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

by Chris Kennedy

  Maybe you don’t need to worry, he told himself. This might just be a simple issue.

  Sure, his own thoughts mocked him. And you’re in line to be the master of the Merchant Guild.

  * * *

  The super-rich, as Jeanne had discovered over the past few months, were uncomplicated souls. Most of them, the women as well as the men, were only interested in wiling away the long voyage by enjoying as much fine dining, dancing, and sex as they could stand, all three of which were easily obtained on Capricorn. It was amazing just how attractive an overweight and balding man became when he considered a thousand credits to be small change. The cynical side of her knew that she would have no trouble taking most of them for a ride and sucking them dry, if she felt like it. Trust fund babies had very little conception of the real world.

  She made her slow way through the crowd, keeping a warm expression firmly fixed on her face as she looked for potential targets. Many were a bit ungainly in the light gravity. It was hard to imagine that these beautiful people—each one rich enough to afford the finest cosmetic surgery and nanotreatments—were people of influence, but Talus was opening its doors to outside investment. The prospect of opening whole new markets had attracted far too many potential investors, most of whom didn’t have any real prospects back home. It made them easy to seduce, easy to influence...she’d need that, when her mission began. Contacts among the outside investors would come in handy.

  Eyes followed her as she moved, lingering on her low-cut black dress and long legs. The light gravity gave her bust line considerable gravitas. She concealed her contempt behind her smile, knowing that it was better that most of them thought of her as nothing more than another courtesan. People who’d inherited their money rarely thought of other people as their equals, particularly if they had less than a million in their trust funds. The idea that she might be more than a particularly attractive young woman was foreign to them. They wouldn’t notice her manipulations until it was far too late.

  Her pinplants pinged. The computer and connections in her brain that allowed her to connect with computers and store information were nearly invisible, hidden under the hair behind her ear. She frowned, surprised. She’d hacked the starship’s main computer when she’d first boarded, of course; she’d installed a handful of subroutines and backdoors just in case something went badly wrong.

  She smiled at a potential mark as she checked the message. The subroutine that watched for approaching ships had notified her that a shuttle was approaching, broadcasting priority signals. Her blood ran cold as she realised the implications. Talus wouldn’t have sent the shuttle unless they had a reason to intercept Capricorn outside of orbit. And that meant...

  They want me, she thought. There wasn’t anyone else on the ship, as far as she knew, who demanded such attention. Talus would want to remove her quietly, rather than risk spooking the investors or outside powers. And that meant her mission had been exposed before it had fairly begun. Damn it!

  She forced herself to walk normally, a part of her mind watching through the computer network as the shuttle came into dock. Richard Ambrose, the youngest scion of a fantastically wealthy family, had been eying her with a hungry expression ever since she entered the ballroom. No one would think anything of it if she let him take her back to his cabin. And once they were alone...

  Richard smiled at her. She smiled back.

  * * *

  Allen was not surprised, somehow, that the captain had failed to materialise by the time the airlock started to hiss open. The captain would want to put everything in Allen’s hands, wouldn’t he? Allen made a mental note of it for later consideration—perhaps he could quietly ensure the right people knew the captain had neglected his duty—and then stood to attention as the security officer stepped onto the ship. It probably wouldn’t hurt to pretend he was showing respect.

  “I have a warrant from my government to search this ship for a particular passenger,” the officer said. He didn’t offer his name, let alone salute the company’s flag. “If this person is found, I have authority to place her under arrest and remove her to Talus...”

  He held out his UAAC, Universal Account Access Card, commonly referred to as a Yack, and a computer chip with red and yellow markings that said, “OFFICIAL.” Allen took both and swiped the Yack past his slate. IVAN DRAYAN, Talus Internal Security Agency. The man’s photograph was surprisingly accurate—he looked like a thug. His snappy uniform couldn’t disguise the brutality under the surface. Allen suspected he wasn’t really trying. Talus’s Internal Security Agency had a reputation to uphold.

  Allen inserted the chip and read the contents on his slate carefully, cursing the captain under his breath. If they allowed the ISA to take someone, with or without a warrant, it would make the company look bad; if they refused to allow the ISA to arrest someone, it would damage the line’s relations and throw the company’s long-term position into doubt. There would be a diplomatic incident, one that would probably cast a long shadow over the company—and his career. Galactic Union law wasn’t too specific on these matters, or many other for that point. But if you were in someone’s star system, you were subject to local rules.

  “We can take her into custody,” he said. Jeanne D’Arcy didn’t ring a bell. His pinplants informed him that she was a second-class passenger, a tourist who was probably hoping to snag a rich husband. A glorified whore, in other words. “However, we cannot hand her over to you.”

  “I have a warrant,” Ivan insisted. “It was issued...”

  “It doesn’t say why you want her,” Allen said. On Talus, he had no doubt that an ISA warrant was reason enough to do anything. That wouldn’t fly with the media on Earth. “I need a reason.”

