Thrill Addict Read online

  Thrill Addict

  A novelette by Tim C. Taylor set in the Four Horsemen Universe created by Mark Wandrey and Chris Kennedy and used with permission.

  For more information on the Four Horsemen Universe, check out the Chris Kennedy Publishing website at chriskennedypublishing.com.

  Copyright © Tim C. Taylor 2018

  Published by Human Legion Publications

  Cover artwork by Fred Mantel and licensed through shutterstock.com

  All Rights Reserved

  For a free Tim C. Taylor starter library, join the Legion at HumanLegion.com

  1.

  Sun

  Docking Plaza Agate. Station-Five, orbiting Beta-Caerelis 6

  “Grasp your courage with all your limbs, my friends, for thrills and danger lie in ambush behind every bulkhead. We have finally arrived at the Spine Nebula. Look again at the glowing clouds of green, yellow and lilac you can see through the windows cut into the floor of the station’s gravity ring. Beautiful, aren’t they? You’re seeing huge interstellar clouds of hydrogen and helium laced with heavier elements, some of them rare hybrid-exotics, but what of the nebula’s darker secrets? What is out there that you can not see?”

  The Jeha doing the talking – or, rather the clicking of mandibles and scraping of limbs that Sun’s translator pendant was turning into words – reared up on its couch to add dramatic emphasis.

  Jeha weren’t dangerous – at least, not as fighters – but with an entire tourist party of the oversized creepy crawlies flapping their antennae, and blocking Sun’s view of the customs channel exit, she reclassified this particular group of aliens as something worse than dangerous. They were annoying.

  And they were distracting her from the task she seemed doomed to perform until the heat death of the universe: waiting for her sister.

  “It is said that the cold fusion channels running through the gas clouds do more than put out pretty light shows,” said the Jeha tour guide. “They also emit corrupting radiation that unhinges minds in subtle ways, loosening the bounds of civilization, and quietly unleashing chaos throughout the region. There are reasons why the Spine Nebula is the most dangerous place in this sector of the galaxy.”

  Where the hell was Blue? Had she snuck out to feed her addiction away from the cautionary eye of her older sister? It seemed unlikely. Docking Plaza Agate was a fancy name for a miniature commercial zone designed to fleece new arrivals to Station-Five coming through Docking Ring 7. The 300 yards of gently curving tube that was the Plaza’s segment of the gravity ring was painted mint green. Sun could see its full extent. It was impossible for Blue to have escaped her.

  But Blue craved excitement, and could be incredibly inventive in evading obstacles in her search for wild thrills. Her sister believed that nothing was impossible to her.

  “My friends,” the tour guide was saying, “it is too late for you to decline the dangers of this station of rogues and murderers. You are committed now. For the next two days, you will not only rub carapaces with pirates, smugglers and pitiless mercenaries, but you yourselves will be exposed to the corrupting radiation of the nebula. Even if you make it alive to board the ship to our next destination, will those two days change you beyond recognition?”

  Sun grabbed the kitbag that contained everything she owned in the galaxy and threw it on to the Jeha’s table, the impact making its metal legs bounce several inches off the floor in the low 0.5G pseudo-gravity, and shutting the annoying aliens the hell up.

  By the time Sun had loped the three strides over to their group, half of the aliens had retracted their multitude of limbs and curled their four-foot-long segmented bodies into a cross between giant earwigs, and a torpedo tube spouting mandibles and eyes on stalks.

  The other half were trying to impress their friends by fighting the same urge to curl up in fear.

  “It’s a dangerous alien,” said the tour guide, its clicking muffled from the inside of its curled-up body. “Stay calm and do not provoke it.”

  Sun rolled her eyes. It was three years since her first mercenary contract, and 18 months since she had fled Earth with her sister to disappear in a fringe world trading run aboard Unlikely Regret. She’d seen enough aliens to know how to deal with them, which generally involved either a firm talking to, or a round through the head from a magnetic accelerator cannon.

