The Good, the Bad, and the Merc: Even More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 8)

by Chris Kennedy

  “I only know this because Pendal writing looks a lot like bush writing,” Antonius replied with a small shrug. “Had to take a class on it at MST. They make you study one language, yeah? Most people looked up Tortantulan because they are who we fight. I liked Pendali because it felt familiar.”

  “You’re full of surprises,” Mulbah stated and looked around. He slipped the small backpack off and patted it comfortingly. Inside were all the tools they would need to pull this off. “This is the right location though. Two sections down is where our target is supposed to be. Samson, anything running through their security relays yet about unauthorized access?”

  “Yes, but not on this ring,” the big merc said as he held up his slate. The slate was helpfully patched into the cargo ship they had arrived on and was continuously receiving security updates. “Couple of MinSha got busted smuggling…something. No idea what. The O-ring in Section Ten is locked down…ah, I see. They are looking for their ship. Nobody is even alerted to our ring. Someone has paid security good money to avoid this part of the ring.”

  “Just as Thorpi said he would,” Mulbah breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. “All right. We have one hour before this section is swept again by a maintenance crew. We need to be back here with the target and into the tube by then.”

  “Not even a little worried about the Roses chasing us?” Antonius asked as he slipped on his battle helmet and buckled the strap securely beneath his chin. He checked his armor to ensure it was tight and snug. “They won’t be too happy with us kidnapping their boss.”

  Mulbah shrugged. “I doubt the little weasels will put up much of a fight.”

  The others murmured their assent. Despite the idea of a rabid weasel being more than a little frightening, the Zuparti were not known for their military prowess. Mulbah knew they could still probably fight when cornered, but that was the way of most carnivorous creatures. Even a vole will fight to the death when trapped.

  It was also the main reason Thorpi had planned his attack so carefully.

  Mulbah set the small backpack down, opened it, and pulled out a cutter and a small tube containing gel. The others stood back as he gently squeezed the contents of the tube onto the bulkhead, made a human-sized rectangle with it, and then stepped back for a moment to admire his work. Maringel was a Talgud-designed material which, when put into contact with any Galactic material, adhered itself instantly and became a conductor. It remained inert, however, until a specialized electrical frequency was applied.

  Satisfied with his work, he took the cutter, activated the charge, and pressed the tip of the device against the gel.

  Instead of exploding, as Mulbah had hoped, the material slowly spread inwards, filling in the area inside the rectangular shape he had formed. It continued to spread until it had completely covered the bulkhead with a thin sheet of hot pink. Mulbah put the cutter away and pulled out a small hammer. He looked closely at the center of the wall before he found the slightly lighter area Thorpi had mentioned. He whispered a small prayer and gently tapped the spot.

  The Maringel shattered into a million little pieces and fell to the floor. The bulkhead was gone, absorbed by the gel and broken down into small shards of pink. Mulbah whistled softly and looked back at his bag. He made a mental note to get his hands on more Maringel as soon as possible. It had a lot of potential uses…especially in Liberia.

  He peeked inside the room they had broken into and discovered it was indeed a supply closet. Thorpi had been correct again in his prediction of the base schematics. That little alien is worth every credit I pay him, Mulbah thought with a smile.

  Now

  “I pay that little alien too much money,” Mulbah complained as he spit another bloody glob out of his mouth. The Zuparti had stopped questioning him hours before and had been content to simply beat him as they saw fit. It now came at irregular intervals, which he took to be a sign they were growing bored with his reluctance to say anything. It also meant his death was imminent.

  “Next time, someone else can lead the charge.”

  8 hours earlier…

  “This is it,” Mulbah needlessly pointed out as he squirted the last bit of the Maringel onto the wall. “Once we breach this wall, we grab the furry guy and get out. Samson, you ready with the bag?”

  “Yeah, Boss,” the big man nodded. He showed Mulbah the aforementioned bag. “Looks strong enough. Maybe.”

  “You remember what he looks like?” Mulbah pressed. Samson sighed, exasperated.

