A Fistful of Credits: Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 5)

by Chris Kennedy

  Nikki was dying to ask why the Veetanho would owe Buchanan a favor, but held her tongue. Instead, she decided to ask another question. “And what am I supposed to do while you two are doing my job for me?”

  Buchanan’s fat finger now zeroed in on her. “You, young lady, are going back to your ship and hunkering down until I tell you different. Croll, you’re on escort duty.”

  Nikki launched from her seat like a missile, her face stopping mere inches from Buchanan’s. “Now you listen to me, Captain Buchanan.” Nikki emphasized the rank. “I’m the...” Nikki faltered as she caught sight of a few heads at the closest tables turn in her direction.

  Buchanan took advantage of her enforced pause keeping his voice low enough that only those at his table could make out what he said. “You’re what? Are you going to broadcast to the entire pit that you’re a Peacemaker and blow your only chance of catching these vermin? Or, are you going to play the part of my boss’ spoiled, little rich kid daughter who’s spending daddy’s money on a visit to see how his employees earn their pay?”

  Nikki felt the urge to punch the man-mountain between the eyes but she couldn’t fault his logic, damn him! Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly between thin lips, and resigned herself to her fate. “So be it,” she said in her most petulant tone, spinning on her heel, head held high as she strutted towards the exit with Croll in her wake. From various tables came the sound of unsuppressed laughter in a hundred dialects.

  Chapter 6

  Leaving Peepo’s, Nikki turned left and stalked up the corridor. Croll was taller, but he still had to pick up his pace to catch up with her. After about 100 yards, they came to a fork in the corridor; Nikki stopped without warning in the middle of the busy corridor, forcing Croll to swerve into a gaggle of elSha. The three-foot-tall reptilians scattered as Croll tried to avoid tripping over them.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Croll asked. When she didn’t reply, he turned and saw Nikki standing stock-still. Like a bird of prey tracking its quarry, her head scanned slowly, then froze. Croll followed her line of sight until he spotted a group of four enormous aliens. Each was over six feet tall and had long, shaggy-furred arms ending in needle sharp claws—Besquith!

  “The one on the right…that’s Pukil,” whispered Nikki. “Biometrics confirm it.”

  Croll stepped directly in front of Nikki and blocked her view. “Well, I strongly suggest you stop staring at him. We’re no match for four of those damn werewolves. We need to find the captain and Vega and come up with a plan to...”

  “You go fetch Buchanan and Vega.” Nikki said in a rush. The group of Besquith were about to disappear out of sight around the curve of the corridor. “I’ll follow Pukil, and we’ll rendezvous back at the Anat. Docking Bay 4C.” Slipping past Croll, Nikki hurried after Pukil before Croll had the chance to stop her. Croll broke into a jog and headed toward Peepo’s.

  * * *

  Nikki gazed through the toughened glass of the observation gantry high above the steel reinforced deck of Docking Bay 4D. For a fleeting moment, the irony of her quarry sitting in the bay next door, blissfully unaware of her, brought a wry smile to her lips. A smile that faded as the sound of magnetic boots on steel announced the arrival of the three Sinclair’s Scorpions’ troopers. Buchanan skidded to a halt beside her and, from the angry frown creasing his forehead, he was not in the best of moods. Nikki spared a glance towards Croll. The First Sergeant shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

  “Ah, I see you got my message, nice of you to join me,” said Nikki in her best dulcet tone.

  Buchanan took a deep breath, obviously prepared to berate Nikki; however, she turned her back on him and returned her focus to the docking bay. Behind her, Buchanan’s half-opened mouth closed with an audible click as he realized the futility of his planned tongue-lashing. Taking a step forward he leaned heavily on the rail running below the glass and cast his eyes over the bay’s contents. There was a single ship residing in the bay—a Besquith assault ship. Its four drop ships, two on each side of the ship’s main body, were the focus of a flurry of activity as at least a dozen of the furry aliens fussed over and around them. A wide loading ramp at the rear of the assault ship was open and a steady stream of boxy missile launchers was being ferried aboard. If he was not mistaken, the oblong crates stacked nearby were the component parts of a Particle Accelerator Artillery Battery. The Besquith ship was loaded with some pretty serious hardware.

