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

by Chris Kennedy

  “You’re right, I don’t believe you.”

  Moran shrugged. “Don’t make it no less true. Trust me, considering the alternative, I’d much rather be stuck back in that cell.”

  “Some pretty good friends you have there to risk attacking a Super Max.”

  “Yeah, some friends, right?” Moran motioned to his swollen face with a thumb. “Trust me, it wasn’t for an overabundance of loyalty, I can tell you that. Money is a great motivator.”

  “You’re saying they broke you out of one of the most secure facilities in the galaxy for money? Must be one hell of a contract.”

  “You could say that.”

  “What is it? Why are you worth so much?”

  “Ha. You got it all wrong, I’m not worth anything. But what I know, that’s something completely different.”

  “So, this information you have, that’s why they beat you half to death?”

  “That’s right, and if you hadn’t shown up they probably would have finished the job when Johnny found out I lied to him.”

  “Lied to him about what?”

  “The reason I’m in the whole shitty mess in the first place. The slate.”

  “Slate? Wait, you’re not talking about the slate you took from that Peacemaker you killed?”

  Moran groaned. “For the thousandth time, I didn’t kill him. He was alive and well when I left him. I don’t know how many times I can say it. I told you, I’m not a killer. Thief yes; killer no. I’d be willing to bet whoever did kill him was concerned about what was on that damn slate. Hell, if I’d known what was on it before I lifted it, I would never have touched it. I should’ve known it was a shit-job when the contract came through.”

  “What contract? What’s so damned important about this slate?”

  “Black-market job, masked client, and ridiculous amount of money. Should have known better. No one pays that much money for a ‘Snatch and Grab.’ I was in and out in under 15 minutes, and had it not been for Jenkin’s death, I would’ve made it off-planet, no issues.”

  Mac frowned. “Who’s Jenkins?”

  “The Peacemaker I killed.” Moran held up air-quotes.

  Mac flushed slightly, embarrassed he hadn’t recognized the name. He had known, but most of his energy and thoughts had been focused on Moran, the killer, not Jenkins the victim.

  “But you didn’t have the slate on you when we took you into custody.”

  “That’s right, I didn’t.”

  Mac paused, looking into the mercenary’s eyes. “The slate’s still here? On Calista? Boss broke you out of prison so he could force you to give him the slate?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “But you said you lied to him?”

  “Kind of a stupid thing to do I guess. But Davenport was going to kill me regardless of whether I told them where it was or not. I figured if I could point them in a direction where there was a chance they’d be taken out, it might give me a chance.”

  “So, where is it?”

  Moran was silent for several seconds, almost as if he was trying to determine whether Mac was worthy or not. Finally, he said, “I’ll take you to it.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  “You know, it’d be a lot easier to do this if you took these off,” Moran said, holding up his cuffed wrists.

  “Yeah, not going to happen. You’re lucky I’m not just taking you straight to Central Processing.”

  Mac climbed out of the flyer, then waited at the bottom as Moran struggled down the ladder.

  “So, level with me,” Moran said. “Why are you helping me?”

  A voice from the shadows caused both men to jump. “I was wondering that exact same thing.”

  Mac spun, drawing his pistol and leveling it in the direction of the voice. He let out a sigh and lowered the gun as an angry-looking Amore stepped from the shadows.

  “Jesus,” Mac said. “Tonks, you scared the shit out of me.”

  The alien shrugged. “You pulled me away from a perfectly relaxing evening with a bottle of Black Label and the Misses. Seeing you almost shit your pants makes up for that a little.”

  “Great.” Mac jammed the pistol back into its holster.

  “Looks like you made a new friend,” Tonks said, nodding to Moran.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say we’re besties yet,” Moran said, “but we’re getting there.”

  Mac ignored him. “Did you bring the stuff I asked for?”

  Tonks padded a pack slung over one arm. “Still not sure why you need them, but it’s not the craziest thing you’ve ever asked for.”

  Mac gave his friend a knowing look. “We’ll see.” He turned to Moran. “Where are we heading?”

  Moran nodded to the tall tenement building on one side of the service lot. “Sixth floor. Number 607.”

  “Let’s get moving.”

  “Does it seem a little too quiet around here to you?” Moran asked as they walked.

  “Peacemakers issued a planet-wide warning about your friends about an hour ago,” Tonks said. “Nemis is on a city-wide curfew.”

  “Well, that’s good for us, right?” Moran asked.

  Mac held up a finger. “First, off, there is no us. Got that? We aren’t in this together. There is no team. You are still a criminal and will be judged accordingly when this is over.”

  “Okay, okay!” Jessup said, holding his cuffed hands up in surrender. “Shit.”

  They continued in silence. They found the service entrance unlocked, and a few seconds later they were ascending the stairs to the sixth floor.

  Unit 607 was situated in the middle of the floor, on the north side of a dimly-lit corridor. Several of the photostrips lining the ceiling flickered. Trash and dirt covered the floor, and graffiti covered the walls.

  Mac tried the handle. Locked. He swiped is credentials across the panel, however, the door remained locked. “Huh, doesn’t recognize my Marshal access.”

