Blade of the Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (The Last Reaper Book 3)

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Blade of the Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (The Last Reaper Book 3) Page 2

by J. N. Chaney


  It might be better just to leave that one locked in the vault—no more threats of a torturous death, no more ghost images of Thane’s lonely isolation.

  I headed for the training room, weighing the pros and cons of putting the Reaper mask in permanent storage. I’d spent a lot of time in prison thinking deep thoughts. I knew myself well.

  “I will alert Tom to your change of heart,” X said, sounding smug.

  “Whatever, X,” I muttered, wishing I had just ignored him again.

  Yes, I was avoiding a confrontation with Elise and learning to use the Reaper mask. The two activities seemed to go hand-in-hand. Even if she wasn’t in the training room, once I started playing with the mask, she would show up as though called.

  She either wouldn’t or couldn’t explain how she did that. I secretly wondered if it had something to do with the Lex-tech, but there was no way to tell.

  The other really unpleasant task on my to-do list was the complete interrogation of Tom. I’d come to enjoy sipping whisky and telling stories over cigars with the other man. Putting my Reaper interrogation skills to use wouldn’t be good for our friendship.

  There were also some funeral arrangements I needed to make.

  “I had really hoped Tom’s secrets would have leaked out during our recreation,” I said.

  “You have learned a great deal about each other,” X-37 said. “However, it is unlikely that a really deep or important secret would be discovered this way. You will need to get physical.”

  Irritated, I snapped my response. “How about I try words first?”

  “You are the expert,” X-37 said. “I was only trying to help. As I always do.”

  A single light illuminated the training room. When I stepped inside, I looked at the beam shining down on the Reaper mask. I’d placed it on a security pedestal and covered it with an impact-resistant glass dome.

  “We’re not alone,” X-37 said, enhancing a shadow image near the back of the room that was probably Elise. I tapped my thumb and middle finger together to acknowledge I also saw her. She thought she could spy on me, and I was inclined to allow her the illusion for now.

  The only sounds were the occasional creak of the ship, inaudible to normal hearing, and the constant work of ventilation and climate control systems. The humidity and temperature in the room was slightly drier and cooler than the rest of the ship.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Elise said from the shadows.

  “Jelly, turn on the lights in the training room,” I said.

  “I scared you, didn’t I?” Elise asked.

  “You can’t scare a Reaper,” I said, crossing my arms and looking her over. She’d come a long way since I pulled her out of the cage on Dreadmax. Her time on Greendale had been hard, but it taught her to be even more self-sufficient. She’d gone from a pissed-off runaway to a capable teenager who wouldn’t need a Reaper if the Union wasn’t trying to track her down and return her to captivity and scientific study.

  "You're finally going to try again?” Elise asked. “Your face didn’t burn off the first time, so I’m not sure why you’re so skittish.”

  I ignored the question and her commentary, walking past her to examine the Reaper mask in its display case. The device had been designed to be both intimidating and functional. I loved and hated the look of it. Understanding exactly what it did was becoming an obsession. Which I hated—because obsession led to bad decisions.

  "Do you know why the Union started the Reaper Corps?" I asked Elise.

  "Probably to create a bunch of self-important assholes with fake arms and bad attitudes," Elise said.

  "That is a surprisingly insightful observation," X-37 said privately.

  "Get serious, Elise," I said, ignoring X-37. "You know better than that. What happened to the street-smart kid I met on Dreadmax?"

  The teenager rolled her eyes. Her lips twitched as if wanting to say something mean, but she elected to cross her arms and just give me attitude.

  "The Union never had a monopoly on assassinations," I said. "We pulled our skill set from several specialties. What made us different was that we weren’t just assassins. We were intended to send a message."

  Elise stared me down. “You want me to be impressed?”

  “Are you?”

  She shrugged, but I saw her pulse beating in her neck.

  I removed the tech-glass case from the mask, then lifted the skull-like device. "We were scouts, spies, shock troopers, and interrogators. Any job that was nasty or repulsive to the human psyche was reserved for us.”

  She softened, something like concern coming into her eyes, but didn't say anything.

  I activated the device, studying the three blue circles—two eyes and one sensor in the middle of the forehead.

  "I just came to watch that thing eat your face," she said, regaining a little bit of her normal attitude.

  "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I said, slipping the device into place. “Activate full Reaper mask functionality.”

  X-37 was right, the ghost images were minimal and should be easily ignored. As for the possibility of death by Reaper mask…

  Sensations flooded into my brain, barely filtered by X-37. The only satisfying part of the ordeal was that my limited AI was just as overwhelmed as I was.

  That was what he got for being a dick.

  Staggering sideways and then forward with my hands out, I ran into a wall. If Elise was still in the room, I couldn't see or hear her. My vision was a wall of blue lights. Sounds roared in my ears. The tactile sensations of my artificial and natural hands increased to an unmanageable level.

  There wasn't any pain, which was nice. I felt about as good as I ever had. Maybe this was an illusion or maybe the mask had triggered some sort of central nervous system response.

  But something was wrong. A sense of danger that had nothing to do with the technology I was attempting to use grew moment by moment. It was a primal feeling I couldn't ignore.

  I ripped the mask off, ignoring the shutdown procedures that X-37 had explained to me when we first began our study of the device.

  "It doesn't seem that we are in the training room," X-37 said.

  "No shit," I said, gazing at the external door of the airlock, heart pounding like a pneumatic hammer.

  My cybernetic left arm was on the wheel. A few turns to the left and I would've been violently ejected into space because the small room hadn’t finished its decompression.

