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

by Chris Kennedy

  That sounds ominous, Bolivar thought, keeping his face expressionless.

  “We formed it in accordance with the most recent Mercenary Guild guidelines,” he replied. “But I’m concerned—what did the Order of Meyra do to get on the Peacemakers’ radar?’”

  “Are you familiar with the ‘Dark Heart Compact,’ Mr. Thompson?” Devilmane asked.

  “Please tell me that’s a bad translation,” Bolivar replied. “And no.”

  Devilmane shook his head.

  “You truly are a fool,” his guest said. “Please, could I have another of what you call ribeye?”

  “No,” Bolivar snapped. Devilmane looked at him, black eyes flat.

  “I see I have offended,” the Equiri replied. “My species does not apologize, but I realize that is customary with yours. Please allow me to elaborate.”

  “Of course,” Bolivar said, feeling a momentary pride at not gritting his teeth.

  “The actual Buman is more poetic, but I hate their language almost as much as I hate their smell,” Devilmane continued. “About forty years ago, someone translated a bunch of your texts into Buman. One of them was a book entitled Heart of Darkness. Another was Guns, Germs, and Steel. Are you familiar with these texts?”

  “More or less,” Bolivar said. “My father insisted all of his children be well educated.”

  “How familiar are you with Bumans and their disposition?”

  “Curious, devourers of knowledge. Should have been cats, not birds.”

  Devilmane looked at him for a moment, and Bolivar realized an explanation was in order.

  “Felines on Earth are known for their curiosity.”

  Devilmane nodded in understanding.

  “We were told your felines were known for their brutality and murderous play.”

  “That too,” Bolivar allowed. He looked at his glass, realizing it was empty. He poured himself another shot of whiskey.

  If we’re going to talk about the horrible days of the original Colonel Kurtz, Marlow, and all the rest, I really need to be closer to blitzed than sober. History class had been depressing enough in high school. Revisiting it after one knew just how shitty “advanced species” were to indigenous populations made it even worse.

  “So just how much have the Bumans collectively learned about Earth’s colonial era?” Bolivar asked.

  “Enough that a significant number of them are using it as a cautionary tale,” Devilmane said. “In turn, they’re starting to corrupt the established order of things.”

  “Established order how?” Bolivar asked.

  “Many of them are starting to question how the Union conducts resource acquisition with less advanced races,” Devilmane replied. “They’re forming societies, harassing other species, and generally making nuisances of themselves. They’ve even created a Charter of Ethicality. “

  Spoken like someone whose race is higher up the pecking order than most others, Bolivar thought.

  “Pretend I’m a member of a species who just crawled up out of the backwater,” Bolivar said. “Talk to me really simple about what the Peacemakers’ problem is with the Order of Meyra. Seeing as how they’ve just hired me to do a job.”

  “The reason they want you to ‘do a job’ is because several Buman consortiums signed the aforementioned charter,” Devilmane said. “Basically they agreed to only traffic in goods that were obtained ‘ethically’ as defined by the document.”

  I’m guessing that “ethically” in this case means different than the usual Union style of “civilize them with a mag rifle,” Bolivar mused.

  “You seem opposed to this,” Bolivar said.

  “The Union has the Guilds,” Devilmane spat. “The Guilds have been effective in maintaining the order of things. We do not need individual species deciding that their…sensibilities supersede the Guilds.”

  “So in other words, the Peacemakers are upset…” Bolivar started.

  “My opinions have nothing to do with my status as a Peacemaker or the job I am to offer you,” Devilmane spat.

  Oh, I seem to have struck some nerves, Bolivar thought.

  “All I know is we’ve been given 10 million to bring back evidence that the natives are sentient to the point they’re pre-industrial. That’s it. Shouldn’t be that hard,” Bolivar said. “So unless you are going to offer me 12 million and Peacemaker sanction to kill this contract, I think our talk is done.”

  “I am concerned with the Crimson Squid,” Devilmane snapped.

