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

by Chris Kennedy

  LOST AND FOUND by Jon Del Arroz

  The Lilly’s landing shuttle jolted and bounced as it dipped below Threndark’s clouds. Thick forests lined the landscape below with their sharp, primal leaf structures. Even strapped into his safety harness, Captain Timothy Rosethorn was just able to see over the front cockpit chair. His height gave him some advantages, but it also had drawbacks. A jolt of turbulence sent his neck whipping backward, causing him to knock his head on the overhead compartment. The sound of skull hitting metal echoed throughout the cabin.

  “You all right back there?” asked the pilot, Jebediah Tuoken. He didn’t turn back to look, as he was concentrating on finding a suitable landing spot.

  “I told you to tighten your straps,” said a smirking Grace Montas, his first officer. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. A few strands of her onyx hair fell in front of her face from the bumpy ride. She was far too pretty and sensible a woman to be with a minor merc outfit like Rosethorn’s Renegades, but for whatever reason, she stayed. They’d talked about it one night over far too many drinks, at which point she shrugged and told him, “I don’t know, I like you.” It may have been an innocuous comment, but under the haze of alcohol, and combined with Rosethorn’s own attraction to her, it had almost led to a far-too-dangerous moment for a captain to have with his subordinate.

  Most days, Rosethorn regretted not making a move that evening. He rubbed the top of his head. “I’m fine,” he said.

  Montas had managed to distract him enough that he didn’t notice the final landing. In contrast to the bumpy atmospheric ride, the actual touchdown was smooth. The landing struts had some decent shock absorbers. Jeb parked the shuttle in a small clearing surrounded by looming trees. These trees were strangely proportioned compared to Earth fauna, as their leaves reached for light from both of the twin suns that hung in the sky. Judging from the view outside, it was amazing Jeb managed to fit both the shuttle and its attached cargo pod into the clearing.

  The rest of his crew removed their restraints and stood. In addition to Jeb and Montas, he’d brought Jason Palmer and two of his commandos, the hired muscle of his merc outfit. Rosethorn wiggled out of his harness and moved to the exit ramp. Threndark’s air was thick in his lungs, but oddly dry. This was not the type of place he wanted to spend much time. The forest obscured any view of the distance.

  Jeb already had a scanner out, searching the area for the payload the Cartography Guild had contracted him to find. He’d joined up with Rosethorn over drinks, the alcohol loosening his lips about Threndark. Jeb had been doing consulting work with the guild, mapping star systems that were charted but lost during the ancient Kahraman war. The guild had found evidence that a Kahraman ship had gone missing in this sector, including an ancient distress signal that had never been pursued. That signal had come from Threndark, suggesting the possibility that a remnant of the ancient ship might have survived. Odds were low they’d find anything, but if they could find something about the Kahraman, it would be very lucrative to the Cartography Guild. The guild had been so excited by the prospect they’d guaranteed the fuel expenses up front. A mission right up Rosethorn’s alley, risking only time and energy for the possibility of a big reward. He had hired Jeb as navigator on the condition they received the assignment.

  The drop team spread out. Their boots sank into the moist ground below, leaving deep tracks in their wakes.

  “Huh,” Jeb said, his attention on his scanner, even as he walked.

  “I don’t like that tone of voice,” Rosethorn said.

  Palmer and his two men forged ahead, cutting branches out of the way with machetes. They wore combat armor and helmets, and had their weaponry strapped to their backs, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice.

  Jeb lifted his head and squinted. “I’m showing there’s a lot of life forms ahead.”

  “Local creatures?” Montas asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Human.”

  “That can’t be right. Humans haven’t explored this sector of space,” Rosethorn said.

  “It’s what the scanner says.” Jeb shrugged.

  Ahead of them, Palmer stopped and did a double take. He turned, scrunching his nose as if encountering a foul odor. “Entropy,” he said.

