Branco, I perceive from your facial expression you suspect me of subterfuge. You should compare notes with my XO, Commander Venix, who has been placed here to be professionally suspicious of everything I do, and yet none of these second guesses will mean a damn in approximately 28 seconds because we shall all be dead.”
“Use the tail!” urged Venix.
Manic laughter came from the captain’s acceleration cocoon, although it quickly descended into a wet cough. The captain cleared her throat of some constriction and announced her orders. “Helm, spin 180 degrees. All batteries, five missiles are trying to ram themselves up our tail pipe. Ready fire pattern delta.”
Captain Blue sighed, a tremor of pleasure mixed with hurt.
“Impact in eight seconds,” said the MinSha. Was it Branco’s imagination or was the alien’s chitinous flesh deepening from blue to purple?
“Please use the tail,” begged the Zuparti.
“Recomm
endation noted and denied,” said the captain.
Branco screamed, though not from fear.
Oh, he was terrified all right, and despite his cocoon’s buffering, the acceleration was like a squad of Besquith practicing yoga on his chest—with malicious intent. His body’s capacity to express his fear had been crushed out of him.
The scream sounded in his head because someone—presumably the captain—had hacked his implants and thrown him inside the ship’s sensor view.
Outwardly, the ship’s data systems appeared as obsolete as clay tablets and tickertape, but it clearly had hidden capabilities, because Branco’s perception had been forcibly ripped from his body and sent out into space. He was the ship. He was the Midnight Blue.
When he’d first come aboard the ancient vessel, he’d thought it was the strangest ship he’d ever seen. Although practically empty, she was big enough to carry an enhanced battalion of mercs, and the strangest thing of all was its hull—a polished sphere with a blindingly high albedo.
Now that he was the ship, her configuration didn’t seem strange at all. The central compartments, including the CIC, were conventionally oriented, so that under acceleration the force trying to pull him down through the deck was directed to the stern. Decks of the outer compartments, though, pointed outward through the spherical hull. And now that the outer hull had rotated 180° about the ship’s core, he realized some of those outer compartments would be better described as gun turrets.
The captain spoke a single word: “Fire!”
Space lit up with flames and weapon exhaust gases. Starlight reflected off a steady hail of enhanced-metal defensive munitions, quickly whipped away into a long tail at Midnight Blue’s ferocious speed—and the slightly faster the pursuing missiles. Hooked into the ship sensors, Branco felt ammo feeds pulsing through his body like blood as well as the ship’s joy as one, two, three, four missiles exploded…
And the dismay at the fifth that made it through the point defense.
For a Few Credits More: More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 7) Page 17