  “Don’t listen to this heap of entropy junk about mysterious corrupting radiation,” she told the aliens. “The Spine Nebula has suffered from decades of regional war, and the resulting collapse of local mega-corporations that once provided the backbone of local trade. You Jeha make good engineers. Doesn’t that require a basic grasp of how the universe works? Don’t you think war and economics are more likely explanations for why the Spine is such a cesspit of pirates, corruption and… desperation.”

  She stopped before she revealed too much of herself to prying ears. The many failing administrations in the Spine had meant perfect conditions for Captain Jenkins and the Unlikely Regret to make a lucrative trading run. They had ventured where regular merchant ships refused to go. Perfect, also, for the two sisters to hole up beyond the back end of nowhere and make good use of the skills they had picked up on Earth as registered mercenaries.

  The tour guide uncurled its body. It didn’t seem bothered by Sun torpedoing its story, because she represented an exciting encounter who had literally walked up to them.

  Sun didn’t care either; she had a better view of the customs post from here. She frowned as an idea came to her. Noncombatant races such as the Jeha would visit the edges of the truly dangerous regions of the galaxy to scare themselves silly, and to earn bragging rights to impress friends and potential mates back home.

  She could charge for this! Blue would be perfect for scaring aliens witless.

  But Unlikely Regret had picked up more than valuable cargoes of dubious legality. They’d earned the enmity of the local criminal organization known as Endless Night. These pirates and gangsters were as dark as their name implied, and with their spies on every planet in this region of the nebula, Sun couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself.

  “For millennia there were 36 races licensed by the Mercenary Guild to conduct combat operations under commercial contracts,” the guide told its tourists. “From the knife-wielding martial skill of the Goka, to huge Tortantula monsters, and the unparalleled generalship of the Veetanho. A century or so ago, to these ranks of the most dangerous beings in the Galactic Union were added the most vicious, most cunning, most repulsive of them all. My friends, this creature who stands before you is a member of the 37th mercenary race. This is a human.”

  “You do realize that humans have pendant translator tech just like everyone else?”

  The Jeha tour guide trembled. Sun leapt across the table and slammed her palm down on its edge, just inches from the alien. It curled up in terror, fell off its couch, and rolled along the deck against the direction of the gravity ring’s spin, all the way to the feet of Blue and Captain Jenkins who had finally exited the customs post.

  “Excuse me, masterful human,” queried one of the Jeha from its couch beside the table.

  Sun caught the lingering look that passed between Jenkins and her sister at the moment of their parting. The star freighter captain had been a project: seduced, enjoyed, and no doubt forgotten by tomorrow. Jenkins was a proud and adventurous man. However, judging by the look of relief he gave after Blue turned and waved at her, Sun didn’t think Jenkins would ever forget his former tactical command officer. No matter how hard he tried.

  “What is it?” Sun replied to the Jeha.

  “Are you a mercenary, sir or madam, if you please?”

  “I am.”

  “It’s just…”

  Jenkins practically fled b
ack to the safety of his ship as Blue strode over.

  “Go on.” Sun rapped the Jeha’s chitinous head with her knuckles. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Your size.”

  “What of it?”

  “Well, there is not much of it. See those two Lumar security guards by the main spoke? They each mass several times more than you and have claws like knives made from advanced materials. Tortantulas are ten-feet high and have neurotoxin fangs. The MinSha–”

  “Are bigger, taller, tougher, wealthier… and they nuked part of my home world. Yes, I know I’m small. We have a saying in my world: everything is fair in love and war. The loving is none of your damned business, bug, and in matters of war, we humans have learned to cheat. In combat environments, we wear CASPers – armored suits with powerful muscle amplifiers and packed with weapons mountings.”

  “But… don’t you care about honor?”

  Sun thrust her head between the creature’s antennae. It flinched but didn’t back away. “Sure, I care about honor, but I care about collecting my paycheck more. And for that, I have to make sure the other being dies first. That’s why I’m here on Station-Five. To sign up with a new mercenary outfit so I can drive a CASPer to kill aliens and get paid. A lot.”

