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

by Chris Kennedy

  They’d almost reached the main access to the street, when a figure landed on the pavement in front of them. It stood; a human wrapped in Peacemaker assault armor. A loud, electronically enhanced voice boomed through the alley.

  “STOP!”

  “Son of a bitch!” Tonks yelled, bringing up his pistol. The Peacemaker shifted as Tonks fired, returning fire while dodging away from the Marshal’s bullets. Sparks shot out from the Peacemaker’s armor just as Tonks let out a blood-curdling scream.

  Mac yelled as one of the Peacemaker’s shots took Tonks in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He watched his friend roll several feet before coming to a stop, unmoving. He turned, bringing his pistol up, and saw the Peacemaker already had his weapon trained on him.

  “I said stop,” the electronic voice ordered.

  Mac hesitated.

  “Macintosh Sacobi, I knew you’d never cut it in the Guild; I should never have pulled you along like I did.” The Peacemaker raised his helmet’s face shield. Rylin Tobias grinned.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t think law and order really is your thing,” Tobias said, stepping forward. “Though, on a positive note, you’ll probably have the record for shortest criminal career of all time.”

  Mac stared at the Peacemaker, feeling bile raise in the back of his throat. His arms shook with rage. “If you resemble anything close to law enforcement, I’m glad I don’t measure up. You’re not going to get away with this, Rylin. Not this time. I won’t let you.”

  Tobias laughed. “Won’t let me? I’m not sure how you have any control of tonight’s events whatsoever.”

  Moran stepped up next to Mac.

  “I will admit,” Tobias said, his eyes turning to Moran. “I didn’t see this little…partnership coming. Weren’t satisfied with one cop dead, huh Moran? Needed to come back and pick up where you left off?”

  Moran didn’t answer.

  “It actually makes my life a little easier, tell you the truth. An escaped cop killer kills two Marshals while they were trying to bring him in and is killed after firing on a Peacemaker. I don’t think anyone will have any difficulty believing that.”

  “So, you’re just going to kill us?”

  “I guess there is one alternative. A way we can still both come out ahead on this deal.”

  “And that is?”

  “Give me the slate. I know that’s why your friend there came back. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And the fact his friends went to such lengths to get their hands on it means it’s very valuable indeed. Honestly, attacking a Super Max Prison with a low-level merc gang, to spring one man; that’s a hell of a risk.”

  “I don’t have it,” Mac said.

  “Oh, come on, do we really have to play this game? I know you have it. Come on, hand it over.”

  “No.”

  Tobias fired, the crack echoing around the alley. Moran doubled over, grabbing his stomach. The unexpected shot caught Mac off-guard. He stepped toward the injured man, keeping his pistol leveled at the Peacemaker.

  “Damn it, Tobias!” Mac pulled Moran’s arm over his shoulder, keeping the man on his feet.

  Moran looked up, face etched in pain. “You’re a real mother fucker.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” Tobias said. “Just hand over the slate.”

  Moran groaned and slumped against Mac’s grip. Mac’s eyes bore into Tobias, every fiber of his being wishing to exact revenge on his old trainer. No, not vengeance, justice.

  He lowered his pistol. “Okay, Tobias. You win.” He reached into his jacket and produced the slate, holding it up. “Here it is.”

  “Good. Now slide it over.”

  Mac bent over and slid it over. The Peacemaker picked the device off the ground and examined it while keeping his weapon trained on the two men.

  “I’ll put in a good word for you, Mac,” Tobias said. “Hell, I might even be able to get you a formal Guild funeral.”

  “No!”

  The crack was deafening and Mac felt himself being flung back through the air. He just barley registered Moran shoving him out of the way, stepping in front of the Marshal. Moran’s body jerked abruptly, taking the blast intended for Mac.

  Mac screamed, rolling to the side as Moran dropped to his knees. Mac came up on one knee and fired. The bullet smacked into Tobias’s weapon, knocking it from the Peacemaker’s hand. Seeing his opportunity, Mac charged. Tobias turned and fled.

