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

by Chris Kennedy

  “Excellent!” Sheesh, did this guy even *get* sarcasm? “Good to know everything’s in order. Nothing like a well-organized galley to keep things moving!”

  She restrained herself, keeping her gloved middle fingers curled into her hands. Until his back was turned, at least.

  Thirty minutes later, she closed the freezer and leaned against the door, soaking up warmth from the stoves. Pots bubbled and rattled, the occasional drop of liquid hitting the fire with a sharp hiss. She had to admit, for all his teeth-grinding cheeriness, Jaxon was truly a master of his craft. The smells coming from the still incomplete meal made her mouth water and stomach growl.

  “Oh good, you’re done early! Come here, I want to show you something.” Jaxon motioned to her from his place at the chopping block.

  Taryn stripped off the heavy jacket and gloves, carefully hanging them on the hook by the door, before joining Jaxon.

  “Since we’ve got a minute, I’m going to teach you a trick,” he said, sharpening his chef’s knife. “I noticed you were having trouble with the onion yesterday, so check this out.”

  “What you want to do is cut it like this first,” Jaxon’s knife flashed, neatly slicing the onion in half. “See how the stem is still on both parts? That keeps it from falling apart on you when you do this.”

  He moved quickly, making several parallel slices through the bulb.

  “The important thing is not to slice all the way to the stem. Leave a few centimeters at the end. Then,” he turned the onion ninety degrees, “You slice across this way. Voila! Neatly diced pieces.”

  “That...that’s your trick?” Taryn stared at him, incredulously. “I stood here for an hour yesterday slicing these damn things, and I could’ve been done in ten minutes?”

  “Yep.”

  “But why didn’t you show me this before?”

  “Since it took you an hour for inventory, I didn’t have the time to spare yesterday.” He shrugged. “Today, I had a few minutes.”

  Strangled noises made their way past her lips. An hour. Sixty minutes of frustration and cut fingers. And that was before the scullery work. She choked back a scream of frustration.

  “Anything else that will speed this up?” She forced the words through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, sure, there’s lots of things. For example, if you hold your hand like this...” He curled his fingers on top of the remaining half. “See how I’m using the tops of my fingers as a guide? Don’t let the flat of the blade lose contact with your skin. Keep the edge just above the surface of what you’re cutting, and you won’t nick yourself. Let’s you go faster, too.”

  “Do you realize how much time that would’ve saved me yesterday?”

  “Yeah, but, like I said, I didn’t have the time to show you.” His grin begged for a knuckle sandwich. “Had you not dragged your feet doing inventory, or spent nearly as much time griping about having to do it—yeah, I can hear you in there, by the way—I could’ve shown you.”

  That did it.

  “Dammit, this just sucks! I’ve been busting my hump since I got here, getting all the crap jobs you don’t want to do! We’ve been on this planet for a week now, and I don’t even know what it looks like!” She threw her hands up. “I should’ve walked—should’ve just done the time in Juvy. At least there I knew what to expect, made connections, set up the next score. This manual labor garbage is for the birds!”

  Jaxon gave her a long, steady stare, put down his knife, and crossed his arms.

  “You think this is worse? Honestly?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh?” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his jacket, carefully rolling up his sleeves. Under them, his arms were bare, but covered with healed scars. Old, but still prominent, the puckered, raised flesh ran from wrist to elbow.

  Taryn stopped, snapping her mouth shut. She’d seen that before. Needle tracks, signs of heavy drug use and no access to nanobot healing. Jaxon had spent a lot of time doing cheap drugs.

  Holy shit. Keeping her face neutral, she said, “So what? You think that’s new to me?”

  “No, I don’t.” Jaxon rolled his sleeves back down, never breaking eye contact. “I’m not going to get into a ‘shit life’ competition with you, though.”

  After a moment of silence, he sighed.

  “Look, I get it, right? You don’t care about yourself—you have some kind of hate spiral going, where you actually relish the idea of no one caring about you. You’re independent, strong, and don’t need anyone, so you do what you can to push them away. You like the fact that no one likes you. It reinforces your low self-esteem, and that makes you comfortable. Proves you’re right.”