  The odor wafted toward Rosethorn and the rest of his crew. The stench of vomit, bad farts, and burned meat mixed in a swirl of awfulness. “What is that?” Rosethorn asked, moving toward Palmer.

  A large carcass lay on the ground behind some nearby bushes. The beast looked like a cross between a cow and a porcupine, but with a long snout and protruding teeth. Drool dripped from its mouth, and blood caked on the muddy ground. It had released the contents of its intestines, which accounted for the smell. Despite its prickly hide, something had torn into it, ravaged it, and bitten a chunk out of its midsection.

  Rosethorn frowned. “Looks like there’s a big predator out here; we need to be on the lookout.”

  “Always am,” Palmer said. With that, he motioned to his men, and all three of them pulled their rifles from their backs and readied themselves for combat.

  Something ruffled in the forest ahead of them. No, the sound emanated from all around them. Rosethorn’s boot slipped in the muddy terrain. A strange predator creature didn’t appear, but other Humans did—20 men with guns and spears trained on Rosethorn and his men. These people didn’t have combat suits on; it wasn’t a group of pirates that followed them to the planet. Judging by the confident way they moved through the forest, they were natives.

  “Retreat!” Rosethorn called. He regained his footing, then ran. The others followed. The natives fired a few shots at them, or perhaps near them. For warning? Montas ran beside him, and they hurried toward the shuttle.

  A moment later, Montas wasn’t there anymore.

  Rosethorn looked over his shoulder to see what had happened. Montas had fallen. She squirmed on the ground. The natives had thrown a bolas that had wrapped around her legs. They were fast approaching.

  “Go!” Montas screamed.

  Leave a member of his crew? The thought appalled him. Even if he didn’t have personal reasons for wanting to save her, it violated unwritten merc codes. But there were too many of the natives; the tactical situation was untenable. They hadn’t prepared for encountering other people on this planet. He had to keep running, as much as it pained him to do so. Rosethorn led his team back to the shuttle and hurried up the ramp. Jeb, Palmer and the two commandos followed and secured the hatch. Even with their weapons, the natives wouldn’t be able to get inside.

  Oddly enough, the natives didn’t pursue.

  Rosethorn huffed, catching his breath after the long run. “What happened?”

  Palmer glanced back at the closed ramp door. “Not sure. They got Montas and stopped.”

  “That’s not good,” Jeb said.

  “No, it’s not,” Rosethorn agreed. “They weren’t trying to kill us, though. They must have wanted to capture Montas—that’s why they used a bolas and not their guns or spears. But why?” He frowned, thinking about what they could have wanted with Montas. She was the lone woman in the group. The thought of what they might do to her made him queasy.

  “What’s the plan?” Jeb asked. His eyes betrayed his nervousness; in his capacity with the Cartography Guild, he’d probably never been in a combat situation.

  Rosethorn considered. “We have to try to find her. I’ve got the entire crew tagged, so your scanner should be able to pinpoint her location. We’ll head back to the ship and return with a bigger team, one ready for action.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Palmer said, nodding.

  Rosethorn hoped Palmer was right.

  * * *

  Grace had stopped trying to resist several hours ago. The natives had immediately gagged and bound her once they had incapacitated her in the forest. They’d taken her to their village, which consisted of several wooden cabins and a single larger structure, and had locked her inside one of the cabins. Initially she was
fearful; they hadn’t taken any of the men, only her. It was one of the potential hazards of being a woman in the merc industry. She’d heard horror stories of men—Human and alien—who took women captive for use as sex slaves. That was why so few women signed up for frontline combat duty.

  Grace had never shied away from it, finding that taking more dangerous jobs, ones that required her to have a good head on her shoulders, often led to quicker advancement. Now, the worst scenarios played through her head, and she regretted signing up for not only this assignment, but for the rest of the assignments that had led up to it. She’d spent these last years alone, focused on her career, with no one to love, and no one to love her. Save for that one time with Captain Rosethorn where they almost—

  The lock at the front of the cabin turned with a click, interrupting her thoughts. The door squeaked open. The men who had taken her didn’t come through the door; instead, three women entered. Two heavyset women carried a large wooden container that steamed. The third directed them to set it next to Grace. When they set it down, water swished from the top of it, overflowing onto the floor beside her. Was that a bath?

