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

by Chris Kennedy

  “Yes, kita, she does, insofar as her Human mouthparts allow. Humans are quite intelligent. So how do we greet a member of an alien species politely?” Reow asked.

  The tip of the kita’s tail twitched slightly, and she rose up to her hind legs and reached out a paw.

  “I, Death From Above, greet you, Human. Welcome to our negotiation.” She said the words as if they’d been memorized by rote.

  “That would do for a wild Human encountered outworld, my kita. Very good,” Reow said, a rumble of approval in her voice. “But what about one who wears a clan sigil?”

  All four of the kits sat abruptly on their rumps as they considered this new problem. I glanced over at Reow, to find that her ears and her expression indicated both great pride and not a little amusement at the antics of her offspring. Happily, the wounds the kits had caused me were small, and I didn’t have to worry about them, much, while we waited.

  “The stories do not tell of other sigiled Humans,” Cunning Blade said slowly, as if puzzling it out. “Dama, have you brought us the first?”

  “I have,” Reow said. The kits leapt up in celebration and once again became a roiling mass of fur and energy as they attacked first Reow and then me. The difference was that this time, the intent was exuberance and love, not assassination.

  “Her name is Susa, and she is the first sigiled Human any of our kind have claimed,” Reow said, tail twitching in laughter as she spoke out loud over her litter’s tight mews of excitement. “The Humans are a mercenary species, but their skins are fragile. You must take care not to hurt her as you play. However, she has been all across the galaxy and has seen many things. I think she will be a good addition to your education as you grow into true hunters.”

  “Susa, Susa!” the little ones started to yell, and I found myself laughing as I reached out my hands in welcome to them. Sure enough, they started to climb all over me. Somehow, in the raucous deluge of sound and play that ensued, I managed to learn all of their names.

  Cunning Blade was the eldest of the four and most often assumed the position of leader. He apparently was becoming quite a tactical thinker, and he began asking me about the Human merc companies, particularly the famous “Four Horsemen,” before his littermates had even been introduced. He looked like a smaller, male version of his dama, down to the stripes around his eyes.

  Death From Above had introduced herself, of course, and I tried to thank her for that. Her entire body was striped in shades of grey and brown. She was clearly the best climber of the litter, and before long, she’d claimed the perch on my right shoulder for her own. I supposed that would work well enough for now, though I wasn’t sure what we were going to do when she grew much bigger.

  Silent Flame was the second kita, the most striking of the bunch. Her fur was all black, and her eyes a bright, vivid blue. She took the longest to warm up to me physically and seemed content to sit beside me, not touching, while her littermates explored their new pet.

  Choking Deluge, on the other hand, was the largest kit in the litter, and he knew it. He’d been the one to trip me, using his mass applied at the right moment to bring me down. Unlike his brother-kit, he was about as subtle as the rainstorm for which he was named. Boisterous, charming, and a bright, rusty orange in color, he instantly began begging me to play-wrestle with him.

  I looked to Reow for permission, only to see that she’d gone and the door had closed behind her. Clearly, I was to entertain the kits until she returned.

  So we played. We played chase and climb and wrestle and tag. And when the kits (and I!) started to tire, I sat and let them crawl over me while I told them stories of Earth, our legends and histories. Eventually, all four of them were yawning wide, sleepy yawns, and I could feel fatigue dragging at the edges of my own mind when the door slid open, and Reow returned.

  “Dama!” Deluge said, but even the boisterous kit was too sleepy to do more than lift his head from where he lay with his littermates in my lap.

  “Are they sleeping?” Reow asked me, slow blinking.

  “All but this one,” I said.

  “Put them in their beds, then,” she said, pointing to a ledge high on the wall, “and come with me. I will show you where you may sleep.”

  “Reow…” I said, tentative.

  “What is it, my Human?”

  “I…” I broke off, unsure what I even wanted to say. She stared at me and then padded toward me with the deadly, liquescent grace of her species.

  “I…thank you,” I whispered. “For letting me play…for trusting me with your kits.”

  Reow slow blinked again and then rubbed her face against the back of my hand where it cupped Flame and kept her from falling off of my lap. Little Death, next to her, seemed poised to shove her sister-kit off, simply by virtue of sprawling everywhere in her sleep.

  “You are a part of the clan, Susa,” Reow said softly. “They love you, as I knew they would. I know you find it hard, but this is a new life for you. Can you accept it? Can you accept their love, and mine?”

  I looked down at the kits in my lap, then up at their deadly dama. Her eyes blinked slower than usual, in an extended gesture of love and affection, before she rubbed her cheek against my hand again.

  Even before my addiction, even before all of that, emotions had never been comfortable for me. I had buried myself in my work, because that was safer than feeling something for someone who could turn around and hurt me. That had led me to the research trip with Dr. Black and eventually to the stinking blocked corridor outside of Prasser Ghat’s club on a forgotten space station. In all that time, I’d never cared about anyone, nor had anyone care for me. It had seemed better.