  Gunfire echoed through the alley as Mac fired as he chased after Tobias. The Peacemaker rounded the corner at a full sprint. By the time Mac reached the corner, Tobias was dropping behind the controls of a Peacemaker flyer, and its cockpit windshield was closing.

  Mac fired until he was empty, tiny bursts of sparks erupting across the flyer’s fuselage. Mac cursed, turning and sprinting away as the flyer’s cannons opened up. The street erupted in plumes of concrete and dust, the blasts cutting a path down the street into the mouth of the alley.

  Mac launched himself into the alley as the cannon fire subsided, the last of the blasts hitting mere feet from where Mac rolled to a stop. The flyer’s engines roared, then faded as it lifted into the night sky.

  Mac lay still for several moments, trying to catch his breath. When he finally got back to his feet, his heart sank at the sight of his fallen companions.

  Mac knelt next to Moran. Blood seeped from a wound in his chest.

  “Why?” Mac asked, surprised at the anger and sadness he felt as the life faded from the man’s eyes.

  “I told you…I’m not a killer.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Rylin Tobias locked the door to his office and tossed his harness over his chair.

  The news cast on his wall screen displayed images of the carnage from the tenement building. Reporters were already linking the devastation to gang violence and mercenaries.

  “Sources claim two Calista Marshals are among the causalities.”

  Tobias found himself whistling as he switched the slate on, barely able to contain his anticipation.

  The main screen appeared, and he began working through the contents. He frowned, as he opened the first file, finding a list of intergalactic extradition attorneys.

  “What the hell?”

  The next file was more of the same. And the next.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  The female voice on the news broadcast was interrupted by a male. “I’m sorry, Diane, we have to interrupt you for a moment, we’re just now receiving video that should shed some light on the developing situation there at the tenements. I should warn our viewers, what you’re about to see is graphic and disturbing.”

  The image changed, the shot was behind two men, Tobias immediately recognized as Sacobi and Moran, and at the far end of the alley, he stood, weapon pointing at the two men.

  There was sound, but it was difficult to pick up what was being said. Sacobi bent down, sliding the slate over. He watched himself pull the trigger, the flash turning the image into a grainy glare. He watched Moran shove the Marshal out of the way, taking the blast himself.

  His stomach turned as he watched the brief chase, and then the street erupted in cannon fire. Blood pounded in his ears as Sacobi stood several moments later, then moved to Moran’s side.

  After a minute, the Marshal got to his feet and came back toward the camera.

  “You okay?” Sacobi’s voice asked.

  Off camera, the Amore said, “I got shot in the leg, how the hell do you think I am?”

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  The image changed back to the reporter. “We have not been able to identify the Peacemaker as yet, and the Guild would not comment on the video. We are also receiving reports of a massive data dump across the Galnet, and our initial investigation seems to implicate a number of high level government officials engaging in a number of illegal activities, including smuggling, drug trafficking,
and murder.

  “For more on these developing stories, stay tuned to Calista News Network.”

  A pounding at his door jolted Tobias out of his daze. A muffled voice said, “Tobias, are you in there? Tobias, Regional Direction Kern is on the line. He’s demanding to speak to you right now.”

  Tobias barely heard his secretary. He sat down in his chair, eyes fixed on the slate. His leverage.

  His end.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  “Damn, Tonks,” Mac said, stepping into the small sterile hospital room. “You look like shit.”

  The Amore coughed. “At least I have an excuse.”

  “Not a very good one.”

  Tonks snorted.

  Mac stopped next to the bed. “How are you doing?”

  “Since yesterday? I’m doing fine. Doc says I should be out beginning of next week. As long as you don’t keep coming in here and interrupting my recovery. What’s the word?”

  Mac shrugged. “The fallout from the slate is pretty amazing. Three Information Guild execs were arrested last night, I hear there’s going to be a handful of Merchant Guild operators dropping tomorrow.”

