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

by Chris Kennedy

  * * *

  The fall was long enough it began to regret its decision. The splash at the bottom stunned it for a moment, but it quickly recovered and extracted itself. It sat for some time on the edge of the toilet dripping foul-smelling water, completely miserable. Then it dried enough to smell the trees again, and it remembered why it was here.

  It jumped from the edge of the toilet, still dripping, and crashed clumsily to the floor, being careful to keep its head as high as possible so it wouldn’t damage the object. It then snuck to the open door and peeked out.

  There were a few lights in the immense building, but it could sense no threats. What it saw next made it forget everything it had been worried about. It staggered out from the bathroom, too stunned to worry about potential predators.

  The warehouse was nearly a mile long and about half that wide. Trees in various stages of preparation were neatly stacked in orderly, uniform piles. It wandered forward, absolutely amazed by what it saw and smelled. It thought of all the potential creations it could make. Not even in its wildest dream could it imagine so much wood in one place.

  Then a thought occurred to it. Instead of several, maybe a hundred creations, why not just make one big one? The realization nearly made it swoon. It examined the stacks it could see carefully. Then it decided it needed a better view and climbed to the top of the nearest one. Piles of trees and lumber extended as far as it could see.

  It nearly dropped the object. It could start the creation anywhere, and it would grow. Then it heard a noise which had been growing. It had been able to ignore it until now, but the noise was becoming louder and seemed closer.

  The beings were coming, it realized. They were coming to see its newest creation! They were close, so it decided the spot it was standing was as good as any other spot.

  It pulled the object from its mouth and turned it over a couple of times until it remembered how to operate it. The big red thing on top, it remembered. It had to press the big red thing while having the shiny end close to the wood. The sound grew louder.

  It brought the shiny end close to the wood and pressed the big red part. It heard a click...but not the buzzing noise which always followed. It tried again, but got the same disappointing effect. It was confused, and the noise was growing louder and was much closer.

  It shook the object in frustration, and water flew from it. Then it understood. It had never tried using the object when it was wet, because it always did its best to stay out of the water. It must need to be dry for it to work. The sound grew louder. It shook the object furiously and little drops of water flew away.

  * * *

  “All deputies, report your position and how many others you have with you,” Enforcer Nik’Thil ordered.

  As the reports began coming in, one of the dispatchers plotted the coordinates, or estimated coordinates, on her slate. This information was fed to a Tri-V behind her desk, and this is what Nik’Thil studied. Two minutes later, when the reports began to dwindle, he turned to the dispatcher.

  “Who’s at this location,” he said, pointing a skinny finger at a blinking red dot on the tactical overlay of the city.

  The dispatcher looked and then quickly consulted her slate. “That’s Deputy Ka’Fin,” she said quickly.

  “Deputy Ka’Fin,” the enforcer said into his communicator.

  “Here,” a voice replied.

  “I see a gap in our search,” the enforcer said, squinting at the Tri-V’s display. “Bring your group to coordinates,” he paused for a moment, deciphering the overlay. “Bring them to D-553.”

  There was a long pause before Ka’Fin responded. “Uh, that’s right in the middle of the city. Aren’t we looking for forest fires?”

  Nik’Thil sighed before responding. “What is at that location, deputy?”

  Another long pause. “The sawmill!” the deputy replied, panic evident in his voice.

  * * *

  It tried the object, but it still didn’t make the sound it usually made. It shook the object again, this time much harder than before, and it slipped from the creature’s grip, seemingly in slow motion. The object flew away, turning slowly in the air, bounced off a log, and tumbled between a few, falling further and further into the stack.

  No, it thought. No, not now!

  It leapt from log to log, searching the area. Not now, it thought. I’m so close to my greatest creation. Great inky drops formed in its little eyes, and it blinked hard to clear its vision. Not here! It jumped on top of the next log and checked. Then it ran to the other end. The sound was getting closer, and it was clearer now. The sound was roars. Many roars.

  Then it spotted the object. It had not fallen as far as the sound had made it seem. It reached for the object...but its arms were too small. It reached again and still could not touch it. The sounds were louder now. Then it felt rage. No, they would not ruin its greatest creation! It bit savagely at the wood and found it even easier to cut than the metal. It spat out a large chunk of wood and reached in again. It still could not touch the object, but it got closer.

  It bit the wood several more times, spitting out large chunks of wood and finally, carefully, pulled the object free. Joy! The roars were just outside now. The doors were being rattled, and there was a lot of talking.

  It placed the metal piece against a log and pushed the big red thing, and the plasma lighter ignited. It held the lighter for a second until the wood began to smoke and caught fire. Then it scrabbled further down the stack and started another log burning. Then it sprinted to the opposite side and started several there.

  Then the sound stopped, and it waited, wondering what was happening outside. One of the creatures shouted, and the building shook with impacts. It sprinted to another stack of wood, this one reduced to many long, thin pieces, and found these lit even easier. It looked back and saw its first creation was showing signs of life. The smell was glorious, and then something strange happened.

  Even though it was inside, it began to rain, hard. Lights started flashing, and a new noise was heard. The noise was so loud the creature thought it might die. It dropped the object, covered its ears, and closed its eyes against the light.