  “I’m not familiar with the…” Bolivar started, only to be cut off by a hoof slamming onto the table.

  “Do not lie to me, human!”

  Bolivar raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you familiar with the Horned Scarabs?” Devilmane asked, the sudden change of topic throwing Bolivar for a second.

  “Small mercenary company,” Bolivar said. “Got called in to clear out the Squiddies on the planet we humans call “Meru” over in the Tolo Arm. Wiped the Squiddies out like the Spanish Inquisition hitting the local Heretics ‘R’ Us.”

  Devilmane looked perplexed for a moment, then after concentrating on his implants nodded enthusiastically.

  I feel like I just offered the pony a handful of carrots, Bolivar thought. Except in this case it’d be more appropriate to think of a handful of kittens.

  “I heard the problem is that the Squiddies didn’t take kindly to that,” Bolivar continued. “Punched back twice as hard, started targeting mercs’ families.”

  “My brother was a member of the Scarabs,” Devilmane said. “They slaughtered his two wives and all of his young about five years after the events on Meru.”

  Kind of smart of the Squiddies to wait and pick folks off four or five at a time, Bolivar thought. All at once draws attention.

  “Well that explains why you have a problem with them, but not the Peacemakers,” Bolivar said, keeping his tone level.

  “Did you ever wonder why the Scarabs stopped getting attacked?” Devilmane asked.

  “I figured it was because someone in the Squiddies, despite their anarchist tendencies, realized they were damn close to the Mercenary Guild making the biggest calamari stir fry the Union’s ever seen,” Bolivar replied. The Equiri’s teeth bared again.

  Lifetime achievement unlocked: Made an Equiri actually laugh.

  “Something like that,” Devilmane said. “In reality, there were…reprisals. The Bugitar believed to be in charge of the Crimson Squid were all…liquidated.”

  Well that explains a lot, Bolivar thought. The Bugitar were a minor race that were the discount dollar store to the more established races’ superstore chain.

  No one likes being the folks playing poker against a stacked deck.

  “The problem is, the Crimson Squid should have changed their symbol to what your species call the hydra,” Devilmane continued. “Whatever heads grew in their place seem to be smarter and wider-thinking.”

  The horse-faced alien pulled out a red and white slate. A standard-issue Union computer, the device looked about the same as a pre-Contact Terran tablet. Of course, it had more computing power than an early 21st century supercomputer, and Bolivar had a feeling this one was chock full of information.

  “I would guess your outfit is headed to a large planet in the TX-R3D system, yes?” Devilmane asked.

  “Yes,” Bolivar replied after a moment.

  “I will need to see your contract and dossier,” Devilmane said.

  Bolivar took a deep breath.

  Fuck it, he thought, then moved the files from his pinplant to the storage device attached to his pinlink. Once the necessary files were shipped over, he held the device out to Devilmane, and the alien placed it into the slate. A moment later, a visual representation of the TX-R3D system was holographically projected above the table.

  “What is your unit calling this planet?” Devilmane asked.

  “Lucifer,” Bolivar replied. Devilmane looked at him for a moment, then simply nodded.

  I almost expected a whinny
to go with that, Bolivar thought. He looked down at his shot glass, then moved it to the next table over.

  “We figured it was apt given the red diamond harvesting,” he said, slurring slightly.

  “You humans are strange,” Devilmane said, tapping the tablet four times then making a squiggly motion with his hoof.

  The projected map winked out of existence, replaced by a floating Mercator projection of Lucifer with the planet’s four large continents. The shallow, fresh water oceans that separated the masses looked almost like rivers when pressed into two dimensions.

  “If we’re going to name the planet Lucifer, I guess we’ll name the continents Bael, Astarte, Palmon, and Zagan to stick with the theme,” Bolivar said.

  “We have an entire pantheon of hells you could choose from,” Devilmane stated.

  Sweet Jesus, everything is lost on them.

  “Your employers left the impression that you’d be able to find underground warrens and population centers at these locations?” Devilmane asked, as the map seemed to suddenly break out in measles.

