These things we do the s.., p.1
These Things We Do: The Story of Bull, page 1
These Things We Do: The Story of Bull
Book Four of Rise of the Peacemakers
By
Casey Moores
PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press
Copyright © 2020 Casey Moores
All Rights Reserved
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Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
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For a suggested reading order guide to the Four Horsemen universe, go to:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/the-four-horsemen-books/4hu-suggested-reading-order/
* * * * *
For a listing of all the Four Horsemen books, go to:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/the-four-horsemen-books/
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Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
Original Art by Ricky Ryan
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Dedication
For my QT, without whom I’d be lost
And
For all those who have ever served under the motto:
“These Things We Do, That Others May Live.”
And
For those who had the guts to try
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Acknowledgements
It was quite the journey to get this novel, my first, not only finished, but started in the first place. I have a lot of people to thank along the way.
First and foremost, my wonderful world champion cheerleader wife Cassie, my force of nature daughter Izzy, and my ray of sunshine son Connor. My poor family found themselves completely abandoned last year during National Novel Writing Month. Worse yet, in the following months I spent countless hours here and there holed up at my desk, callously ignoring them because there was something I desperately needed to scrape out of my brain. I love you all very much and greatly appreciate the support you gave me.
Next, I would like to thank Kacey Ezell for encouraging me, despite all my apathetic indifference, to write. She was never pushy, but she was persistent. Furthermore, it was her involvement in the Four Horsemen Universe that broke me out of a decade-long writing hiatus. Best of all, she solicited a story for an anthology of hers, Negotiation, and gave me my first acceptance.
Which brings us to Mark Wandrey and Chris Kennedy. It was at DragonCon in 2018 where I discovered the 4HU. I read Cartwright’s Cavaliers on the way there and sat in on the 4HU panel. In that panel, I developed the first real story idea I’d had in a long time. I returned home and wrote it over a weekend. If Mark had not dreamed up the 4HU and had Chris not helped him develop and publish it, this book would never have happened. I also owe both of them for putting up with my inquiries and requests for permission to do certain things in the book. Finally, I am thankful that Chris accepted the book for publishing.
Kevin Ikenberry deserves a lion’s share of thanks. I reached out to him for help with the first story I wrote, and he quickly took me under his wing. He too, solicited an anthology story from me. In a meeting which I thought would concern that story, he instead told me to write a book. This book. He suffered through my thoughts and brain dumps every step of the way. He even let me straight up steal some of his characters. They’re still yours, Kevin; I just gave them a bit more backstory. Furthermore, he reviewed and re-reviewed the book repeatedly to iron out the major plot points.
Beyond the great catalysts I’ve listed above, I would also like to thank my alpha readers, aka my “cheerleaders.” Melissa, Brent, Brian, Danielle, thank you for giving this its first look, especially since I now understand that my first draft was somewhat incoherent.
My thanks to Rob Hampson, Alex Rath, Marisa Wolf, and Jon Osborne, who answered some questions about the universe that helped me break through or clarify some of the plot points in the book.
A great big thanks to Mia Kleve for taking a big pile of inconsistent mush and forging it into an actual, readable novel.
I both thank and apologize to the many redshirts in this book, those whose names I stole and who may or may not have survived. If I killed you, please don’t take it personally. In particular, I would like to thank Mike, my inspiration for the main character.
To those I’ve somehow forgotten, my apologies, it’s been a long road.
So, those are the people that made this possible on many different levels. I hope you enjoy the results of their support.
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Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Part One: A Different Path
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Part Two: Jungle Two
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Three: Adrift
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Part Four: Purpose
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Epilogue
About Casey Moores
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy
Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune
Excerpt from Book One of the Mako Saga
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Prologue
Snowmass
Maarg sucked on her large cheek and released it with an audible pop. “That’s interesting.”
In what they’d started calling the Command Center, the commander of Force 25 looked up from her Tri-V consoles and met the TriRusk’s eyes. “I’ve heard you say that before. Still searching the archives?”
The TriRusk shrugged her massive shoulders. “I have a background program running. It correlates data and then gives me search options. I then run those through Lucille. I keep finding entries that don’t make any sense. Something the GalNet keeps pointing back to as domesticated bovine on Earth.”
Tara smiled. “You’ve been tripped up by cows?”
“Bulls, in particular,” Maarg replied. “That was until I looked a little deeper. I’ve found something, Tara. A whole new side to Intergalactic Haulers and what Jessica’s father was trying to do.”
“Or what he’s done.” Tara gestured to the massive underground facility. They’d fully moved the unit into it only a few days before, and, while the maintenance and billeting areas were prepared and ready to go, much of the rest of the facility required a deep clean and a thorough inspection. Maarg, along with Lucille, had taken over scanning and securing the information systems within the complex. “Lucille? What do you think?”
<
Maarg saw Tara lean back in her chair and her face take on a far-away look. What the Humans called pensive. “What is it, boss?”
“Does Jessica know whatever it is you’ve found?”
<
Tara frowned. “That’s not helpful.”
<>
Maarg scratched her elongated chin. “What I found ties directly to Resurgens.”
“And that relates to cattle how?” Tara laughed.
<
Tara’s eyebrows rose and she closed her Tri-V displays. “This I have to hear.”
* * * * *
Part One: A Different Path
Chapter One
John’s life flashed before his eyes, just like in the stories. Despite the crazy life he’d led, this experience was new. In a cynical, hilarious way, he pictured most of his earlier life as sketchy photos, with himself hidden in the background of major geopolitical events. An exaggeration, but closer to the mark than anything else he could imagine. Next, he pictured stacks of documents with heavy redactions, “data masked” stamped everywhere, and coded phrasing on everything that remained. He wondered if those documents would soon be deleted altogether if they weren’t already. When he died, which he was about to do, would any record of his existence remain? Or would he simply disappear?
