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

by Chris Kennedy

  “There’s two hyperspace jumps each way, 170 hours per jump.” Jim knew his cousin wouldn’t be swayed by anything other than logic. “That’s a lot of time I can spend helping troops, especially on the way home when they are likely to need it.”

  “How did you know it was a two-jump trip?” Bill didn’t look up.

  “Someone told me our ride into the fight was out of Karma, not Earth.”

  Bill finally glanced up. “You really want this? Even the operating base will be dangerous. Just getting there is dangerous. And it’s not like you’ll have time to chat with whatever aliens are hired to fight us.”

  “I know that, but this place will be almost empty.” Jim gestured at the base visible through Bill’s office window. Being the assistant to the commander had its perks. “Just support and the new training cadre, and those kids don’t know enough to be scared and get right with God.”

  “Fine. I’ll send you your dropship assignment by 20:00 hours. Be on board by 06:00.” Bill looked back at his slate. “Oh, and Jim, whatever you do, don’t let the commander’s girlfriend get wind of this. Evidently Talita was pissed when Bjorn told her she couldn’t go with him.”

  * * *

  Karma Station spun above the blue-green world that was its namesake. The huge wheel-like structure was the de facto mercenary hub for this part of the galaxy. Jim watched it grow larger as the dropship headed for a docking bay in one of the rings. The Berzerker’s dropships had hitched a ride on a bulk transport from Earth and would hook up with a spaceborn merc company, the Hurricanes, for the actual assault mission.

  The Hurricane ships wouldn’t be ready for 48 hours, much to the commander’s consternation, so he had given 36 hours of leave time at the station. Jim was nervous with anticipation as humans would be a minority, by far.

  “Reverend Jim!”

  He turned toward Wicza’s voice and saw her and a taller black woman hurrying to catch up to him. He quickly realized the other woman was Reeves, Charlotte’s not-quite-girlfriend.

  “Reverend Jim, this is Tamara.” Charlotte gestured to the other woman, who held out her hand. Like Charlotte, she had a strong grip, though she didn’t seemed compelled to prove it. “Evidently I get to babysit you so that a Jivool doesn’t bite your head off in the name of Jesus.”

  “Pleased to meet you Tamara.” He held back the comment that Charlotte had told him a lot about her, remembering the woman was still finding her footing in the relationship. “I don’t want to keep the two of you from enjoying your leave.”

  “That’s all right, Reverend.” Tamara looked over at Charlotte, then back to him. “We were going to go out to one of the restaurants on Ring One then hit one of the merc pits. It won’t be Peepo’s, but it still should be fun. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you.” The merc pits on Karma would be full of aliens. This would be interesting.

  * * *

  Jim was glad he was still wearing his company BDUs when they walked into the merc pit. Despite the sensory assault when they stepped in, Jim could still tell beings from two dozen races were scoping them out. The striking bear patch on their shoulders was good enough to cause the bulk to lose interest. If Charlotte was nervous, she didn’t show it. Jim just hoped she didn’t pick a fight with the biggest alien here to prove a point.

  Tamara was less at ease, already having confessed to never being in a merc pit before, let alone in one this size, but she managed to keep her hand from straying too close to her sidearm as she followed Wicza through the crowd. Jim resisted the urge to gawk at a table full of boisterous Oogar who sloshed them with something that smelled like engine coolant cut with moonshine.

  Finding an empty table, Jim realized his dilemma. This place was brimming with aliens, but it wasn’t like he could walk over to a table of Besquith and ask their thoughts on God.

  A slate displaying beverage choices was slid to him, his companions having already ordered. A single drink here cost as much as an expensive night out back home. He skimmed the menu for something safe, before settling on what looked to be a relatively safe Pushtar beverage somewhat like a mildly intoxicating chai latte.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing if the new APEX armor works as well in the field as it has in practice.” Charlotte said.