  “Black with brown stripes,” Samson answered. “Gold tips on his ears to show he runs things. Wears ballistic vest thing that had platinum and gold on it too. Looks like your average African warlord, but an alien weasel. Should be easy to spot.”

  Mulbah nodded. “Probably has a chromed gun or something for show.”

  “I dealt with guys like him in the past, Boss,” Samson said, his deep rumble mildly perturbed. “I will catch him.”

  “And we’ll cover Samson, right?” Antonius said as he readjusted his helmet again. “Anyone who points a weapon at us, we shoot them.”

  “See? Simple,” Mulbah said as he put the tip of the cutter against the Maringel. He watched as the earlier process repeated itself. He pulled out the hammer and put the tube away. He also grabbed his rifle, which held about 80 shots within the magazine. The laser weapon was underpowered when compared to the weaponry of a CASPer but for close quarters fighting it was more than enough. He glanced over and saw that Antonius had done the same. Mulbah checked his armor, took a deep breath, and smacked the hammer into the hardened Maringel.

  It shattered and fell to pieces, just as before, and Mulbah charged into the room, his rifle up and ready. He stopped as his eyes adjusted to the lighting and he saw what was before him. Samson and Antonius slammed into him from behind and all three men fell to the floor in a heap.

  “What the hell, Boss?” Antonius snarled as he struggled to his feet. He stopped and stared as he realized just why Mulbah had stopped.

  This was supposed to be the private quarters of the Roses’ leader, not some sort of gathering area! Mulbah screamed silently as he realized that over six dozen pairs of eyes were staring at him and his men, each with a varying look of confusion and anger.

  Their own shock quickly fading, the Zuparti began to shriek and howl in their native tongue. More than a few already had weapons out, and the rest were quickly picking theirs up off the tables, which were then flipped over into impromptu defenses. Mulbah swore.

  “There, Boss!” Samson said and pointed his rifle at a Zuparti nearby. Mulbah turned and saw it was indeed Silent Killer. The physical description they had of him matched perfectly, down the golden-tipped ears and flashy clothing. He even sported a chromed vest which looked like it had been lifted directly off the corpse of a dead Nigerian warlord.

  The only downside Mulbah could see was the target was protected by two of the largest Lumar he had ever laid eyes on.

  “Oh shit!” Mulbah screamed and immediately placed eight rounds into the first Lumar, his finger rapidly stroking the trigger, his aiming completely automatic. The vaguely human-like alien clutched at his wounds with all four of his arms and fell to the floor, dead before he hit.

  The room fell deathly silent as all eyes turned to look at Mulbah.

  A low, angry rumbling began to roll through the crowd of Zuparti. Even the surviving Lumar was angry, the burly, four-armed alien thumping his chest rhythmically with one hand while the other three drew laser pistols. Charge handles on rifles were yanked, pistols were pulled out of clothing, and knives of all styles and designs began to appear. Mulbah swallowed nervously.

  “Sir?” Antonius called out.

  “Get him.”

  Chaos exploded in the room as Samson and Antonius began to fire rapidly into the large crowd of Zuparti.

  Samson fired over the head of the crime boss, and the Zuparti hit the deck hard as the other Lumar grabbed the crime lord and dragged him down. Antonius began to fire indiscriminate
ly into the horde of Zuparti and shout random swear words at them Mulbah couldn’t understand.

  Mulbah grabbed the lone flash bang grenade from his backpack and kissed it before he tugged the pin and tossed it toward the Lumar. The large alien recognized the grenade for what it was and covered the Zuparti with his own body. Mulbah turned slightly and dropped to a crouch. He covered his ears and waited for the blast.

  There is no proper way to protect oneself from a flash bang, Mulbah knew from his time at MST in college. It would suck if you were in the same room as the explosion, no matter where you were. Since it was designed to disorientate and affect the sense of balance of a human, the grenade was more than enough to flatten the Zuparti for a few precious moments. Mulbah staggered to his feet and took stock of the situation. Even the oversized Lumar lay dazed on the ground.