  Taryn said nothing.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know, Taryn, I’ve been there. Didn’t feel like I was worth a damn and kept getting into situations where I proved myself right. If Mr. Z hadn’t found me when he did, I’d be in a ditch somewhere, tripping out my last breath.” He pressed his palms to his eyes, rubbing them slowly. “I owe him more than my life; I owe him my being. My purpose. He gave me a family, and love, and self-worth. And taught me that I am someone that can be something. I owe him, and this family, everything.”

  Jaxon reached out, gently placing his hand on hers. Taryn started to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  “You need to get out of the self-hate trap,” he said. “Loving the way you hate yourself. Until you do that, you won’t grow or heal. I’m here—we all are, really—to help you do that. We’ve all been there. So, if it seems like we’re being rough on you, we are, because it works. If you’re as strong as Mr. Z thinks you are, and I don’t doubt it, you’ll pull through and see what I mean.”

  The wall slate behind Jaxon blinked on. Marny, the astrogator and pilot of the Fortuna, appeared.

  “Sub-orbital flight in 30 minutes,” she said. “Repeat—sub-orbital flight in 30 minutes. Stow and secure all loose gear. Hope you aren’t making soup, Jax.”

  Jaxon swore as the screen blinked off. He moved everything off the stove, locking lids in place over the boiling liquids.

  “What’s happening?” Taryn scooped chopped vegetables into storage bins. “Why are we moving?”

  “Looks like we got a real job,” Jax said. “Time to pay the bills. I’ll get this locked down, go get strapped in.”

  She made her way down the passageway, the rumble and sound of the engines spooling up coming through the bulkheads. A quick sweep of her berth to secure anything loose, and she strapped in.

  What had Jaxon meant by ‘real job?’

  * * *

  Taryn climbed into the plain-looking ground transport with the others. Jaxon, in front next to Cass, spun in his chair to address the remaining three.

  “Here’s what we’ve got folks—some small fish tried to pull a fast one on one of our clients. It went south.”

  Taryn struggled to understand what he meant, but kept quiet. Jax continued.

  “Four pieces of meat, some hardware. We’re under a strict time limit—our clients have made arrangements to keep the law in the dark for now, but can’t guarantee there were no witnesses.” He looked at the young man—only a year or two older than Taryn—sitting next to him. “Hermilo, you’re on hardware duty. Anything that isn’t nailed down, you collect it.”

  “How will I know what to take?” His voice cracked, belying his outwardly calm appearance. As far as she knew, this was his first run, as well.

  “Simple—if you have to ask, take it. Leave nothing to chance.” Hermilo nodded. Jax turned to the other passenger. “Jacey, you have biological. Hose everything.”

  “What do I do?” Taryn met Jaxon’s gaze. “I don’t even know what we’re doing here.”

  “You’re our floater. Stay central, keep your eyes peeled for anything that’s missed. If you see something, call out.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m on processing.”

  She didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound pleasant.r />
  “ETA two minutes,” Cass said from the driver’s seat. “Suit up.”

  Getting into the skin-tight coverall was difficult in the close quarters, but she managed it. The van stopped as she sealed the front.

  “Comm check.” She heard Cass’s voice come through the earpiece hanging from her shoulder. “Testing, one two.”

  Thumbs up all around. Cass nodded, tapped a few commands into her slate, studied it for a minute, then turned to them.

  “Lookout drones deployed. Area is clear.” She put the van in gear, backing up to the door of the building.

  Taryn was familiar with the style—it resembled several of her past so-called living spaces. Single story, it squatted between abandoned buildings and other houses. She’d seen this back in Frisco; it’s what happened when idealistic urban developers misjudged the tenacity of the local criminal element. Mercs cost a lot of money; in places like this, the juice wasn’t always worth the squeeze.

  “Alright folks, let’s get moving. Biological material will be dealt with on site, hardware goes in here for disposal at the Fortuna.” Jax opened the rear doors. “Masks on, move out.”