  “Do you mean kill a lot of aliens, or get paid a lot of credits?”

  “Why don’t you stick around and find out? We’re off to the merc pit to find a job. You coming?”

  “Under no circumstances!” insisted the tour guide. “Vacation insurance policy states that you must not stray into areas marked dangerous or lethal. On Station-Five, that means anywhere beyond the green paint of Docking Plaza Agate. Leave the green zone and your insurance is voided. I for one will not be coming to your aid.”

  Blue loped past, winking at Sun and throwing her kitbag to clatter onto the table next to her sister’s. She kept going to the band of outward-facing windows, where she slowed and settled into a handstand.

  “What’s it doing?” asked one of the Jeha.

  “It’s showing off,” Sun replied, but she knew the truth was more dangerous. Blue was coveting. And it wasn’t a trinket or earning a station on the bridge she was after this time: Blue wanted a starship. And what she wanted, she usually got.

  The Spine Nebula was a dangerous place, and the Unlikely Regret had sought out the worst of it in its hunt for the most lucrative cargoes. Many of its crew and marines had not survived. Blue had started the run as a marine CASPer driver – same as Sun – but a combination of crew attrition, and bending the captain to her will, had meant her ending the run as the tactical command officer on its bridge. As they had gathered their things to leave the Unlikely Regret, Blue had talked in a voice thick with desire about the ship moored two docking rings over, a gleaming sphere of the like neither of them had ever seen.

  “I can just see a slither of its hull,” Blue said, her completely bald head pressed at an angle against the window to get the best view. “Let’s go see her close up.”

  Sun stormed over to her sister and righted her. They stood, boots planted on the curve of the rotating gravity ring, with foreheads pressed together.

  “Don’t do this,” Sun whispered. “You owe me.”

  Blue said nothing, but Sun could feel her defiance in the rigid set of her shoulders.

  “I know it’s hard for you, Blue, but Endless Night wants us dead. You’re gonna have to suck up your urges for a while as we lie low with an obscure mercenary outfit. Do I have your compliance?”

  Breaking Sun’s grip with ease, Blue nodded and walked over to the spectating Jeha to retrieve her kitbag. “You won’t need to worry about me,” she said over her shoulder.

  Sun hurried after her, and together they interrogated the plaza’s holographic map. In spite of the humans they knew frequented Station-Five, the device hadn’t been updated with any of Earth’s languages, but the symbol of the Mercenary Guild was all they needed.

  Sun jabbed a finger into the holo map. “There. Ring Three, Segment 11. It’s gotta be the merc pit. We go straight there, but we must play it cool. Here’s what we’ll do…”

  2.

  Sun

  The Slayvocation Exchange

  “Hey, human, you drink now.”

  Sun looked up from her slate at the barman. “Just checking for merc vacancies.”

  The barman was a Selroth, a member of an aquatic species who wore liquid-filled masks around their heads linked to rebreather tanks on their backs. The ones Sun had encountered before wore masks similar to a human diver, but the barman wore a transparent bubble over his head with the sides cut away to leave his ears uncovered. The liquid inside was tinted amber.

  “What flavor of water are you sipping in that goldfish bowl?” she asked. “Honey, heroin, or are you craftily smuggling out the whiskey to sell at a low-grav commerce zone?”

  The alien pointed to a party by the spinward bulkhead. Sun didn’t need to look to know he was indicating a group of humans mixed with other races: Zuul, Flatar, Zuparti, and a giant Tortantula. “You finished your drink 20 minutes ago. Now you go join the other humans.”

  “No need. That subliminal advertising you’re wearing over your head has worked its wonders. Hit me with a whiskey.”

  The Selroth looked at her suspiciously through his bowl of amber liquid. “Scotch or bourbon?”