  “Hard to believe someone was able to get all that information compiled on a single slate like that. Whoever it was, they had to have some pretty phenomenal sources. Who’d have that kind of reach?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Tonks raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Conspiracies, back-room deals, corruption, it’s never going to stop. I can only worry about what I can do something about. There’s more than enough work here on Calista to keep me busy for a lifetime of cop work.”

  Tonks sniffed. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there.”

  “Which brings me to the point of my visit today.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought I’d tell you before you heard from anyone else, Sullivan got out today.”

  “Son of a bitch. What happened?”

  “Apparently biting a suspect is frowned upon in certain circles.”

  “Bah,” Tonks waved a hand through the air. “He had it coming.”

  “Yeah, I agree with you there. He’ll mess up again, and we’ll catch him again. That’s how this game works.”

  “I guess.”

  “Anyway, hurry up and stopping milking this scratch, we have work to do.”

  # # # # #

  LUCK OF THE DRAW by J.R. Handley & Corey D. Truax

  Luck of the Draw Cantina, Planet Saxet

  The Luck of the Draw Cantina was a smoky hole filled with cheering bodies. Amidst the ruckus, Ivan Petrov sat with his boots lazily resting on the table in front of him. He clutched a six-sided die in one hand and a mostly empty tankard of the gambling den’s cheapest swill in the other. He felt at home.

  The walls and ceilings around Ivan appeared to be little more than metal sheets tacked onto a wooden frame. The entire ramshackle of a building looked like it could collapse at any second, but he didn’t come for the decor. What mattered to him was the money the place had invested in gaining unfettered access to live video feeds.

  The bar erupted into shouts and other odd noises as some of the patrons jumped to their feet, baptizing the sludge-covered floorboards with whatever bizarre drinks they had clutched in their hands. He had opened his mouth to join in the cacophony; however, the cantina barkeep walked past and pushed his boots off the table. Ivan simply held his tankard out for a refill in response.

  The Cochkala, which looked like an over-sized badger, made high-pitched chittering sounds while it filled Ivan’s oversized drinking vessel. A beep came from his slate, indicating his Universal Account Access Card (UACC)—pronounced yack by humans—had been charged for the drink. He was descending more into debt by the minute.

  Ivan took three gulps of the coldish brew and felt the room spin a bit. The tipsy feeling, paired with the thrill of a high-stakes bet, made him forget about what a shit life he had. Much like the two gladiators he watched on the screen, he had been through an arena of sorts…only he had lost everything in the contest.

  “Come on Gilly, kick his ass!” he shouted as he watched the melee unfold. The underdog, a metal-fisted human, knocked the champion onto his backside.

  He rolled his brother’s die across the tabletop. The metal cube with hand-carved dots landed on a six. This was a good sign, and Ivan jumped to his feet.

  Every eye in the room had turned to the fight, as if mesmerized by the chance the champion might be unseated. It appeared the conclusion was at hand. The two contestants, battered and bruised, had regained their footing and continued pummeling each other.

  Ivan needed the underdog to win. He didn’t technically have the credits he had wagered on the bout. The pale-skinned bounty hunter was so engrossed in the thrill of the fight he missed the angry bookie approaching him.

  “Time to pay up!” said Crovax as he pushed Ivan from behind.

  He felt his chest and face hit the table. The force of the wooden face-plant caused his brother’s die to jump on the tabletop, roll, and land on one. His free hand was able to scoop up the precious memento just in time for two henchmen to drag him out of the building and into the alley behind.

  The two meatheads Crovax employed as security chucked Ivan onto the ground the moment they cleared the swinging back door. A kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back. He struggled to breathe, but the dust made it hard. Ivan could see the two hired hands were both carrying illegal, merc-grade weapons. One of them had already unholstered a pistol and aimed it at Ivan’s chest.

  “You all don’t want to kill an employee of the Peacemaker Guild, right?” Ivan asked as he raised both of his hands defensively in front of his face.