  He spotted the blinged-out Zuparti leader and hobbled over to him, his balance off just enough to make the going treacherous. He kicked the Lumar off of the Zuparti and hauled the crime lord to his feet. He inspected him briefly and saw that, outside of a squashed ear thanks to the gilded-tip, the little weasel was unharmed. He pushed him over the Samson, who scooped the disoriented alien into the bag.

  “You got 40 minutes of air in there, and then he suffocates,” Mulbah reminded him. “Get him back to the ship as fast as you can. The contract is void if he dies.”

  “Got it, Boss.”

  “Let’s get out of here before these bojongos wake up,” Antonius added. Mulbah nodded.

  “I got rear. Antonius, you lead,” Mulbah instructed them. “You keep anything from reaching Samson. You understand? Kill anyone who tries to stop you.”

  “You sure, Boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss,” Antonius shrugged. “Okay big guy, you heard the boss. Let’s go.”

  A shot pinged! off the wall next to Mulbah’s head. The Zuparti were recovering and beginning to lay down some concentrated fire on the group. Mulbah quickly shoved Samson out the hole they had made upon arrival and returned fire. More Zuparti staggered to their feet and tried to rush him, knives, guns, and rifles bared.

  Antonius stopped in the entryway and fired back into the crowd. Mulbah shoved him out the entrance and yelled, “I’ll cover you! Go keep Samson and the target safe!”

  Antonius nodded and ran ahead, leaving his boss alone to face the fury of the criminal gang. Mulbah backed out the way they had arrived, his rifle firing on fully automatic as he desperately sought to buy the duo more time. Zuparti fell by the droves as they struggled to push through the opening and grab him. He heard Samson make it through the second opening with the struggling Zuparti with Antonius hot on his heels. He risked a glanced over his shoulder and saw them make it to the maintenance tunnel. He knew from there that it would be a quick jaunt back over to the ship, and they would be away—the contract would be fulfilled.

  The rifle abruptly beeped at him as the magazine ran empty. Mulbah fumbled for another, but the delay was enough for the surviving Zuparti to pile in through the opening and close in on him. Desperate, Mulbah grabbed the cutter and began to jab Zuparti with it. The first alien took 500 gigahertz on the chest and dropped like a stone. Two more piled on top of Mulbah and pinned his arm. He struggled, and more jumped on him.

  A deep and angry shout drew his attention. He recognized the surviving Lumar and mentally cursed. He had hoped the stun grenade had taken him out, but apparently the Lumar were tougher than that. The giant alien grabbed him with three arms and hoisted him up off the ground, with the angry Zuparti still hanging on. The fourth arm began to punch him repeatedly in the stomach and face, alternating rapidly. One heavy blow clipped his temple, and Mulbah suddenly felt woozy.

  The Lumar dropped him to the ground, and the Zuparti fell away, steering clear of the angry four-armed alien. Mulbah looked around and grimaced as more aliens poured into the small room. He cast one final look at the service hatch where his men had escaped and saw it had been sealed. He was on his own.

  “Well, that went tits-up in a hurry,” Mulbah grumbled as he tossed aside his empty rifle. He glared at the alien forces gathered around him, all of whom were pointing weapons at him. What passed as their fingers were twitchy, and it was clear to him they were immensely displeased and eager to end his life. The Lumar looked especially peeved. “If I survive this, Thorpi is most definitely fired.”

  Now

  Mulbah looked up. He was strapped to a chair too small for him, with bracelets made for Zuparti clamped to his wrists. The chains which bound him in place were strong enough to hold a Lumar, much less him. He could no longer see out his right eye, and he wondered for a moment if it were crusted shut from the dried blood, or if he had lost the eye.

  He was uncertain how long he’d been in the cell. Hours? Days? The beatings had blurred together to make it seem like one unending session, but deep down he knew differently. They had not fed him yet, although they had given him some water when they had splashed it on his face in order to wake him up, prior to beating him some more. As far as he could tell, he was still alive simply because they enjoyed the beatings.

  In a perverse way, he was beginning to enjoy them as well. They were a rough reminder he was still alive. The constant pain was his companion, the agony his lover. He was certain there was something about being a man who refused to succumb to the discomfort. What that was, however, was beyond him at that point.