  “Let me try mine,” Tonks said, stepping up to the panel. The light flashed red again, and the door didn’t unlock. “Hmmmm.”

  “I’ve got a key,” Moran said.

  Both Marshals turned to him, sharing disbelieving expressions.

  Moran dug one hand into a pocket. “It’s right…” He lunged forward and slammed a boot into the door. The locking mechanism broke with a loud crack, and the door swung open.

  “Very subtle,” Tonks said. “Now the entire floor’ll know we’re here.”

  “No one pays attention to anything in these housing blocks,” Moran said. “That’s why I picked it. No one gets into anyone else’s business.”

  “Come on,” Mac said, stepping into the apartment.

  The room was dark, lit only by the city lights outside the apartment’s dirty windows. A small bed sat underneath the windows opposite the door. A small kitchenette was located to their right; a shower, toilet, and sink was on their left. The air was stale, and everything was covered by a thin layer of dust.

  “You know, with a little paint, this place could be a little cozy space,” Tonks said.

  “We did an extensive check on you before we caught you,” Mac said. “We never found any records of you ever renting or buying on the planet.”

  Moran gave Mac a sardonic smile. “Criminal.”

  Mac shook his head. “Okay, so where is this thing people are so willing to kill for?”

  “Right,” Moran said, moving across to the bed. “You want to give me a hand with this?”

  Mac hesitated.

  “Or you can take these off.” Moran held up the cuffs again.

  Mac lifted the mattress off the metal frame, and Moran reached underneath, stretching back toward the wall.

  “Oh, come on,” Tonks said. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Moran stood, holding up an unremarkable slate.

  Tonks laughed. “You hid it under your mattress?”

  “Worked, didn’t it?”

  Mac held out his hand. Moran hesitated.

&nbs
p; “The stuff that’s on this thing,” Moran said. “There are people out there right now, high-ranking people, that wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone to get their hands on it. I’m not being overly dramatic, either. They’ve already killed at least one person that I know of, but I’m sure there are others. These are people you don’t get away from.”

  “You’re talking about Jenkins,” Mac said, more a statement than a question.

  Moran nodded. “I’m actually surprised I’ve lasted this long. I’m sure the only reason I’m alive is because of this.” He waved the slate.

  “Let’s see it.”

  Moran handed the slate over, sighing as he let it go. Mac turned it on and waited as the device ran through its start-up sequence.

  “Wow,” Mac said, reading the data as it scrolled down the screen. “That’s some pretty heavy-duty encryption. Almost looks like military grade.”

  “If it isn’t, it’s the next best thing,” Moran said. “The guy I took it to before you said he’d only seen one slate like it, and that one was an Information Guild slate. Took him almost seven hours to crack it under containment. It’s unlocked and safe now, but… don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake,” Tonks said. He snatched the slate from Mac’s fingers and scrolled through the data. He stopped after just a few seconds and looked up, eyes wide. “Holy shit. Mac this is incredible.” He looked over at Moran. “There’s enough dirt on this thing you could call in favors for life and still not run out of shit to hold over people.”

  “Now you see why people are dying for this thing.”

  Mac held out his hand, and, reluctantly, Tonks passed it over.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Moran asked.

  “There’s only two options I see here. One, we destroy this thing and forget we ever saw it, or two, we turn it over—”

  “No way,” Moran interrupted. “No fucking way. You of all people know what happens when you try to do the right thing. You’ll get a knife in the back as soon as you walk out of the guild hall. Or a flyer will run you over, or some freak electrical accident will fry your navigation system, and you’ll crash into a building or something. They won’t let this get out. Marshal or no, Peacemaker or no, these people don’t care. They operate so far above the law, they don’t even know what it is.”

  “He’s got a point,” Tonks said.

  “So, we destroy it?” Mac asked, not liking that idea at all. “Let everyone implicated on this thing just go on getting away with everything?”

  Moran pointed at the slate. “That right there, that’s leverage.”

  “I’m not going to blackmail anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, then I truly don’t know what to tell you. Because, that slate is priceless and deadly at the same time. Not only that, but I have no doubt there is tracking data in there somewhere, which will prove I was nowhere near Jenkins when he was killed. That alone is worth more than any other bullshit on that thing.”

  “We can shotgun it,” Tonks suggested, climbing onto the bed. He pushed back the curtains and looked out over Nemis’ skyline. Mac could see the red, orange, and yellow glows refracted in the glass.

  “We’d need a hell of a lot of bandwidth to push something this big.”

  Tonks turned away from the window. “Come on, man, I’ve got the tech section wrapped around my tail. We can load it remotely, compress it, then blast it out whenever we’re ready.”

  “How long to upload?”

  Tonks shrugged. “Ten to fifteen minutes.”

  He held the slate out to his partner. “Do it.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Tonks brought in his last bit of equipment, a large case almost as big as the alien himself, and opened it in the middle of the floor next to two others. The slate sat next to the first case, a thin black cable connecting the two.

  “I could use some help here,” Tonks said.

  Mac nudged Moran toward the window. “Keep an eye out.”

  Mac moved to stand over the Amore, who slapped the center case with the palm of his paw, cursing the machine.