  “Some of the CASPer boys think you’re crazy,” Tamara replied. “Those suits don’t have the durability or firepower. You run into heavy fire…”

  “Those bucket-heads are just jealous because we can ride on the inside of vehicles,” Charlotte replied. She turned to Jim. “APEX, or armored powered exoskeleton, suits are recon armor. They don’t have the armor or walking arsenal of CASPers, but they also don’t have the target profile or sensor signature.”

  “Word has it the commander got them with a certain sergeant in mind.” Tamara smiled at Charlotte, placing her hand over Wicza’s. “She kicked real ass at Vishall Plex.”

  “He also got them on the cheap because the Mitsu-Downey Consortium engineered them for smaller soldiers. The only way they could make them work and still come in under the external dimension design specs was to design it so that the wearer was in the 155 to 170 cm range.” Charlotte shook her head. “Armor designed for midgets and children, and I’m barely tall enough.”

  There was a pregnant pause, and Jim noticed both women were looking past him. He turned his head to see a Besquith staring at him. The wolf-like alien conjured images of the monster that ate Red Riding Hood’s grandma.

  “Can I help you?” Jim didn’t know what else to say, and he was proud he hadn’t stammered.

  The lupine took a step closer and poked a claw at Jim’s shoulder. “What is this?” Jim’s translator spit out in response to the Besquith’s growls.

  It took a second to realize the alien wasn’t referring to his unit patch. It was interested in the cross where there would normally be a rank insignia.

  “It means that I am a chaplain,” Jim replied, wondering how the creature’s translator would interpret his title. “I am a man of God.”

  The corners of the Besquith’s too-large mouth turned up. “Humans, so primitive. Still worshiping tribal totems while you stumble about the battlefield, waiting to be eaten. There are no gods but Blood and Death.”

  “Do you worship those gods?” Jim couldn’t see the alarmed expressions on the women’s faces behind him, nor did he realize Wicza had unsnapped her holster. “Do you seek their blessing or aid in battle?”

  The alien rose up, lips pulling back from its teeth as it snarled. “Besquith do not bow before anyone. Maybe I should acquaint you with our gods?” Its terrible maw split open, revealing rows of teeth.

  Jim stared into the slavering fangs. Part of his brain wanted to shrink away from the beast about to devour him. “I would like to acquaint you with mine.”

  The alien coiled to lunge. Wicza struggled to get her weapon past the tabletop in the cramped quarters of the booth. Before she could, another Besquith cuffed the first in the back of the head and snapped at it in their feral language. Wicza froze, her gun still under the table but clear of the holster. The two Besquith snarled back and forth for a couple seconds, then the new arrival led the other away, toward the entrance.

  A robot trundled up to the table, three glasses on its flat top.

  “At least we survived to get our first round,” Tamara remarked.

  “Reverend Jim, if you could refrain from trying to convert any more aliens that might want to eat us, I’d appreciate it,” Charlotte said, holstering her pistol and taking the drink offered to her by the machine.

  Jim sipped his own drink. It reminded him more of eggnog than chai and was a bit thick, but not unpleasant. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”

  Tervezet III

  Pain was good. Pain meant he wasn’t dead. Jim opened his eyes as he took a quick assessment of himself. He seemed to be breathing okay, and his ears still rang from whatever had hit the flyer, but he wasn’t dizzy. That was a good start. He could feel a
ll of his limbs, but quickly realized there was a lot of pain in his right leg.

  A piece of the wreckage had impaled itself in his thigh, below his sidearm holster. The flash of panic regarding the femoral artery abated as he realized he wasn’t bleeding enough for an arterial wound. He was also pretty sure his ankle was broken, his boot was at an odd angle, most likely from when he hit the ground.

  There was no blood coming from the boot, so he decided the best thing to do was leave it on for now. He turned his attention to his thigh, where the squared tubular framework from the seat disappeared into his BDUs. Luckily part of his standard kit included a first aid kit, which was strapped to his left thigh. Opening the kit, he fished out a pressure bandage and a trauma nanite applicator.