  “Do you speak English?” the third woman asked.

  Grace blinked a couple of times.

  The woman crossed her arms. “I guess not. This’ll be harder then.” She made a few motions of scrubbing. “We need to get you cleaned up. Cleaned. Up. Do you understand?”

  “I speak English,” Grace said, her voice coming out in a soft squeak. Her fear hadn’t subsided, and her throat was tight.

  “Speak up next time,” the woman said. She rolled her eyes.

  The other women tugged at Grace’s clothes. Still bound, there was little she could do while they pried off her combat armor and stripped her down to her skivvies. When they went for those, she squirmed.

  “Stop it,” the first woman said. “You have to get clean. If you don’t fight us you can have a nice, peaceful bath.”

  “Who are you?” Grace asked. She did as they asked, despite feeling awkward, and the women unbound her wrists and legs. She had a bit of rope burn from where her ties had been.

  “My name is Marianne. They are Laura and Stephanie,” she said. She motioned to the steaming water. “It’s going to get cold if you don’t get in.”

  Still nervous, Grace removed her undergarments, setting them aside before stepping into the water. She covered her breasts with her arms. Even though she was around women, she didn’t know these people, and she was uncomfortable. Why were they bathing her anyway? “Can someone tell me what’s going on here? I am Commander Grace Montas, of Rosethorn’s Renegades merc unit. We’re licensed by the Galactic Union. I don’t know the number off the top of my head but I can produce it.”

  Marianne shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You need to clean up for the Great Protector. It’s part of the ritual.”

  “Ritual?” Grace was even more confused. Was she being offered as a sex slave as she had feared? Her hair prickled on the back of her neck, and she shivered in the hot water. The two other women brought a brush and soap and began scrubbing her, wetting her hair, then rinsing it. All she could do was sit, helpless. Even if she escaped these women, being alone and nude in a strange settlement did not sound appealing.

  “Yes, every year we perform a ritual for the Great Protector. It’s an honor to be chosen. The entire town will pray for you and have a ceremony in your honor,” Marianne said. As if she sensed Grace’s thoughts on escape, she moved over to position herself in front of the door. “My sister was chosen two years ago. She was so blessed.”

  Creepy. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was offend her captors. People often became touchy if someone criticized their religion, and if this Great Protector was some sort of god to them, as Marianne’s reverent tone suggested, she didn’t want to rock the boat too much. She didn’t know anything about them, and it was confusing enough to be among what appeared to be other Humans here on Threndark. They looked like Humans and spoke English…but what were they? “I see,” Grace said, keeping her voice neutral. “When’s the ceremony supposed to take place?”

  “Tomorrow,” Marianne said. “We’ll bring you before the village council first to make sure you are worthy.”

  “As an outsider, I’m probably not,” Grace said. It’d be better to extricate herself from this situation if she could. The two women behind her finished washing her hair.

  Marianne laughed. “When the men saw your ship coming down from the sky, they thought it was a great sign. So often, it’s difficult for us to part with one of our own. We are few in numbers. Each loss weighs heavily on our village, blessed or not.”

  Loss? This didn’t sound good at all.

  The women held up a big towel. “You’re cleansed now. Stand,” Stephanie said.

  Grace complied.

  “You’ll be staying here while I inform the council,” Marianne said. She motioned to Stephanie as the latter woman wrapped the towel around Grace. “Make sure she dresses in the ceremonial garment. I will return soon.”

  She had to escape, but even if she managed to overpower the women, could she make it out of the town? Where were the others? They’d run just as she told them to. Still, Grace hoped they would return before this ceremony began. More than anything.