  “Yes,” Bolivar said. “Or at least, the ruins of them.”

  “No,” Devilmane said, removing the dots. “You are a pawn in a game of chess this Order has no clue is being played.”

  The alien’s hoof descended onto the tablet’s glass again. The previous dots were replaced with two large ones located on the continents Bael and Astarte.

  “These are the two main base camps for red diamond operations on Lucifer,” Devilmane said. “Originally the mercs landed at these two sites, then conducted sub-orbital movements in battalion strength to every population center larger than ten thousand natives.”

  Which is why, sports fans, that advancing from nomad to feudal sucks when interstellar raiders come calling, Bolivar thought.

  “So how many natives have these Bugsatzgruppen killed?” Bolivar asked. After a few moments, Devilmane looked at Bolivar.

  “What is this term?” he asked.

  “Sorry, I’m being a dumbass,” Bolivar answered, then explained what Einsatzgruppen had been to the alien. Devilmane looked at him with as close to an expression of horror as his kind seemed to allow.

  “It was a different time,” Bolivar said with a tired shrug.

  “These…Bugsatzgruppen have eliminated almost 90 percent of the indigenous population,” Devilmane replied.

  “What?!” Bolivar asked. “How in the hell did they do that?”

  “Your species seemed to be quite apt at killing your own kind,” Devilmane said in disgust. “Why would it surprise you that other mercenaries can also eliminate the less advanced? We believe that bioweapons were also employed,” Devilmane said simply.

  “Who is that stupid?! There’s no way someone puts that in a contract!”

  “You are aware that the Mercenary Guild is not comprised of omniscient deities,” Devilmane said. “In this case, we believe that cartel security was also involved. In any case, they did not use orbital bombardment, so that only narrows it down to 300 firms.”

  “The Bumans said these beings may be distant cousins of the Minsha,” Bolivar said, his voice shaken. “Have everyone’s favorite Mantises heard about this shit?”

  Devilmane’s mouth split wide open, as he rocked his head forward and backward. The sound that came out of his mouth was staccato and disturbing.

  I hope my brain dumps this memory, Bolivar thought. That’s the stuff of nightmares. With an audible snap, the Equiri’s visage became nearly expressionless again.

  “There is no hard proof,” Devilmane replied.

  “Let me guess—that’s where the Tumen comes in?”

  “You provide hope for your species,” Devilmane said. “Perhaps you should preserve your genetic contribution before landing on this world.”

  Okay, vaguely uncomfortable compliment there, Bolivar thought. Especially as we all leave ‘genetic contributions’ behind as part of our modus operandi.

  “How many Bugsatz left?”

  “Most have moved off world,” Devilmane replied. “There are maybe one hundred remaining.”

  Reinforced company, Bolivar thought. If his intel is good.

  “But I don’t get it,” Bolivar said. “Why bring us in?”

  “If you arrived on this world and found 90 percent of the population gone, would you not immediately leave?” Devilmane asked.

  Bolivar gave the Peacemaker a befuddled look.

  Okay, maybe less Scotch next time.

  “The depopulation would be evidence itself that the red diamonds were achieved through unethical means, no?” Devilmane continued, his tone indicating he expected the light bulb to come on.

  “Okay, so…” Bolivar said, still not getting it.

  “Many of the Trade Guild’s board have secretly signed the Ethical Compact,” Devilmane said, his tone clearly not impressed. “The same thing has happened with the Merchant Guild. Not a majority, but surely enough to start putting pressure on unwitting corporations who are financing this.”

  Bolivar felt awareness starting to dawn on him.

  “Which will drive up the price of red diamonds, as I’m certain this is going to ‘taint’ much of the supply,” Bolivar said. “Higher cost red diamonds, better funding for whomever may be siphoning a bit off this trade.”

  “Now you understand what happens when one begins to upset the expected order of things,” Devilmane said triumphantly.