  But now, as I gazed at the pile of sleepy kits, I felt as if my heart might explode in my chest. A feeling of fierce protectiveness washed over me, and I knew that for the rest of my life, I would die before letting harm come to these four most precious beings. They’d drowned me in their love, and like the addict that I was, I let it wash over me and hungered for more.

  “Yes, dama,” I said, using the Depik word for mother and queen. “And I give you my love in return.”

  # # # # #

  Mark’s Introduction to:

  LEGENDS by Christopher Woods

  Christopher falls into the category, much like myself, of authors who are battling away in the indie/small press publishing world, working hard to make a name for themselves. Although his first book, “Soulguard,” was only published in 2014, he’s already released seven books. His preferred genre is usually more of a fantasy bend, so his journey into Mil-SF is a bit of a divergence for him, but the story shows it was a really good one.

  In “Legends,” you’ll be introduced to a mercenary who didn’t set out to be anything special—he didn’t even want to be a merc—and turned out to be anything but. His escapades are, well, legendary. Any war story told over beers is automatically going to be a fun tale, and since this is the only one told here that takes place before the current ‘present day’ of the Four Horsemen universe, we get a glimpse back at how things got to be where we are today. Have a drink and enjoy the story, at a cool 100 credits a can; this one’s on me.

  Find out more about Christopher at https://www.amazon.com/Christopher-Woods/e/B00PEAG6WM/.

  LEGENDS by Christopher Woods

  Chapter 1

  The parade ground looked almost the same as it had looked ten years before. The same, yet it was infinitely different as I strode in with my fellow Legionnaires. This would be my last time walking these grounds. My final day as a resident of the Legion Compound in Wichita, Kansas.

  Ten years ago, I entered this very compound a scared kid, barely out of my teens. The same raised platform stood at the north end of the huge square. Today that platform held the Four Generals of the Legion, and the man who changed my life forever, Jerrod Lancer.

  Actually, I would have to say he was part of the change. It takes a hammer and an anvil to create a weapon. And it takes a lot of heat. I would say Jerrod
Lancer and his Legion were the anvil. The hammer was another man who gave me a choice. And the heat? Every contract I took with the Legion provided that.

  It all started in a restaurant, because of a girl.

  I sat in a booth, enjoying my dinner. I hardly ever got to buy dinner in a restaurant, much less a restaurant like Puertos. Puertos served cuisine that originated in Mexico and had become prominent in the United States long ago. It was still a favorite of many, including me. I really couldn’t afford to eat at any restaurant, but I was celebrating my raise at the factory.

  At Binning, I had been promoted from probationary to official, and I had received my first paycheck at the new wage. Binnig had plants all over the world and kept a great deal of people employed. We created combat suits for the Mercs; sometimes it was difficult to build them as fast as they destroyed them.

  I used the tortilla to sop up the cheese sauce and glanced up to see a girl staring at me. Her whole face seemed to light up as she smiled, briefly.

  I smiled back as a form walked by. He was a big guy, at least four inches taller than my modest five feet, eight inches. As he moved by and I could see the girl again, the smile had disappeared.

  “What was that?” I heard him snarl at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Saw you looking at that guy,” he said. “Is that what you like?”

  “What are you talking about, Glenn?”

  “How would you like it if I stomped his face in?”

  “You’re being an asshole,” she said. “I want to go home.”

  They left the restaurant. She never glanced in my direction, but he stared at me as they exited. If looks could kill, I would certainly have been vaporized.

  I shook my head after the pair left and gave it no more thought.

  As I passed my Yack across the sensor to pay for the meal, the fellow behind the counter motioned toward the door.

  “Be careful of that one,” he said. “That’s Glenn Moverti. His father owns Moverti’s Monsters. He’s a bastard, but he’s a connected bastard.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “There wasn’t anything going on. I see no reason for him to be upset.”

  “Reason is rare when dealing with unreasonable people,” he said. “Just watch yourself.”

  “I will.”

  I should have paid more attention to the man’s advice. Perhaps things would have been different for me. The door to my car unlocked at my approach, and I had reached to pull it open when something slammed into the small of my back. Pain lanced through me, and I tumbled to the ground.

  Rolling to my left I saw the Moverti kid closing in with a bat. That must have been what hit me. As my vision blurred from the pain, and the kid approached, I felt fear for the first time. Oh I’ve been scared before, but this was the kind of fear that grips your mind in a vice. It washed over me and pushed me down into the wailing darkness of my consciousness.

  When I crawled out of that darkness, I stood with the bat in my hand and Glenn Moverti at my feet. The windows of my car and the one next to it were smashed in. 20 feet away stood the girl that had smiled at me. The look on her face was pure horror.

  “Put down the bat, son,” a voice came from behind me.

  Turning, I found a small man standing about ten feet away. The weapon in his hand was enough for me to recognize the Wichita Police. It was an Enforcer model used by most law enforcement departments. He didn’t have on the uniform but I still wasn’t about to do other than what he ordered.

  “Y-Yes sir,” I stammered as I dropped the bat. Looking down at the bloody form of Glenn Moverti, I gasped. His breath gurgled through his shattered teeth.

  “Now place your hands on the rear of the vehicle.”