Memories of his black ops career drifted to recent events. The appearance of a panic-inducing spaceship carrying the Buma, a strange owl-looking alien, was Earth’s abrupt introduction to the fact that an entire galaxy of intelligent species was out there, and had been out there longer than Humans had existed. On that day, when that shuttle landed, everything changed and life on Earth became science fiction.
Then came the terrorist attack on the UN, the retaliatory nuking of Iran, and the invasion and looting of its remains by those nightmarish giant praying mantises, the MinSha. If, months earlier, someone had made a movie or written books with that as the plot, he would have scoffed at the implausibility. Except it was reality, for him and everyone else on Earth.
As far as he knew, he and his companions were the first Humans ever to leave their home system. They were, more than likely, further from Earth than any Human had ever been. Only no one would ever know. The science fiction setting in which they found themselves had turned into an alien horror movie. Soon, the aliens would win and no one on Earth would ever know what happened to them.
Despite all of this, his boss was enjoying himself. The bastard was even laughing. His boss had made quite the sales pitch to convince John to follow the wild course of events that led to this final predicament. Trapped in a cargo hold, with high-tech, well-armed aliens encroaching from every possible entrance. He’d never thought too hard about how he might die, but if he’d done so, this would not have been it.
But then, who really goes out the way they expected?
“John, you ready?” the lunatic asked. John checked his suit’s systems one more time. Oxygen flow looked good, seals all seemed solid, batteries were good. As they’d been trained to, each team member checked off the one next to them and gave a thumbs up. Everyone checked their cables one last time. Finally, John gave an emphatic nod and gripped his laser rifle tighter.
Wait for the snap, stabilize, find a target, shoot.
He repeated the plan in his head to the exclusion of all else.
The boss held up a hand with all five fingers extended. He dropped one so that four remained. Three…Two…One.
This is the end. At least I’ll die shooting.
* * *
Months Earlier
Earth
Out of habit, John walked softly up the stairs and took care to avoid making any noise, particularly creaks. It was somewhat unclear as to whether a threat of discovery existed, but better to be safe. Indeed, it was unclear whether they still had a mission, considering the events of the last year.
The boss, however, still acted as if nothing had changed. As such, the rest of them took all the same precautions they always had. He felt confident no one from the docks had followed him, and there was no sign of any stooges on the street to observe him entering the building.
Approaching the door, he dropped a set of keys to the floor.
“Dammit, I gotta fix that hole in my pocket,” he said loudly. He crouched, picked up the keys, and paused to re-tie his shoe. A series of clicks sounded at the door, but it did not open. Once his shoe was tied and the keys were safely back in his pocket, he stood up and rushed through the door. On the other side, he immediately relocked the two deadbolts, the chain, and the handle itself, in that order. He walked through the sparsely furnished room to the floor length mirror on the right-hand wall. He stood in front of it and peeled back his lips to examine his teeth. Ten seconds later, there was another click. He reached forward, pulled the mirror toward him along a hinge, and walked through the opening to the next apartment. Again, he relocked the panel from the other side.
“Hey John,” a low, rumbly voice said. “Grab me a beer, huh? I’m guessing you’re not here with any meaningful intel?”
Content the mirror was secure, the visitor turned around and observed a dark figure in the shadows of a corner re-holster a pistol. His salt and pepper hair hinted at his age, but his chiseled, solid frame and piercing eyes hinted at his lethality. He had a natural habit of making everyone in sight feel like prey, though he was well-versed in playing other roles when it suited him. At that moment, John felt like prey.
“No, Roger, I certainly am not,” John replied. “You know why I’m here.”
The exclusive use of first names—fake first names, at that—in their community had taken some getting used to. He’d grown up in a world where last names and ranks were the primary means of reference. It had taken work, but it soon became his new normal.
“Yeah,” Roger sighed, “I was afraid of that.”
“What do you mean, Roger? Aren’t we perfect for this sort of thing?” John walked over to the small kitchenette, opened the fridge, and retrieved a couple brown bottles. He quickly popped the tops off and walked back to hand one off to Roger. He sat in another chair in another corner, strategically out of line with any windows. “We are the best. Period. If not us, who the hell on Earth is able to give this a shot?”
“A shot at what?” Roger responded in a low monotone and then took a drink.
John recognized the question as an ambush. Unfortunately, John had no better ideas, so he walked into it. “Well, a shot at making an unimaginable fortune killing aliens.”
After the invasion by the MinSha, the Mercenary Guild of the Galactic Union made an offer that shocked just about everyone on Earth. They invited mankind to form mercenary units to fulfill contracts throughout the galaxy. Though not all understood this, it was an incredible honor. Out of the thousands of alien races purported to exist in the galaxy, there were a mere thirty-six mercenary races. The guild had invited Humans to become the thirty-seventh. More than an honor, the contracts could provide wealth undreamed of on an Earth with a failing international economy.
“Which aliens?” Roger continued with heavy snark. John braced himself. The lecture had begun. “Do you know what we’re going to find out there? We already know what kind of enemy we have in these giant praying mantis creatures. Do you know what kind of ordnance it takes to handle one of them? Can you imagine what else is out there waiting for us? For all we know, they might be the easiest enemy we face.” He crossed his arms. “Are you really so eager to be the first into the breach, the first on the beach, the first out of the aircraft, with absolutely no idea what’s waiting for you there?
“At least Henry V knew who was inside that breach, Allies on D-Day knew there were Germans with machine guns waiting for them, and jumpers know whose territory they’re jumping into. More than that, they all knew they were killing Humans, who are easy to kill. Can you guarantee me our enemy won’t be a bunch of giant armored cockroaches, or werewolves, or maybe an army of Tyrannosaurus rexes?”