  Crovax hissed between his pointy teeth and crossed his fur-covered arms in front of his chest. It was hard for Ivan to focus on the creature towering above him while the pinpricks of light danced in his vision. The pistol trained on his chest was distracting, too.

  “Bounty hunters are not Peacemakers,” said Crovax. “You are the toys they employ to do work for them. Now, where are my credits? I want what I’m owed, or else…”

  The pause was followed by the weasel squatting next to him. The slave collar the bookie wore became more visible as the Zuparti’s beady, blood-red eyes narrowed at Ivan. The alien’s appearance wasn’t nearly as frightening as the six-inch stiletto he produced and placed on Ivan’s cheek.

  “I promise, I’m good for it,” said Ivan. He didn’t dare move as the knife would sink into his flesh, possibly even gouging an eye. He felt his pistol being pulled from his holster by one of the goons.

  “I want my credits.” The universal translator Ivan wore struggled to keep up with the angry weasel. “I want them now, or I slice you up and sell you for parts.”

  “I’ve got them. I think I just won big on the Gilly fight. It’ll pay you back, with interest!”

  Squinting, Crovax used his free hand to pull out his slate. He glanced at the screen and laughed.

  “You idiot, when you want to hedge your bets and put credits on both sides, you have to account for the odds. Plus, my master owns the other house you put credits down at. One last time, where are my credits?”

  “There’s a couple contracts waiting for me at the be-hop,” he said, referring to the Bounty Hunter Orbital Platform. “I can earn the credits I owe, and interest, if you just let me do my job.”

  It was a lie, and the look on the weasel’s face told Ivan it hadn’t worked.

  “You are barely a bounty hunter.” The weasel pushed his blade into Ivan’s cheek, breaking the skin. “If anything, you are a glorified prisoner guard for the real hunters. The point—” Crovax stopped to lick the blood from the blade, “—is there isn’t a job an unranked, useless, hunter like you could take to break even.”

  Crovax paused in thought, stood, then nodded to his two flunkies. The knuckle dragger who had a gun trained on Ivan holstered it.

  “You made the right choice, Crovax,” sai
d Ivan, pushing out a breath of relief.

  “Having you beaten to death? I agree; it was the right choice.”

  Ivan went for the pistol holstered on his leg, but only found air. His other hand, the one still grasping his brother’s die, defensively covered his face as the two henchmen kicked the shit out of him. Rolling onto his knees and attempting to crawl, he shouted for help.

  Four hands grabbed his back, and for a moment he was airborne. His body came to a crashing halt against the back wall of the cantina. The flimsy metal surface didn’t hurt, but the beam it was nailed to did. The force of the blow caused his slate to fly out from beneath the duster he wore. The poor device was already dated and barely functioning, just like Ivan. To his surprise, the speakers still managed to sputter out a message.

  “Ivan Petrov, badge number eight-seven-zero-five, congratulations on your advancement to apprentice,” the smooth, female robotic voice droned. “You have been selected for a Tier-4 contract. Meet with the bounty hunter that selected you at the Bounty Hunter Orbital Platform, immediately.”

  The message continued to repeat as Crovax lifted his hand, stopping the beating. Ivan showed his appreciation by puking the contents of his stomach onto the dust and sand-covered ground.

  “Nice try,” said Crovax. “You record that yourself?”

  Groaning, Ivan used a sleeve to wipe away some of the vomit clinging to his unkempt beard. He didn’t have a clue what the hell the message was about, or why he’d been inexplicably advanced to apprentice. He’d been an un-tiered bounty hunter for a long time, by choice.

  “That’s an official be-hop communique; just look at the transmission codes. If you kill me, the Tier-4 bounty hunter that selected me for this mission is going to come sniffing around. Let me do my job, and you will get your credits, with interest.”

  Crovax’s long whiskers twitched. The weasel whispered something to one of his goons. Before Ivan could react, a small, needle-tipped dagger pierced his shoulder. He yelped in pain as the blade was withdrawn, then he was lifted to his feet. Soft fur tickled his cheek as the little beast whispered into his ear.