  Something picked it up roughly. Out of instinct, it bit down hard on the hand holding it and spat the strange-tasting appendage out. The thing it bit wailed and something hard hit it.

  Rows of long, needle-like teeth flashed and several Kra’daar lost fingers and hands as they tried to contain the vicious little beast. Some tried to kick it, to grab the feral thing by a foot or by the scruff of its neck, and they pulled back stumps.

  Then something heavy fell on its back, pinning it to the ground. It tried to get away, but couldn’t. It tried to turn to bite the thing, but couldn’t. It bit the floor instead, and found it difficult, but spat a big piece away.

  More things were touching it now. Oh no! Then it felt a sharp pain right at the top of its head, and everything went dark.

  * * *

  Enforcer Nik’Thil was still stunned. He’d underestimated his kin. It seemed that although they were members of the Galactic Union legally, they hadn’t given up their old ways. When faced with an emergency, the locals had immediately lost their organized manner and reverted back to a much more natural state. Worse, the killer, savage instinct was still strong in his people. No matter what titles you gave a Kra’daar, no matter whose uniform you dress them in, they were, and would always remain, savages.

  All that was left was to deliver the criminal to the Na’Shar Consortium on the other side of the planet. It was their operation which was being threatened, and it was they who swore out the charges against the...creature...their kinsmen had captured. He was ready to get away from his kinsmen; now that he was more genteel, he didn’t want to stay around them any longer than he had to.

  The creature hung upside-down from a chain in a cage next to him. After it woke from the blow to its head, they finally discovered how to secure the beast. Another blow to knock it out, followed by a blast of
secure foam to its limbs and its mouth kept it from biting anything else. Just to be sure, they hung it from the middle of the cage so it couldn’t bite anyone who inadvertently got too close.

  The creature growled at Nik’Thil, and he responded by kicking the cage hard enough to bounce the creature’s head off three sides of the cage, before going back to the contemplation of his kinsmen.

  # # # # #

  BLOOD OF INNOCENTS by James Young

  Chapter 1: A Task for the Tumen

  Dekrete

  1000 Local

  1 December

  The roar and rattle of some craft departing Dekrete provided a nice cover for Bolivar Thompson to stop and consider what the white, owl-like creature sitting across his desk was offering him. Bumas were hard for him to read, but one did not need to be an expert in alien psychology to detect the being’s annoyance at the interruption.

  Been agitated like a canary with a snake in its cage, Bolivar thought, drumming his long, thick fingers on the desktop. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the cracked ceiling, quietly hoping that the plaster didn’t choose this inopportune moment to come crashing down.

  Last time I rent an office based on a recommendation, he thought. Great first impression when someone comes in to hire a mercenary company, and it looks like we can barely keep our own building in one piece. Bolivar was under no illusions as to his company’s place in the Mercenary Guild’s pecking order. It just helped if the décor did not make it obvious. Blissfully, whatever large ship was departing finally got far enough away that the Buma escaped plucking plaster out of its plumage.

  “Sorry for that,” Bolivar said. “I believe you said you were offering 10 million credits…”

  The Buma practically screeched its response. “I said five million, human!”

  For a moment, Bolivar thought he was actually going to end up going hand-to-hand with the creature. At slightly over a meter in height and looking around maybe 75 kilograms soaking wet, the Buma was half his size. Although it did have talons and a beak, it wasn’t much of a threat. Still, Bolivar could see the thing getting in a lucky shot.

  How did your son die, Mrs. Thompson? Well, we believe it might have been a crazed raptor attack. Perhaps an argument about the number of licks to get to the center of a piece of candy? Or maybe a discussion about carrying mail to a wizarding school? Bolivar thought, fighting to suppress a laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I was sure it was 10,” Bolivar stated confidently. The Buma regarded him with a look he assumed was disgust, its wide eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Why would we ever offer you 10 million credits?”

  “Three million for the transit costs,” Bolivar snapped, holding up a finger. “Almost three months for transit, meaning we cannot take any additional contracts in that time. Another one million for the high-g embarking while we are aboard the cargo freighter.”

  The Buma looked at him unblinking.

  “All of these are opera…” the feathered alien began.

  “Get out,” Bolivar said simply. “You are wasting my time.”

  “What? How dare…”

  The flapping of the aliens’ limbs was comical as it lifted out of the reclining chair.

  “How dare I?” Bolivar asked, his voice level as he mentally calculated how quickly he could draw the short sword concealed in the back of his chair. “Because from my estimation, you are truly shit out of options.”

  The alien settled back down in the chair, plumage drooping.

  “We are a religious order, Human Named Thompson,” the Buma replied. “The Order of Meyra devotes our money to helping the unfortunate and species who cannot help themselves. The Goddess Meyra…”

  “Unless ‘Meyra’ can heal a sucking chest wound or bring my CASPers back from the junk pile after a laser’s played tic-tac-headshot, I fail to see how this is relevant,” Thompson said.

  “Have you no decency, Human?!”