  “Vega. Access the station’s main frame. Find out what outfit these Besquith are with and get me a solid read on their numbers...”

  Nikki held up a hand staying Vega’s movement towards the gantry’s computer terminal. “No need, Corporal. The ship belongs to a merc company called the ‘Blood Drinkers.’ As for numbers, not counting the ship’s crew, they have 37 on the payroll here.”

  Croll let out a low whistle. “I suppose going down there and talking to them is out of the question. You never know, they may come peacefully.” The comment generated a nervous laugh among the four Humans before they lapsed into a heavy silence. Eventually, Nikki spoke.

  “Captain, what was it you were doing on the station?”

  Buchanan had been busy trying to figure out a way to get into the bay and approach the Besquith ship without alerting them. He hadn’t yet solved the problem, and Nikki’s question rescued him.

  “Eh? Oh, right. We were on our way back to Earth after fulfilling an apprehend contract with the Duplato out in the Jesc arm. A band of rogue Zuul had seen them as an easy touch so we gave them a bit of a bloody nose before handing them over to the local law. We got here, but then were held over by the station’s administration. A camera spotted a couple of unidentified aliens coming off our ship and the administration said they were somehow linked with something that came off a Cartwright’s Cavaliers’ ship. Anyway, the search never found them, and we were finally cleared.” He shrugged. “Alien politics, maybe.”

  The germ of an idea began to form in Nikki’s mind. “Wait, so you were on a mission with all your normal gear?”

  “Sure. It’s all in secure storage until our ride arrives next week. Why?”

  Buchanan did not like the mischievous glint that appeared in Nikki’s eye. “Including your CASPers?”

  “Three brand spanking new MK 8s,” Vega acknowledged.

  “Outstanding!” said Nikki, her delight evident.

  Buchanan didn’t like the direction of the conversation, so he decided to put on the brakes. “Woo-ah! Hold onto your horses there, Nikki. No way are they going to allow us to deploy CASPers within the boundaries of the station. If we try, we’ll be the ones behind bars not the Besquith!”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Nikki said with a sly smile.

  “And why the hell not?”

  “As a Peacemaker, I can deputize anyone I choose to act as I need them to...”

  Buchanan backed away, wagging a finger at her. “Oh, no you don’t! Don’t you pull that shit with me, Nikki Sinclair!”

  The sly smile morphed into a wide, flashing smile. “Saddle up boys! Consider yourself deputized.”

  Vega had been watching the exchange between Nikki and Buchanan with growing amusement. He had never seen his captain back down from anyone or anything before, yet here he was, backing down from a five-foot-two-inch woman who was half his age and weighed about 119 pounds. A woman who had just deputized them and was about to order them to use CASPers on board an alien station against a bunch of bloodthirsty mercs. There was only one word to describe this, and Vega said it aloud. “Cool.”

  Chapter 7

  20 minutes later, the crew of the XenSha frigate could hardly believe their eyes as three CASPers zipped past their cockpit windows to land in perfect triangular formation adjacent to the sealed bulkhead that separated Docking Bay 4C from 4D.

  “Well, we’re here. Where is our intrepid leader?” growled Buchanan over the radio link, obviously still smarting from being railr
oaded.

  “Check your twelve o’clock high, sir,” answered Vega.

  Buchanan shifted his Tri-V heads-up display and caught sight of a fast-moving object close to the bay’s roof. The object, with a glowing blue tree symbol on the front breast plate and rear spinal armor, flipped in midair, activated its jump jets to brake, and executed a perfect landing, its magnetic boots locking the suit to the deck next to them.

  “Nicely done, Nikki. I see you’re keeping up your skills.”

  “You were the one who said skills are perishable commodities, which are lost if not constantly practiced.”

  Buchanan let out a grunt of agreement as he cast a critical, appraising eye over her CASPer. It looked like his own MK 8: an over-the-shoulder 20-millimeter anti-personnel/material cannon, an eight-millimeter gun-pod on the left arm, and a high-cyclic-rate laser on the right.

  “I see the Peacemakers ensure you are well-equipped.”