  He wrapped the bandage tight around his thigh above the wound after detaching his holster and setting it aside out of the way. Gingerly grasping the metal frame, he gave a tentative tug and was rewarded with a jolt of pain. At least it wasn’t deeper, he told himself, maybe only two centimeters. Steeling his resolve, he pulled again; this time the metal came free.

  Gritting his teeth and fighting through the tears, Jim grabbed the nanite applicator, put the nozzle by the wound and pressed the button. Gritting his teeth at the blaze of pain as the microscopic robots went to work on the wound, he placed a gauze patch over the injury. He wound the rest of the pressure bandage over the patch to hold it place under his pants leg. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.

  Movement from the undergrowth drew his attention, relief flooding him when an APEX scout emerged from the foliage. Small branches and tattered vines remained from the descent through the canopy. The name on the breastplate read ‘Wicza.’

  “Thank god you’re alive, Reverend.” Her voice was tinny through the suit speakers.

  “I take it you were my guardian angel on the way down?” Jim began extricating himself from what was left of the seat harness.

  Wicza nodded. Reaching up she popped the faceplate for her helmet as she approached and knelt down next to him. “How bad is it?”

  “I won’t be dancing anytime soon, but if we get out of here, I’ll live.” Jim tried not to grimace as he gave her a grin. Now that the nanites were finishing with the stab wound, he felt his ankle more keenly.

  “That makes one of us. The commander is going to kill me for letting you come along.”

  “I insisted, and the objective zone was secured. It could have been one of the ambulance flyers that got nailed.” Jim tried to wiggle his toes and was rewarded with slight movement and more pain. “I didn’t know those little jumpacks on the scout suits could handle this much mass.”

  “They’re not supposed to. This one is spent.” She looked into the distance, probably listening to her comms.

  “Thank you, you saved my life.”

  Charlotte shrugged as she stood, grimacing. Her left arm barely moved. “What was I going to do, let you splatter all over the forest? The commander would have me on KP for a month. Let me coordinate with the rest of First Squad, then see about getting us a ride out of here.”

  Jim nodded and closed his eyes. The padded back of the seat was still behind him, so he leaned against it as he listened to Wicza talk to the rest of her squad. It sounded like most of them had made it out, and they had found one of the pilots alive, as well. Guardian angels must be busy today, he thought.

  His eyes snapped open when something crashed through the brush, erupting into the small clearing. A nightmare on ten legs swiped at Wicza with a great, bladed limb before she could bring her rifle to bear. The armored woman was flung into the brush, a loud crunch heralding her impact with a tree. The huge spider-like monstrosity spun toward Jim, several of the freakishly human-looking eyes that ringed the chitinous head bearing on him while others scanned for threats.

  His pistol was still in its holster on the ground, where he had left it. Even if he could reach it and bring it to bear in time, he was under no illusion the sidearm would stop this monster. There was only one thing he could do; he wondered how far he would get.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

  The creature froze, all of the eyes Jim could see were focused on him.

  “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

  The spider made a series of clicks and hisses. “What are you doing?”

  The two scythe-like blades attached to its forward legs were still raised and it was a mere three meters from him.

  “I am praying,” Jim replied simply.

  “Your gods cannot save you.”

  “I am already saved,” Jim stated.

  “No, you are doomed,” the spider retorted. “I am about to kill you.”

  “I know. But He died for me, so I am saved.”

  The spider gestured through the brush. “That one’s death will not save you.”

  “She may have been my guardian angel, but I refer to My Lord, the Savior.” His last moments before going to heaven, and he was preaching to a giant spider that would probably eat him. Part of Jim’s mind wanted to laugh. “He died so that my sins are forgiven, and I will be welcome in paradise.”

  The spider lowered the bladed legs and hunched forward. “So your god died in battle?”

  “No, Jesus died in the name of peace.”

  “I do not understand.” The spider’s eyes remained intent on Jim. “Why would your god die from peace? How could a dead god save you now?”