  I don’t know what that thing actually screeched, but I’m pretty sure the translator gave me a much more wholesome version than what was uttered, Bolivar thought.

  “None,” he replied simply. “Just like your species didn’t have the decency to warn our species what the penalty for killing an ambassador was, or that the Alpha Contracts were basically glorified death rides.”

  “Your species would still be kicking around on your besotted world if it were not for us!”

  “Yet here I am, on some distant planet, with a “Wonder Owl” that is apparently hard of hearing,” Bolivar continued. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Ten million credits,” the Buma said, the translator once again clearly misfiring on tone. The alien produced a pinlink from within its chest down, the slender device resembling a Terran stylus. Turning its head to the side, it clicked the pinlink into place. After a momentary hum and brief closing of the eyes, the Buma turned back to face him. The commlink on Bolivar’s desk chimed.

  “Boss,” Tamara Thompson’s contralto voice stated over the device, “we’ve got a contract update from The Pit.”

  The Pit was the nearest merc center, located just over 3,000 kilometers away. Most mercs preferred to do business in the center itself. Bolivar, on the other hand, didn’t feel like giving some asshole a chance to swoop in on his negotiations to undercut him.

  Only had to have that happen once, he thought bitterly. Completely boring garrison mission too. At least that asshole got to spend the six weeks in transit enjoying his food from a straw. When your own boss refuses to give you nanites for the jaw, you know you were being a dick.

  “Recon mission, alien planet we’ll call Objective Lucifer, 10 million credit fee, non-refundable?” Bolivar asked, watching as the Buma’s beak twitched.

  “It’s actually not…okay, now it’s non-refundable,” Tamara stated.

  “Well, looks like Our Blessed Sisters of Meyra have themselves a deal,” Bolivar said. The Buma looked at him with a look of bewilderment.

  “I do not think Meyra has siblings, human,” the alien replied.

  Someday translators will understand sarcasm, Bolivar thought. Someday.

  * * *

  “Are you a fucking idiot?” Tamara exploded as she read the full terms of the contract 20 minutes later. “We are ripping this damn thing up and making them come back.”

  Bolivar watched as his sister paced angrily around the small ready room, her cybernetic arms glistening in the sunlight from Dekrete’s primary. Like Bolivar, Tamara was tall…and that was where the similarities ended. Her dark sundress hung loosely on her athletic frame, and her chestnut hair hung down to her waist.

  “I would say calm down, but that would probably work about as well as that time I tried to baptize Mordecai,” Bolivar said. That drew laughter from the other two people in the room, the sounds dying as Tamara turned to look at them both.

  “What?” their younger brother, Silvius, asked. “What kind of dumbass tries to baptize a Karman Lynx?” Looking like his two older siblings had stolen the family’s height, Silvius was just over five and a half feet tall. He also had a shoulder size two inches wider than Bolivar’s and ran like the wind. Running a hand nervously through his close-cropped sandy brown hair, for a moment Silvius looked concerned his sister would spring across the room at him.

  Cybernetic arms versus nanite enhancements, Thompson thought. Knowing how those two fought when we were kids, I’ll pass.

  “Loosen up, Tamara,” Paige Mixon teased from the other couch, her freckled face still split in a smirk. Tamara whirled on the other woman, her gaze so hot that Bolivar briefly expected the couch to ignite behind Paige. The redhead’s smirk dropped, her own blue eyes meeting the middle Thompson’s coolly as she sat up, her mesh workout shirt shimmering over her stomach.

  Oh shit, he thought. Like Silvius, Paige was augmented, but mainly to give her endurance and advantages operating the Tumen’s sole CASPer. Also, Bolivar and Tamara’s father ha
d ensured both had 12 years of martial arts.

  Dad fucked a lot of things up with us, but that wasn’t one of them, Bolivar thought.

  “You haven’t won a stare down with Paige since you caught her fucking your boyfriend before the Spring Ball,” Bolivar said tiredly. In an instant, he saw that his gambit had worked, as their anger was immediately shifted to him.

  “Great thing about this situation is I’m still your employer, and beating me to a pulp is pretty much punishable by death on this planet,” Bolivar continued, even as he made a mental note to acquire some chocolate-covered raspberries for Paige and blue bonnets for his sister. With a tingle, he felt his implants starting to go through the orders process…

  “Hey, asshole, remember who is also connected to our expense report!” Tamara said, a moment before he felt a sharp sting as she booted him out of the Tumen’s account.

  “What the hell?” Bolivar said, wincing. “Hey! I’m the damn boss, you can’t…”

  “Anyway,” Tamara said, waving her hand dismissively, “you’re a moron. Ten million damn credits? That’s not even going to cover your burial if the shit hits the…”

  “Unlike some people here, I actually read the Mercenary Guild updates when they come out,” Bolivar snapped, his eyes still watering from the anti-intrusion device’s activation on the Tumen’s expense account. He saw Paige coolly regarding his sister, her mouth pursed in a thin line.

  Yeah, I’m not a fan of her thinking she can just put security features in without telling me either, Bolivar thought as Tamara looked at him. We’re going to have a long talk later, she and I.

  “Do tell,” his sister finally snapped.