  Inside her CASPer, Nikki shrugged her shoulders, a move mimicked perfectly by the armored suit encasing her. “You know how it is, Captain. A girl just never knows who she’s likely to run into out here.”

  “So how do you want to do this?” Croll asked.

  Through her pinplant Nikki tapped into Bay 4D’s surveillance cameras and brought the image up on her display. She scanned the group of Besquith, and in a matter of seconds, the biometric scanners identified Ulah and Pukil; both were roughly in the middle of the group. Nikki pushed the images over to the other three Humans.

  Vega was the first to give his opinion. “Looks like they all have sidearms and a couple have laser rifles.”

  “That’s my take,” agreed Croll.

  Nikki knew these men were professionals, and it would be stupid not to utilize their knowledge. “Suggestions?”

  Buchanan had kept his peace, letting Nikki take the lead, but he was grateful she was willing to listen to experience. “OK, here’s how it’s going to go. As soon as the bulkhead opens, Croll, you go high right. Vega, high left. You pair are overwatch. Kill anything that twitches. Understood?”

  “Understood.” Both men answered in unison.

  “Nikki. You and I will go up the middle on the ground. I don’t see any deployable laser shields on that fancy suit of yours, so stick close to me.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Buchanan decided to let the sarcastic reply slide. “Doors, if you please, Nikki.”

  Nikki sent the correct command, and the heavy bulkhead doors split neatly down the middle and smoothly retracted into the side walls. The gap was barely large enough for a CASPer when Croll activated his jump jets and raced through the widening gap, with Vega hot on his heels. Buchanan counted slowly to three before following, time enough for them to reach their overwatch position and come to a hover in the low gravity. At his side, Nikki activated her external speakers, turned on her suit’s recording system, and transmitted in Besquith to avoid any misunderstanding of her job and intentions, “Ulah and Pukil of the Besquith. Surrender yourselves in the name of the Peacemakers.”

  If the Besquith had not noticed the arrival of Croll and Vega, the booming voice of Nikki grabbed their attention. Lips curled back to reveal rows of snarling canine teeth, and ears went back flat against their skulls, instinctive reactions to a threat. Hands reached for laser pistols and rifles slipped from shoulders.

  Still, Nikki tried to stop the inevitable. “Peacemaker! Stand down, and you will not be...” In the blink of an eye the first laser shot flashed from somewhere among the group. Buchanan activated his laser shield, leaning into it as the second shield also sprang into operation, interposing a barrier between the Besquith and them.

  The heavy, ripping, tearing sound of chain guns filled the bay, the noise so loud that Nikki cut her external microphones. In the Tri-V of her heads-up display, she witnessed what she could only describe as wholesale slaughter as Croll and Vega used their jump jets to carry out an intricate dance of destruction. Fire a burst. Move. Fire a burst. Move. Fire a burst. Move.

  When the firing ceased, the bay floor looked like the inside of an abattoir. Pieces of chewed and mangled Besquith were everywhere; identifying each of the Besquith would only be possible by individually sampling the pieces still big enough to be called remains.

  Descending through the cloud of pale blue gun smoke like two avenging angels, Croll and Vega settled on the deck, the exhaust from their jump jets throwing up a mist of red blood. Nikki popped the top cover of her CASPer, and the rich stink of death and cordite permeated her nose and lungs. Beside her Buchanan followed suit. He ensured his radio link was deactivated before he spoke so Croll and Vega couldn’t overhear him.

  “You OK, Nikki?”

  Nikki slowly nodded her head. “Yeah. Sure. The warrant states dead or alive. Looks like they chose the former, besides...” Nikki gave Buchanan a weak smile. “There’s less paperwork this way.”

  Buchanan gave a deep, rumbling laugh. Yeah, she’ll be fine; she’s definitely her father’s daughter.

  Epilogue

  “What are we supposed to do about all this?” the station administrator asked, his pointer claw gesturing at the bloody carnage.

  “Not my job,” Nikki replied. “As far as the ship and all the equipment goes, I’ve seized them for attacking a peacemaker. The equipment goes to Sinclair’s Scorpions for their assistance in bringing the Besquith to justice. The ship will be going to the Peacemaker Guild.”