  This Meyran thing is getting out of hand, Bolivar thought. Still, just turning a blind eye to everything isn’t the answer either.

  “Just to be clear, the Crimson Squid will benefit the most from the increased prices,” Devilmane said.

  “So what do you need from us?” Bolivar asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “Soil samples and data files at a minimum,” Devilmane said. “A live prisoner would lead to a bonus given your small numbers.”

  “The Order wanted a live native as well,” Bolivar stated. “I only brought one bio container. I don’t fancy bringing someone who might be with the Squiddies back aboard this freighter. That’s how the captain decides spacing the lot of us is better than potentially being considered a snitch.”

  Devilmane regarded him for a second.

  “I applaud your strategic thinking, human,” the Peacemaker said. “You bring credit to your lineage.”

  “Thank you, but compliments don’t solve my problem,” Bolivar replied.

  “I will mention to the captain that I have ordered you to report for questioning in six months,” Devilmane said. “He will likely flee and completely scrub any mention of you in his log rather than returning to pick you up.”

  “Ooookaaay…” Bolivar said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I will return with the Wraiths plus some other reinforcements in 87 days,” Devilmane continued. “We will extract you, pay you 120 million credits, and allow you to participate in the cleansing of the planet if you have proof of the genocide.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Seventy million for your time.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “Before you plan how to expand your business, realize that the Peacemakers cannot protect you once this job is complete,” Devilmane said. “Every time you arrive on a planet, you may find your death at the hands of the Squid if this goes awry.”

  “That’s the price of admission for this business,” Bolivar said, waving Devilmane’s concerns away. “I sincerely doubt they’ll risk the Mercenary Guild’s ire a second time.”

  “You are not taking this seriously enough, human!” Devilmane said, the sound accompanied by an almost demonic whinny.

  Bolivar looked at the Equiri, its dark eyes boring into his.

  “Unless you are ready to be praying for death while simultaneously hearing the wet sounds of some Zuul eating your screaming sister’s intestines, I suggest you give this offer some thought.”

  “Maybe I’m an idiotic idealist, but cutting off the funding for a bunch of terrorists whose ultimate goal i
s the dissolution of the Union sounds like a good thing to wager our lives against,” Bolivar said.

  Devilmane continued to regard him.

  “Look, some fuckers are probably planning something that’s going to spill large quantities of blood in the near future,” Bolivar replied. “There’s 16 of us. If we kick some nefarious plan in its collective balls, maybe we trade 16 lives for a few million. So give me what intel you’ve got, and we’ll plan.”

  “I had heard how idiotically idealistic your race was,” Devilmane said. “I see now that the rumors were, if anything, underestimated.”

  “Well kiss my ass too, horse face,” Bolivar said, then regretted it. To his surprise, the insult got him a nod of respect.

  “I trust this operation is in good hands, even if it takes you being intoxicated to finally properly insult me,” Devilmane said. “I will drop everything we have into your pin. I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “You’re assuming I survive the 30 minutes after you leave,” Bolivar said.

  “Are you concerned about mutiny?” Devilmane asked.

  “No, just telling my people they’re going to be living rain forest style for two months longer than expected is not going to lead to a nomination for boss of the year,” Bolivar replied. “Oh well…the Christmas bonuses are going to be insane.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 3: Change of Plans, Redux

  Point Styx

  Lucifer

  0900 Local

  13 April

  UNK ORGA DETECTED<

  PSS SEN 3, BEARING TWO NINE FIVE RELATIVE<

  The simple message scrolling across his battle armor’s visor sent a surge of adrenaline through Bolivar.

  Fucking finally, he thought. Looks like they’re coming right down the trail like we expected.

  It had been a long 85 days. As planned, they had hidden the Nuckelavee within the cloud of cargo containers discharged in Lucifer near orbit. Like most prudent people who did not want a rain of bus-sized metal boxes anywhere near them, the Bugsatz mercs had scheduled the cargo drop on the opposite side of the massive mountain range that bifurcated the continent from east to west near the planetary equator.