  Inside the building, the blacked-out windows cut the ambient light to next to nothing. She gasped as her eyes adjusted.

  In the middle of the room, two still forms lay as though sleeping, one on top of the other. Coarse hair, matted with what she assumed was blood, covered their exposed arms and elongated faces. She recognized the species from the vids she’d seen—Besquith. Large, bipedal, and not overly friendly, according to her research.

  The one with reddish brown fur stared at the ceiling, lifeless eyes glassy. It seemed as though that one had gotten off lucky—it’s partner was missing most of the top of its skull.

  It occurred to her that the greyish pink lumps of material on the wall behind it weren’t, in fact, part of the original decor.

  Another Besquith lay near the window, a large dent in the wall suggesting it had been thrown there with great force. The other body was something she’d never seen before.

  Large—over two and a half meters—and bulky, it still remained somewhat human-like. This particular specimen had no visible hair and pale skin, and was dressed for a rumble. Two of its four arms held what looked like large knives; another held the biggest pistol she’d ever seen. Taryn could see the floor through the large hole in its back. Body armor was not good at stopping lasers, apparently.

  “Whoa…” Hermilo came up beside her, whistling softly. “They took down a Lumar. Not easy.”

  “Yeah, well, doesn’t look like they got to celebrate, does it?” Jaxon spread a large tarp on the floor. “Let’s get them all together here so I can get started.”

  It took three people—Taryn, Hermilo, and Jacey—to get the Lumar in place. The Besquith weren’t easy, either, but that was due more to how stiff the bodies were, and how they were positioned.

  Jaxon looked up at her as they dropped the body on the tarp.

  “You ok? It can be rough the first time.” She was breathing heavily, thankful for the mask over her nose and mouth. Death and squalor never smelled good.

  “I’ve seen dead bodies before.” She shrugged. “Never had to move them, is all.”

  “Right. Well, if you do have to throw up, get it on the tarp. We need to keep from contaminating the scene.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to mar this pristine environment.”

  He grinned, sliding a large knife from its sheath on his hip. She turned away as he grabbed a hairy arm, raising the blade above his head, relieved that no one saw her wince at the sounds of impact.

  “I’ve just lost feed on number two,” Cass’s voice came over the comm. “Three down as well. Guys, something isn’t right, here.”

  Taryn spun back to Jaxon, focusing on his face, rather than the severed limb he held. His normal grin had been replaced by a blank look.

  “Cass, run diagnostic and get the van ready for evac. Your call on proceed or abort.” He glanced at each of the others. “Keep moving crew, could just be a glitch, and we’re on short time.”

  “No response from two or three,” Cass said. “And four is down. Abort, abort, abor…”

  Her voice cut off abruptly. Taryn hesitated a split second, then bolted for the back room.

  Behind her, the sound of shattering glass broke into the formerly still building, punctuated with screams. Jaxon’s voice came over the comm.

  “Go! Move! Fortuna, we’ve been compromised, repeat…” Jaxon’s voice stopped.

  Taryn dove to the side of the door in front of her as it slammed open. Her luck held as she huddled near the frame, watching three Besquith rush past her into the other room.

  She ran out the door and burst into the dazzling sunlight at full speed. Squinting in the sudden brightness, it took precious seconds for her eyes to adjust, keeping her from orienting herself. There! The warehouse a block up would do for now, until she could figure out where to go. Broken windows on the first floor seemed to be the best way in.

  Taryn covered the distance quickly, chose the pane with the least amount of remaining glass, and hoisted herself up and in. Her crewmates’ voices in her comm were replaced by an alien language, interspersed with commands in broken Common. She pulled the earpiece out, squashing the guilt she felt as she knelt down, pulling her knees into her chest.

  What do I do?

  Instinct from years on the street took over. First thing, hide. Done. Next, assess the situation.