  “What the *untranslatable* do you think you’re doing, Piilyt?” A small mammal asked as it strode from the brush. It looked like a bipedal chipmunk wielding a large laser pistol. “We don’t have time for you to play with your food. There’s a squad of humans heading this way and probably tons more since your idiot crèche-mate couldn’t resist popping one of those flyers.”

  “This human’s god travels in time.” Some of the spider, Piilyt’s, eyes turned to the new arrival. “Maybe that is why they are so hard to fight.”

  “Yeah, well this one doesn’t look so tough,” the chipmunk groused. “Finish it off and let’s go.”

  “I’m not done yet,” Piilyt protested, pointing a limb at Jim. “I want to hear more of this strange god.”

  “Humans, I swear you’re like a disease. You even drive the *untranslatable* Tortantulas nuts.” The chipmunk rolled its eyes, then pointed the laser pistol at Jim. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

  Jim had just enough time to remember where he had left off in the Lord ’s Prayer before the furry alien’s head exploded like a ripe melon, accompanied by the supersonic crack of a magnetic accelerator cannon. Piilyt spun around to face Wicza, who stood in the undergrowth with the carbine cradled in one arm, her other arm dangling at her side.

  As the spider raised its fighting limbs, a burst from the MAC filled the woods with a staccato of snaps, the dense rounds blowing through chitinous armor as they traced a line that ended right below the spider’s ring of eyes. The creature slumped forward, its limbs carrying it two meters before the nerve impulses driving it stopped.

  Wicza limped into the clearing, keeping clear of the fallen alien while scanning the surrounding forest. “Playing your guardian angel is getting to be a full time job, Reverend.”

  Jim nodded mutely, staring at the spider, a reminder that a guardian angel could also be an angel of death. Did the alien have a soul? Could he have saved it given time?

  Wicza knelt next to him as the din of a firefight erupted nearby, cradling her weapon with her good arm. Numbly, Jim retrieved his pistol, checking the weapon to see if it had been damaged in the fall.

  “Why didn’t you shoot the bug?” Wicza whispered as the fighting died down.

  “To be honest, I didn’t think I could get to the gun in time, and decided my time was better spent praying than flailing about futilely,” Jim said, nodding toward Piilyt’s corpse. “Not that my little sidearm would have been effective.”

  “Against a Tortantula, probably not,” Charlotte agreed. “He
ck, your praying saved your life; it made her stop long enough for me to pull my ass together and take out her and the Flatar. And I don’t know that I could have taken them both in my condition if you hadn’t given me the drop on them.”

  Jim felt guilty, somehow his prayer had become an instrument of battle. That wasn’t what he had wanted.

  “Don’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Wicza said, pausing to answer a comm and relay coordinates. “If that Flatar hadn’t shown up, maybe you could have talked her out of eating us. I’ve never heard of a Tortantula stopping in the middle of a fight to chat.”

  “Well, if there is a heaven for her kind, I hope Piilyt finds peace there.” Jim wondered what the right words would be to say over a fallen spider. He would find out, not just for Tortantulas, but for as many aliens as he could. Many of them would be atheists, but for the ones that weren’t, he’d learn what they believed, where their souls went, and what words helped them on the way.

  Armored forms emerged cautiously, more scouts in APEX suits, warily covering the dead Tortantula with their weapons.

  “Come on, Reverend,” Wicza said, gesturing for two of the scouts to come help him. “Let’s get to the forward operation base. You have souls to save, and I need to get my ass chewed out.”

  Once upright, Jim turned toward Piilyt’s corpse one last time. “Go in peace.”

  # # # # #

  LIFE by Chris Kennedy

  1

  The door swung open, barely missing Dr. Ezekiel ‘Zeke’ Avander’s face, and the shape of a giant reptilian blocked out the light. It looked down at the man in disgust, trying to keep its tongue in its mouth to avoid smelling the jail cell and its Human occupant. “Cho-to!” the shape roared.

  A seven-foot-tall, four-armed Lumar shambled into view. “Master?” the humanoid asked.