  * * *

  It took almost a full day for Rosethorn to return to the surface after docking with the Lilly and formulating a plan of attack. This time, the shuttle was packed with the power of Palmer’s full team—20 trained men who were ready for action. Even though Jeb had run scans showing there were somewhere around a thousand Humans, or what appeared to be Humans, on Threndark, that numerical advantage would evaporate when facing armored mercs ready for battle. That was the plan, anyway. Even though they didn’t have CASPers, they had combat armor beyond anything they had seen on the locals. Palmer also had his men armed with rocket launchers and flame throwers to frighten the villagers into complying, in addition to their usual arsenal of assault rifles, grenades and knives. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  Rosethorn still didn’t know what the locals wanted with Montas, but he feared the worst. He couldn’t imagine a group of off-the-grid men singling out and targeting a woman for anything positive. It would have been nice if his team could have moved faster, but preparation was half the battle. He’d learned early in his career never to rush the plan of attack.

  This time they knew where they were headed, too. The shuttle landed in the clearing as it did the day before, with the ramp opening in the same direction to allow Rosethorn and his team to deploy. With a full contingent of commandos in battle armor, they looked much more intimidating and less like a target. The settlers lived in a town with rudimentary buildings made of wood, like the log cabins Rosethorn had read about in history books. In that regard, these people would be like the settlers who came to North America several hundred years earlier, but with slightly more advanced weaponry. It still made him curious about who they were and where they came from. They’d obviously had some time to get established.

  He could ask those questions later, once he got Montas back to safety. With the motion of his rifle, his men fanned out and moved toward the village. Palmer found the tracks made by the villagers the day before, allowing for easier passage without having to clear brush.

  An ear-piercing sound echoed in the forest. Something nasty, like a combination of nails on a chalkboard and someone screaming.

  “What was that?” one of Palmer’s men asked, pointing his rifle in the direction the sound had originated.

  “You’ve never been on a planet with wildlife before? Probably just a bird. Relax,” another of the men said, then chuckled.

  “Jitters,” Palmer said, amusement in his voice.

  “Keep focused and on target,” Rosethorn warned. He was amused, and knew that “jitters” might well be something that stuck as a nickname for the poor soul. That’s how these things tended to go. But he had to play captain and keep his crew i
n line, or no one else would.

  The forest thinned as they reached the settlement. Several log cabins appeared through the trees. Rosethorn had waited until many of the men were out working in the fields or hunting, leaving the village more exposed. Several women walked through the square in the middle of town, gathering buckets of water from a well. The buildings were situated on a single main street with a few others on the perimeter. At the end, from Rosethorn’s perspective, stood one much larger building that must be their local meeting hall.

  The mercs deployed into the town square, and Rosethorn nodded to Palmer.

  The commando pointed his rifle into the sky and fired a dozen shots. As intended, the shots drew the attention of the villagers. Eyes went wide, and people screamed. Most of the women in the square hurried to wherever they were headed or ducked behind houses, trying to get out of sight.

  Other villagers came out of the cabins, brandishing weapons, and pointed them at Rosethorn and his men. This is why they wore the battle armor; if one of the villagers became trigger happy, they’d find their bullets to be nearly ineffective. Getting hit would still hurt with the armor on, but, unless the locals got really lucky, the worst the mercs would end up with would be a welt. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  Rosethorn lifted his hands, palms facing the villagers, to communicate that he intended peace. His men kept their weapons ready. Several of the natives edged toward the mercs. One was an older man, with a salt and pepper beard and gray hair that fell past his shoulders. He wore a faded suit that looked dated, but he still had an air of respectability to him. “Who do you think you are to shoot up our village?” he asked.

  They spoke English. What? That did make things easier, though. Rosethorn had assumed there would be a communication barrier they’d have to work around. He flipped up his helmet mask and inclined his head to the gentleman in front of him. “Captain Rosethorn of Rosethorn’s Renegades, a licensed and bonded merc outfit. The real question is, who are you? This planet is listed as unsettled.”