  I followed his orders in a daze, and before it began to lift I found myself in the Wichita Detention Unit.

  What the hell had happened?

  It was less than four hours before I was taken from my cell, and I followed the guards down the hall to an interrogation room. I sat in the room for another hour. The table in front of me was metal and bolted to the floor, and my hands, which were attached to the table, could reach just far enough to allow me to rest my elbows on the edge of it.

  The door opened, and a large man strode in. He was bigger than the boy, but I could see the resemblance immediately. This was Moverti, owner of the Monsters. I could feel the hollow pit open in my stomach. This was the father of the one who had attacked me.

  “Don’t look like much,” he said. “I don’t know if you had any clue who that boy you put in the hospital was. It wouldn’t make much difference. Your life is over, boy. You just destroyed any future you ever dreamed of when you beat my son with that bat.”

  “He attacked me,” I started.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You hospitalized the son of the leader of one of the premiere mercenary outfits in this town. What did you expect?”

  He stood and shook his head, “It’s a shame, boy. You’d have made a decent merc with a little training.”

  Max Moverti walked out of the room leaving me to my own misery.

  One of the guards unhooked my chains. “Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Processing and sentencing,” he answered. “There’s not much that can be done for you, kid. What I can do is put you in front of Judge Heidell, who at least is fair. There are limits as to what can be done in a situation like this.”

  “How can he do this?” I asked. “I defended myself.”

  “There are seven witnesses who are willing to testify you instigated the fight.”

  “They’re lying.”

  “I know, kid,” he said. “But the Movertis have a lot of money, and you’re a factory worker. Tell the judge the truth. Don’t lie to him, and he’ll do what he can.”

  I nodded, and the guard led me down another hall into a chamber with an ornate desk and several chairs. Behind the desk hung the robe anyone would recognize as a judge’s. The chair behind the desk held a middle-aged man with black hair, who was going gray at the temples.

  “It seems you are in a bit of a predicament Mr. Quincy,” he said, motioning toward a chair. “Have a seat, and let’s see what we have here.”

  He looked into a folder on his desk, “With VOWS like these, how come you didn’t get picked up by a merc?”

  “I have no interest in killing anyone, sir.”

  “Not according to this file,” he said. “You beat Glenn Moverti badly enough for him to need nano treatments.”

  “He attacked me, sir,” I said.

  “Not according to the testimony of seven people.”

  “They lied, sir.”

  “I know they did,” he said. “Their stories matched in every way. Never in my life have I heard seven eye witnesses’ testimony match exactly. I’ve never even seen two that match this completely. At least true testimonies, anyway. They were rehearsed, and they didn’t even bother to hide it. Moverti is arrogant, but he’s connected. He has left you with, he believes, no choices. I beg to differ, young man. I offer you another choice. The only person in this town that can protect you from Moverti is quite a bit like him. The man is also an arrogant bastard, but he is married to my sister.”

  “You have two choices in front of you, boy,” he continued, placing two forms on the table. “Number one, you will be sentenced to no less than ten years detention.”

  The pit in my stomach was back.

  “Or number two.” He pushed a form toward me. “Fill this out and report to the Lancer’s Legion compound, immediately. This form is a contract to work for Lancer’s Legion for that ten years instead of wasting away in a prison cell. Moverti was right on one account, your life is over. This life you have right now. That’s over. Choose the future.”

  And thus I met the Hammer to the Lancers’ anvil.

  Chapter 2

  Fourteen of us stood in the front row of the formation, our red and silver uniforms immaculate. We were the ones whose contracts w
ere up this year. Most mercs only signed a two- or a four-year contract when joining a merc group; I was the only one who had signed a 10-year. It was part of my sentence, so it had to match the time I would have served. Ten of those who stood with me were two years in and looked like kids. Two had been there four years and looked like bigger kids. Then there was Kal. He was on his fifth two-year contract. He was there the first year I came to the compound. He was there on that first drop.

  “Was wonderin’ if I’d ever see you at one of these, Marty,” he muttered from beside me. “How long was that damn contract?”

  “Ten.”

  “Son of a bitch, Marty,” he answered. “Bet he’ll have to make a hell of an offer to keep you.”

  “Not stayin’,” I said.

  “What are you gonna do? Make shoes?”

  “I don’t know, Kal,” I said. “Maybe I will.”

  “Like that’ll be enough for the Legend.”

  “Don’t you start callin’ me that,” I muttered. “You were there.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I was.”

  The first drop was the one we were talking about. Both of us were there, fresh from training.

  I lost my breath during emergence. The transition from hyperspace affects people differently. My system shut down for that first second, and I staggered against the safety straps. As this was the first translation for many of us, we were harnessed into our racks on our dropships in case hyper caused any unexpected effects. We were tasked with taking a base. It was a regular land assault, nothing spectacular. The brass thought it would be a good place for the rookies to get some experience.

  I checked my gear as the ship closed with the planet, which hadn’t even been named in the contract. It was an outpost. We were tasked to take it. They expected minimal resistance so it should have been a cakewalk.

  “Alright, men!” Commander Jessop barked. “This is the plan. We land and deploy our force here.”