  He skimmed the passenger files as quickly as he could, stalling for time. Jeanne D’Arcy hadn’t tripped any red flags, according to his staff. She’d never travelled off-world before. Nor was she related to any of the investors... There was no logical reason for Talus to arrest her in the first place. And even if they did have a reason, why not grab her when she went down to the planet?

  “My government demands your cooperation,” Ivan said, flatly.

  “And my government will be very unhappy if we arrest an Earth citizen and give her to you without following proper procedure,” Allen countered. “I can take her into custody and hold her until the diplomats sort it out, but I cannot simply surrender her to you.”

  “I can have your ship boarded,” Ivan threatened.

  “Of course, you can,” Allen countered. He’d been in space too long to be threatened so easily. “And your government will not be pleased when ITC hires a merc company to come and take it back.”

  Ivan looked displeased. Allen didn’t really blame him. His superiors would be furious if he failed to bring Jeanne D’Arcy to them, but—on the other hand—they would be equally furious if he caused a major incident and mercs got involved. Or worse, a Peacemaker. Talus was trying to turn over a new leaf and attract investment from Earth. Their prospects would crash and burn if wealthy investors saw stormtroopers smashing through an unarmed passenger ship. Ivan’s superiors would turn him into the scapegoat and throw him to the wolves.

  “Take her into custody,” he said, finally. “As long as you have her in the brig, I’m sure my government will be pleased.”

  “Very good,” Allen said. He turned. “If you’ll come with me...”

  He frowned as he used his pinplants to scan the rest of Jeanne D’Arcy’s file. It was odd. The more he looked at it, the more he wondered if it was fake. Jeanne D’Arcy’s life seemed to be nothing more than a basic framework, a list of names and dates rather than anything more detailed. Jeanne D’Arcy’s file was unusually sparse.

  It proves nothing, he told himself. And her ID passed muster...

  He froze, just for a second. Forging a Yack was incredibly difficult. The card was Union technology that was largely considered unbreakable. He knew better than that. It was possible, he knew from experience, but s
taggeringly expensive. But if the Yack had been issued by the government...was Jeanne D’Arcy a secret agent? No secret agent had ‘secret agent’ written in their file. And if that was the case, where did his duty lie?

  Ivan cleared his throat loudly. “Yes?”

  “I was just arranging for my staff to find and hold your person of interest,” Allen lied. Talus wasn’t that advanced, not compared to the rest of the Union or Earth. It was unlikely Ivan had pinplants of his own, let alone fully knew what they could do. “Hopefully, we can pick her out of the crowd without trouble.”

  “Good,” Ivan said. “I’m glad you’ve decided to cooperate.”

  * * *

  “Get your panties down,” Richard ordered, as they stumbled into his cabin. “And bend over the chair.”

  Jeanne barely heard him. His fumblings were clumsy—it was clear he wasn’t used to giving his partners pleasure—but she found it hard to care. Two more notifications from her hacked subroutines had just gone off in quick succession, both on her passenger file. And that meant the newcomer had asked for her by name. Her cover was thoroughly blown.

  She briefly considered surrender. If she went to the captain with her other Yack, the one identifying her superiors, the captain would probably decline to hand her over. It would be embarrassing—Talus would make a diplomatic stink and her career would probably be over—but she’d survive. And yet, the ship was far too close to Talus for safety. The local government might be sane enough to realise that boarding the ship in space would be bad politics...or it might not.

  Richard’s fingers slipped into her panties, tugging them down. “Bend over,” he ordered. “I want to...”

  Jeanne hit him. Richard staggered in the low gravity, then collapsed slowly to the deck. Jeanne was tempted to kick him a few times—she was pretty sure he’d been unpleasant to the other girls he’d bedded—but she didn’t have time. Instead, she used her pinplants to hack the internal security network as she tried to think of a plan. Getting down to the planet, preferably without a small army on her tail, was the only way to continue the mission. There was no way she could hide on the ship indefinitely.

  They’ll think we’re in the ballroom, enjoying a last dance before orbit and freefall, she thought, as she inserted false readings into the network. That should keep them guessing for a while.

  She opened the hatch into the bedroom and glanced inside. It was incredibly luxurious and completely empty. Jeanne wasn’t surprised. Richard would have servants, of course, but he wouldn’t let them bed down with him. Not that the servants probably considered that a bad thing...she smiled at the thought, then searched the bags. There were no weapons, unsurprisingly, but enough clothes to outfit a dozen or so people. She tore off her dress, swapped it for a suit that was surprisingly muted and checked her appearance in the mirror. Richard wasn’t an overly large man. The image wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

  They know they’re looking for a woman, she thought, as she bound up her hair and donned a hat. There was no time to cut it short. She grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around her breasts, making them unlikely to flop around in the low gravity. And if they think they see a man, they won’t look any closer.

  Her feelings darkened as her pinplants reported more warnings floating through the starship’s network. The security officers were already being ordered to arrest her. And that meant...

  She walked back into the main room, kicked Richard in the head to make sure he stayed unconscious, then opened the door. The corridor outside was empty.