  “Okay,” Tonks said. “I’ve got a trace program up, our Marshal-net connection is running through this terminal here, and the third is a backup for the trace. Now, once we start we’re not going to be able to shut it down. You sure you want to do this?”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Mac said.

  “All right.” Tonks jabbed a furry finger down, and the program came to life. The slate’s screen lit up, and the electronics hummed as they worked. Dialogue panels opened and closed, and lines of text flashed in seemingly random fractal line patterns, filling the screens. The terminal on the far right beeped, and a text box appeared, flashing red and white.

  The Amore’s ears perked up. “Shit!”

  His fingers flew across the keyboard.

  “What’s up?”

  “Someone’s already tracing the line. Damn, that was fast.”

  Moran turned away from the window. “We need to get out of here.”

  Mac pointed at him. “Keep watching. How much time do you have before they lock on?”

  “Hell…” Tonks said. “Maybe five, six minutes. Could be sooner; it’s hard to say.”

  Mac clenched his fists. “Damn it.”

  “Oh, shit,” Moran said, stepping back from the window.

  Mac moved over to the window. “What is it?”

  He pulled the curtain back and looked down at the street. Two flyers had just touched down, each disgorging a squad of armed men. Privately-contracted security forces—the Peacemakers used them sometimes to crack down on smaller operations throughout the fringe worlds.

  “We’ve got company,” Mac said.

  “I still need a few minutes here. It’s almost finished pre-loading.”

  “We don’t have a few minutes, Tonks. We’re out of time.”

  “Then we’re screwed, Mac. How the hell did they find us so quick?”

  “Has to be Tobias,” Mac said.

  “How the hell did he find us?”

  Mac shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. Maybe he was able to track us somehow. Maybe he got tipped off. I don’t know, but it’s the only explanation; if it was the Marshals, we’d have heard something.”

  “They’re heading our direction,” Moran said, pointing out the window.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Mac looked around the room, thinking. If Tobias was after them, he might not put forth the effort to arrest them. More likely, he’d simply kill them all to be rid of the irritation.

  “How much time to do you need?” Mac asked.

  Tonks looked over his equipment. “Looks like the compression is finished, now it’s just uploading the data to the proxy.”

  They couldn’t stand and fight; they’d be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. Tobias wouldn’t be too far behind, if he wasn’t here already, and then all bets were off. Security contractors were one thing, a fully-armed Peacemaker was another.

  “We run,” Mac said.

  The two others looked at him, surprised.

  He continued, “We run, and we lead them away from here. We only need to buy enough time for the package to upload to the proxy, then there won’t be anything he can do to stop it. Push all that stuff under the bed and let’s get out of here.”

  A minute later, they were running through the corridor toward the stairwell. Down was the only option. They reached Level 4 and stopped on the landing, listening. Boots pounded on the stairs below, gear rattled, and men spoke in short, clipped sentences.

  Mac nodded at the exit. “Go.”

  Tonks was the first through the door, followed by Moran, and Mac brought up the rear. He heard one of the contractors shout something and cursed. They’d be on them in moments.

  The building was shaped like a large “L.” Just as they reached the building’s elbow, the stairwell door they’d just come from slammed open. Mac caught a glimpse of three armed
men filing through as he rounded the corner. Shouts to stop and surrender echoed after them, then gunshots, deafening in the confined space.

  Plaster erupted from the wall behind Mac, sending dust and debris spraying.

  “Go, go, go!” he shouted, pushing Moran forward.

  They reached the far end of the corridor, where another door led to a secondary stairwell. Tonks launched himself through the air, slamming into the door, knocking it open. They flew down the stairs, barely even touching them. As they reached ground level, Mac heard the door slam open above them, followed by several more gunshots.

  Bullets twanged off the metal railing and smacked into the floor. They raced from the stairwell into a long, dark corridor filled with trash and abandoned property.

  “Quick,” Mac said, grabbing a mattress. “Block the door.”

  Tonks cursed but moved to help. A few seconds later they’d created a barrier of junk that reached halfway up the door.

  The trio fled down the corridor, then out through the exit into the service lot where both flyers sat.

  “How much time?” Mac asked, making for his flyer, Moran and Tonks following.

  “Four—”

  The Amore’s flyer, to their left, erupted into flames, the explosion ripping through one of its wings. The entire craft folded in on itself as wreckage sprayed into the air.

  The explosion knocked Mac slightly off balance, slowing his progress to his own flyer. He cursed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance of the flames.

  “Son of a bitch!” Moran yelled, moving away from the flaming wreckage.

  Tonks came to a stop, transfixed on the burning flyer. “Mother—”

  A second explosion ripped open Mac’s flyer. The drive compartment erupted in smoke and flames. Pieces of the flyer bounced off the brick wall behind them, and metal groaned as the chassis collapsed to the pavement.

  Mac stuttered to stop, eyes darting back and forth between the two burning wrecks. The two fires cast eerie shadows around the darkened service lot.

  “Well don’t just stand there,” Moran shouted, already heading past Tonks’s flyer, down the alley. His stride was clumsy with his wrists still bound.