  He could faintly heard water dripping somewhere. He dropped his head back down so he could listen more. It had a rhythm of its own, unfamiliar and new. New was good. It had to be water. It was too fast to be…well, maybe? He assumed it was water, at least. For all he knew it could have been his own blood dripping onto the floor, the echoing noise a result of a ruptured eardrum. Or worse.

  Time was no longer a material thing. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, but he had stopped counting that long before. It had slowed at one point to where he wasn’t certain he was still alive, but then a fresh wave of pain had washed over him, and it spiked back up. He had been relieved when the pain returned. It was his only companion.

  A noise at the door startled him awake. Had he been dreaming? He must have been, because he could not remember dying. It was a joke then. It had to be a joke. The brave and the bold cannot die. The dreamers who seek to build upon something greater lived forever. Their vision was immortal. The noise continued. Mulbah swore at the distraction.

  “I’m trying to have a moment of self-loathing and internal monologue, damn it,” he growled. “Go away and beat me later.”

  The noise continued unabated. It sounded like heavy footsteps outside the door. He sighed. The Lumar had decided to come back for more. He understood the anger of the alien. He had killed one of his brethren, after all. Mercs die all the time, but it was never easy to accept the loss of a comrade. The door swung open, and bright light filtered into the room. Mulbah squinted as the light blinded him briefly.

  “Oh Jesus,” a voice whispered harshly. A man’s voice. A human’s voice. Mulbah would have wept if he had any tears remaining. Hope struck him hard in the heart. He would survive. He was indeed immortal. This was all the proof that he needed.

  Mulbah looked up. Standing before him was Samson. He was unarmed. Mulbah wished he could wipe his eyes to make sure it really was the former mechanic. His employee did not appear to be under duress nor was he shackled as a prisoner. The way the Zuparti leaned away from him out of respect and fear told Mulbah everything he needed to know.

  He began to laugh. A chuckle at first, then it grew into a hearty laugh. His ribs hurt like hell but he did not care. He laughed so hard he was worried for a moment that he would piss himself. Samson gave him a wry smile and an apologetic shrug.

  “Sorry it took us so long to get you out, Boss,” Samson stated. “Station security was not happy about a CASPer moving through the levels but once we told them where we were going and what we were about to do they got really friendly.”

  �
�Hey boss!” Zion’s all-too familiar voice called from outside the room. The bursar sounded surprisingly cheerful, all things considered. “It’s amazing at how much respect these Zuparti have for a human when he’s wearing a metal suit of death that stands eight feet tall.”

  “You think?” Samson replied. He looked back at Mulbah. “We need to get you out of those chains and take you home.”

  * * *

  “Thorpi just commed and yelled at me for a good five minutes, Boss,” Samson said as he walked into his boss’ private quarters on the ship. The transport ship had left Troubadour Station hours before and was making its way back to Earth. With the contract completed, Mulbah was already beginning to make more plans for the Korps, with the first being the purchase of said freighter. It would make a great addition to the company as well as cut down on transportation costs for moving his three squads of CASPers to the next job, wherever that may be.

  “Why?” Mulbah asked, curious. He knew he should be in more pain but the combination of medication and nannites had dulled most of it. The internal damage he’d taken from the numerous assaults was mostly healed by this point, though he was seriously considering getting himself ‘pinned.’ If so, Mulbah could have connected to the station’s computers and might have found out about the two Lumar who had been hired as merc bodyguards before he’d gone charging into the Zuparti lair.

  He had been ready to fire Thorpi, but he had decided that if anyone was to be terminated, they deserved to be fired in person. So instead he had simply commed ahead to Thorpi that the contract was fulfilled and to contact the Hussars about payment. Plus, there wasn’t any way the alien could have known about the Lumar—that was simply bad luck.

  “He said the mission was supposed to be easy for three of us in CASPers,” Samson stated in a sorrowful tone. “My fault; I did not understand his language and translated what he said wrong, Boss. Sorry. When we get back to Liberia, you should fire me and not Thorpi.”