  Hurry, she told herself. You need to find a way off this ship.

  * * *

  “She’s not here, sir.”

  Allen blinked. “What do you mean, she’s not here?”

  “I mean we searched the entire ballroom,” Officer Combs said. “She’s not here.”

  Allen felt a trickle of ice running down his spine. The internal security network monitored the location of everyone on the ship, from the captain himself to the lowliest fourth-class steerage passenger. No one should have been able to evade it. His officers shouldn’t have had any trouble locating their target using the signal from her Yack, then quietly ushering her out of the ballroom...

  “Right,” he said. He had faith in his officers. They might be corporate security rather than ex-merc, but they knew their jobs. “Ask the staff if they saw her leave.”

  Ivan looked up. “Trouble?”

  “Yeah,” Allen said.

  He forced himself to think. Capricorn was 800 feet from bow to stern. Even assuming their target had remained within the passenger section—something he knew he didn’t dare assume—they still had a vast area to search in less than two hours. Once Capricorn arrived at Talus, their room for manoeuvre would grow considerably more limited as the passengers clamoured to disembark, and gravity ceased. A couple hundred civilians in freefall was bad enough, without a manhunt!

  “She’s a very dangerous woman,” Ivan said. “You have to be careful.”

  “It’s starting to look that way,” Allen agreed. He checked the records, then shrugged. “We’ll inspect her cabin.”

  “Carefully,” Ivan said.

  Allen’s pinplants pinged—again—as they hurried down the corridor to second-class accommodation. “Sir, the bartender says she left with Richard Ambrose,” Officer Combs said. “Apparently, Ambrose was all over her.”

  “Understood,” Allen said. Richard Ambrose...that could be a problem. Ambrose did have a security file, one that would have ensured he spent the rest of the trip in the brig if his family hadn’t been incredibly wealthy and well-connected. Allen pitied anyone unfortunate enough to draw Ambrose’s interest. “Go to his cabin—if she’s there, arrest her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jeanne D’Arcy’s cabin was identical to the 200 other second-class cabins; a small bedroom, a smaller washroom and very little else. Allen opened the door carefully and peered inside, keeping a wary eye out for unpleasant surprises. Jeanne D’Arcy shouldn’t have had time to rig a booby trap, he thought, but he might be wrong. The room was certainly messy enough to conceal something nasty. Ideally, he would have sealed off the whole area before conducting a search...

  “Clean,” Ivan said.

  Allen glanced at him. “How can you be sure?”

  Ivan waved a hand. “She wouldn’t be sloppy unless she knew there was nothing to hide.”

  Allen had to admit that Ivan had a point. Jeanne D’Arcy’s cabin was definitely messy. A swift check of her drawers revealed nothing more interesting than a small collection of fancy underwear, a couple of very revealing dresses, and a small slate. Allen dropped the latter in an evidence bag—it might hold secure files, only accessible with the right codes—and took one final look at the cabin. There was nothing, nothing at all, to suggest that the occupant was anything more than a young woman taking an interstellar voyage for the first time.

  We might have to put the ship on lockdown, he thought. And that won’t please the captain.

  * * *

  Jeanne tensed as she saw the two security officers heading towards her, readying herself to fight. She didn’t think they were ex-merc, judging by the way they held themselves, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have any training. Her training was probably superior, yet she knew better than to take that for granted. The guns at their belts likely only carried taser bullets, but would even the odds, if she gave the officers time to draw them.

  They showed no reaction as they walked past her, not even the quick once-over that told her they’d noted her femininity. Either they were incredibly professional or they hadn’t noticed the slight swell of her chest. She smiled to herself, then forced herself to walk faster as the officers vanished around a corner. She’d code-locked Richard’s door, but it wouldn’t take a trained officer long to override it. And then they’d start thinking about people they might have seen on the way.

  I have to change clothes again, she thought. And I need an excuse to be outside the passenger d
ecks.

  She briefly considered her possible options, then changed course. If she was lucky, she might even reach her destination before they sent out a general alert...

  * * *

  “Richard Ambrose has been knocked out, sir,” Officer Combs said. “It was a professional blow.”

  Allen swore. “Get a medic in there,” he ordered. Ambrose might be a bastard, but the company could be sure of some pretty bad publicity if he died on the liner. “And have a look around; see if there’s anything out of place.”

  “Yes, sir,” Combs said. There was a long pause. “There’s an indecent little black dress here—and a pair of thong panties. The dress matches the bartender’s description.”

  “She changed clothes,” Ivan said.

  Allen nodded in agreement. Jeanne D’Arcy was still one step ahead of them. Worse, she might well have access to the main computer. He didn’t think she could tamper with anything really important—the life support systems, engineering, or the helm control—but he knew he could be wrong. And there was no way he could simply deactivate the whole system. The captain would throw a fit.

  “See if you can determine if anything is missing,” he ordered. “I’ll speak to the captain.”

  He linked to his commander through his pinplants. “Captain, I’d like permission to take the main computer network offline,” he said. “All command and control functions need to be switched to manual.”