  She walked away, leaving the administrator sputtering. The case had gone to shit, but at least she’d gotten the bad guys and turned a profit for the guild. Nikki smiled as she took out her slate to see her next case.

  Ooh, that should be interesting.

  # # # # #

  Chris’ Introduction to:

  HIDE AND SEEK by Christopher Nuttall

  Many readers will already be familiar with Christopher Nuttall’s works, and it will only be the fastest of readers who are able to keep up with the master of prolific-ness. I asked him for a 7-10k story, and wasn’t surprised when he had it ready for me by noon the next day. The man can write.

  How much? He is currently in the double digits of stories in both his “Schooled in Magic” fantasy series as well his “The Empire’s Corps” military scifi series, and he has a number of other series, as well. With over 50 published stories to his credit, I don’t think a month goes by without something new from Chris, which is great for his readers because it’s all outstanding. Chris has a number of bestsellers, and he is truly deserving of them. You can find out more about Chris at http://www.chrishanger.net.

  For all of his ability to write, he is great guy who is very unassuming in person, and I am happy to call him a friend. Chris’ contribution to the anthology takes a look at the clash of company vs. governmental rights in the Four Horsemen universe, especially as it affects two different planets, with a spy thrown in, to boot. Chris’ story, like many others in this anthology, is going to leave you wanting more…

  HIDE AND SEEK by Christopher Nuttall

  Paperwork, Security Officer Allen Jermaine considered, was the bane of his existence, closely followed by company bureaucrats who seemed to believe that nothing, not even a terminal threat to EPS Capricorn herself, was a suitable excuse for not filling in the goddamned forms in triplicate. It wasn’t as if much had happened during the four-week trip from Bonjour to Talus that deserved to be logged. The upper-class passengers weren’t the sort to cause serious trouble—and minor trouble would be quietly ignored, even if it was reported—while the lower-class passengers knew better than to start anything. Indeed, it had been a reasonably peaceful cruise for Allen and his staff.

  But that wouldn’t mean anything to the bureaucrats.

  He rubbed his forehead in frustration as he looked down at the slate. A list of incident reports, a demand for statements from witnesses and liability assessments from people who hadn’t been anywhere near an event that had never—officially—happened. But he knew better than to decline filling in the details. Th
e bureaucrats would pass the word and Allen, along with his subordinates, would never get another post again.

  “Bastards,” he muttered.

  The intercom bleeped. “Mr. Jermaine?”

  Allen grimaced, despite himself. “Yes, Captain?”

  “There’s a shuttle en route from Talus, ETA twenty-one minutes,” Captain Richardson said, flatly. “She’s broadcasting a local government security ID. Her passenger insists you meet him at the airlock.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Allen said.

  His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the live feed from the bridge. There was a shuttle heading directly for Capricorn. That was a surprise. The giant liner was due to enter orbit in less than seven hours. She was currently decelerating, riding her fusion torch as she fell towards orbit. The local government agent—either intelligence or counter-intelligence, under the circumstances—could have boarded the liner then, without fuss. Coming out in a high-speed shuttle was a considerable expense, one that smacked of trouble. No wonder Captain Richardson, a man wedded to routine, was playing messenger boy. Allen had no doubt the captain was already trying to figure out a way to separate himself from the affair before it blew up in his face.

  Or to claim credit for it, if it works out in the company’s favor, Allen thought.

  Allen rose in the half-gravity. “I’m on my way,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Cloak and dagger affairs never boded well, particularly given Talus’s...delicate...relationship with the rest of humanity, let alone aliens. “I’ll meet him at the airlock.”

  He scooped up his equipment belt and hurried out the hatch. It wouldn’t take twenty-one minutes to reach the ventral airlock, but it would give him time to think. The company wouldn’t thank him for doing something—anything—that would make ITC, Interstellar Travel and Communications, look bad, particularly if a despotic regime like Talus’s First Minister was involved. The Earth government was already unhappy with how this, the largest of their colonies, was turning into a soup sandwich. But they wouldn’t thank him, either, for starting a diplomatic incident that might get the company into hot water. He had no doubt that he, not Captain Richardson, would be the scapegoat if things went south.