  The warehouse was mostly empty, only a few pieces of rusted machinery remained. Offices lined the back wall, small five by five meter cubicles with large windows facing the open floor. Anything of value had been stripped years ago, it seemed. Piles of garbage, discarded clothing, and scorch marks on the bare concrete were evidence of past squatters, but nothing moved in the still air.

  Staying out in the open was a bad idea. She made her way quickly to one of the office doors, entered, and closed it behind her.

  Not a second too soon, it seemed. Light poured in at the sound of the rollaway door opening, casting long shadows against the far wall. Taryn peeked cautiously through the still intact window.

  Their van, driven by one of the Besquith, pulled into the warehouse, stopping several meters from her hiding spot. More followed it, all armed, shutting the door behind them. At their guttural commands, her crewmates got out, carrying Jaxon between them, and walked toward her. She ducked back, pressing against the wall behind the door, hoping that the same trick would work twice.

  Her luck held. Cass, Hermilo, and Jacey entered, coming into full view as the door closed behind them. Taryn held one finger to her lips as the others saw her. Jaxon looked bad, his missing mask allowing her to see the blood on his face, still flowing from what was probably a broken nose. One eye had swollen shut, and the other looked glassy. Whatever had hit, had hit him hard. They laid him carefully on the dirty floor.

  Her comm crackled. Cass held one hand to hers, motioning for the others to listen. Taryn replaced her earpiece.

  “...violated our neutrality agreement, Breg-Na.” Mr. Zorgama’s voice sounded cool and collected as always. “Allow my people to go free, and I will ignore this transgression. Your future rates will be doubled of course.”

  Harsh laughter filled her ear.

  “You’re in no position to bargain, Lupo.” The creature’s language fit its appearance, each word pronounced with a harsh lisp, gurgling its way from the Besquith’s chest. Taryn’s comm translated it into English. “Accept the terms, or I will start cutting pieces from the hostages. You have very little time remaining.”

  “I assure you, this will be your last mistake, should you choose to continue.”

  The Besquith laughed again, severing the connection. Barked commands set the others in motion.

  Taryn crawled to where the other three huddled next to Jaxon, ignoring them to study his face. He still breathed, but was having trouble tracking her. She turned to each of her crewmates in turn.
/>   Jaycey remained seemingly composed, the fear she felt only coming through in her wide eyes. Cass cried softly, tears making tracks in the dirt on her face. She wiped them, leaving bloody smears. Hermilo, though, looked like he was in shock.

  Taryn focused on him.

  “It’s going to be ok,” she said. “We’ll get out of this. You heard Mr. Z, he’s not going to let us die here.”

  “He didn’t say that,” Hermilo whispered harshly. “He didn’t say he was going to do whatever it is they said!”

  “Taryn’s right,” Jaxon’s voice barely carried. He winced as he shifted his head to look at the younger boy. “Mr. Zorgama will come for us. He’s never left anyone behind.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “He’s coming.” Jaxon closed his good eye. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought he may be concussed. “He always comes.”

  “He doesn’t know where we are, though!”

  “Yes, he does.” Cass pointed to Taryn. All eyes turned to her. “He knows exactly where we are.”

  The tracker. She’d forgotten about it in the last few weeks, having grown used to its weight on her wrist. A small red light illuminated its smooth surface, blinking slowly in the dim room.

  Time passed slowly, each minute feeling like hours, with no change. Finally, Mr. Zorgama’s voice came through the earpiece.

  “Have you reconsidered?”

  Snarls and alien language replied. Taryn risked a quick look out the window where their captors stood watching Breg-Na. Judging by the amount of gesturing, she assumed he was angry.

  “I will take that as a negative. You have been warned.” Zorgama cut the connection.

  The gathered Besquith looked at each other, seemingly confused, then froze. Music, somewhat familiar, began streaming through her comm. Cass perked up at the sound.

  “It’s O Fortuna,” she said. “From Mr. Zorgama’s favorite opera.”

  Taryn turned at the sound of a small explosion. One of the intact windows facing the street blew inward, raining glass down onto the warehouse floor. Seconds later the wall beneath it followed.