  She didn’t need to check her universal account access card, or yack, to know both were off the table. They had to nurse their funds until they’d secured new posts. But they also needed to avoid Endless Night’s attention, and the criminal organization might have put out word that they were looking for two sisters. So while Blue was supposed to be talking with the only human outfit hiring ship’s crew, Sun was at the bar pretending not to know her.

  “How about the hooch you make out the back?” she asked the alien. “The house whiskey?”

  “You looking to sign up?” said a voice from the stool to her right.

  It belonged to a man with a determined look about him. His eyes shot her a question. There was a kindness to those eyes, but also a grimness that she recognized every time she looked into a mirror. This was a man who had done some terrible things, and he would do them again without hesitation, if he had to. He’d also snuck up on her. Even with the mercs thronging the Slayvocation Exchange, jostling, fighting and letting off mostly alien steam, that was impressive. He was probably a reconnaissance specialist.

  Sun nodded in reply.

  “Expertise?”

  “CASPer driver. Marks five and six. Three years’ experience.”

  “Hey,” the man called to the Selroth, who was selecting one of the plastic canisters at the end of a long line of bottles. “The lady just earned an upgrade. We need two bourbons.”

  The alien hesitated, then moved over to the more expensive end of the line of liquor.

  “I didn’t say I’d sign up with you,” Sun told him firmly, and to her surprise his face creased into an honest grin.

  “True,” he said. “But you will.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself.” She glared into his face. “I find arrogance repulsive.”

  To Sun’s dismay, it was she who looked away first. It wasn’t arrogance she was seeing in the man’s face; it was confidence. And she didn’t find that repulsive at all. Quite the opposite, she admitted to herself, as she caught and resisted an impulse to flick back the hair that fell to her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, extending a hand, “I didn’t mean to upset you. The name’s Sergeant Pak.”

  “Sun.” She shook his hand. “You with Void?”

  Although Pak nodded, the sparkle left his eyes at the name of his own mercenary company.

  That didn’t bode well.

  The slate Sun had been consulting for the past fifty minutes listed merc vacancies and the skills of those seeking work. The only Earth-registered company recruiting today was the Void. Theoretically, she could sign with an alien company, but she’d never heard of that working out
well.

  “You’ll sign with us because you don’t have an alternative,” Pak told her.

  “The captain of the ship I’ve just served a tour with told me they’re always recruiting for human mercs at Station-Five.”

  “You mean Jenkins of the Unlikely Regret? He’s half right. Human mercs are always in demand but it’s only us who do the recruiting. We have, ahh… employee retention problems.”

  The barman planted two tumblers of bourbon on the metal bar. They looked like triple measures. Son of an entropy-cursed gun. That round would cost more than most civilians would earn in a year back on Earth.

  Pak, though, just authorized the payment with his yack, as if this were just chump change. “Come on,” he said, handing her one of the glasses, “let’s go join the others.”

  When she hesitated, Pak said. “Look around at the alien mercs here. What do you see?”

  Sun didn’t need to look. She’d already checked the place out. “A mix. A lot of Pushtal and SleSha. Lumar and a few Zuul. I can only see one Tortantula-Flatar pair and they’re with your group. I don’t see MinSha, Veetanho or Maki. Looks to me as if the Slayvocation Exchange is beneath their dignity. I’ve been to Peepo’s Pit on Karma. It might call itself a pit, but Peepo’s is a high summit in the ranks of mercenary hangouts in comparison with this dump.”

  “You’ve a good eye for the details that matter,” he said, professional interest temporarily masking whatever ailed his spirit. “Only the dregs of the mercenary universe wash up here.” He glanced up at her, his eyes boring straight through her deceits. “And those who come here to hide. I’m sorry, Sun, but the fact that you’re here at all means that you need to join up with the Void.”

  It was all Sun could do to stop herself running out of the joint, but the sergeant was right in everything he’d said. She and Blue had been carrying their fake IDs with their fake Merc Guild registrations for a year now, not daring to use them.

  It was time to start a new life, and if they had to start at the Slayvocation Exchange, then so be it.