  "That was not what I thought would happen," X-37 said.

  "Jelly, can you tell me where Elise is right now?" I asked. Images of her lying dead because of something I’d done terrified me.

  "She remains outside of the airlock. The young woman followed you from the training deck," Jelly said. “It seems that you had an argument. She was very adamant that you not exit the airlock without an extra vehicle activity suit."

  The internal door from the airlock opened and I saw Elise relax. Her eyes were puffy and red like she'd been crying or at least holding back tears.

  "Well, that was stupid," she said.

  Her reaction caught me off guard. I started laughing. She joined in. Our collective mirth grew exponentially.

  "Can one of you please explain what is happening?" X-37 asked.

  “Don't worry about it, X,” I said, still wallowing in the camaraderie the near-death experience had prompted. “We're taking the mask back to its security pedestal in the training room. I think we've done enough testing and evaluating for one day."

  2

  I decided not to push my luck with Elise. We’d had a good laugh after I nearly hurled myself into the void, but that didn’t mean she’d stop being angry that I’d nearly gotten myself killed. Slipping into the void was the scariest idea imaginable, one of the few things I’ve feared more than heights. The thought of spinning into the darkness was one of my recurring nightmares. The only good thing was that decompression and extreme cold would kill me before I went far. Without oxygen, I’d lose consciousnes
s and freeze to death. As for exploding and feeling my blood boil, I thought that was a myth propagated by poorly researched action holos.

  “Hey, X,” I said, “can you remind me to practice with the EVA suits, especially the part where I put one on as quickly as possible?”

  “Of course, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “I’ll add it to your much-neglected list.”

  “I think it’s time to lay Byron Thane II to rest. Make an announcement, but emphasize that attendance is not required,” I said.

  “Jelly has made the announcement,” X-37 soon advised.

  The pod that contained the body of Byron Thane was already in the airlock next to the one I’d almost thrown myself out of. Maybe that was where I’d been going when the Reaper mask malfunctioned. But maybe not.

  Thinking about the son of my old rival and what I’d done wasn’t exactly a feel-good fest. The young Reaper had more in common with me than I wanted to admit. The Union served us both a buffet bar of crap and we had to eat our fill.

  I stood for a long time over the pod. It wasn’t a proper casket. Funerals at space were usually a big deal in the Union fleet. I’d never served in the Union Fleet but had been attached to various ships. Unfortunately, there had been a lot of funerals before I lost my arm and started down my dark path.

  “I should say something before we do this,” I told X-37.

  “Jelly has advised me that Elise and Tom are on their way to participate,” X-37 said.

  I waited until they arrived and then began without a word. The window to the pod was darkened against radiation. It wasn’t necessary to see out or in, but humans had a way of putting windows in things that didn’t need them. We were all a little bit claustrophobic, I thought.

  No one said anything. Elise and Tom silently took their places. The girl had toned down her attitude, pulled her tight hair into a braid, and changed into a jumpsuit. Tom had cleaned up well too, even going so far as to shave and brush his hair. He’d come a long way from sleeping on park benches and under bridges.

  Since we hadn’t been able to scrounge up a space casket, X-37 had frozen Byron Thane inside the pod. He was still wearing the KFA for two reasons.

  One, I’d never liked the gear. It was complete overkill and about as subtle as a hand grenade going off. I didn't need it when I already had my sparkling personality to send a message. It did, however, make appropriate funeral garb for the faux Reaper.

  Two, it was coded to Thane. With the trouble I’d already experienced with the mask, I wasn’t willing to risk my fingers on something I didn’t want to use anyway. Some of the KFA blades had activated when I carried the body onto the Jellybird, forcing me to juggle the young, dead Reaper imposter. The scene had been both macabre and ridiculous.

  “It is customary to say a few words of remembrance,” X-37 reminded me.

  I was the absolute worst person to officiate a funeral. X-37 and my companions knew it but didn’t say anything. The mood in the room was somber despite the fact that this fake Reaper had tried to kill me and kidnap Elise. Each time I reviewed my mission to Greendale, I was struck by the fact that it could have gone much differently.

  Byron Thane II had been young and lonely. If he’d treated Elise like a target instead of becoming infatuated with her, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. The son of my old rival made one bad choice after another, starting with his attempt to pit the Union against the assassin’s guild on Greendale. It was the type of thing that looked good on a planning board but never worked out in reality.

  He had found himself too deep in the assassin’s guild stronghold and burdened himself with keeping Elise alive.

  I’d made similar mistakes in the past, but I didn’t want to think about them. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good.

  Touching the window to the escape pod, I decided I wouldn’t say anything, but then did the complete opposite.

  “I knew your father. Since he’s dead and you’re dead, and all of the Reapers are gone, I’ll admit he was the best… or at least the most dangerous of us,” I said, unsure of how to continue.

  “Byron Thane was in fact far superior to you as measured by all metrics recorded by the Reaper Corps. Perhaps you should begin again. My search of human psychology texts suggests that mourning is an important part of the human journey,” X-37 said.

  “Not now, X.” I really wanted to curse at my LAI but held myself in check.

  “I was only trying to help.”

  I ignored the annoying little bastard. What did either of us know about grieving? The entire point of the Reaper Corps training was to eliminate behavioral restrictions. They had wanted me to be a cold-blooded murderer, and I’d not done a bad job of it.

  “I don’t want to be a Reaper anymore,” I said to the life pod.

  “Dishonesty detected,” X-37 whispered.

  “Shut. The fuck. Up. X,” I said. What I had said was true, but it was also against my nature. The road to hell was paved with good intentions.

  Pale and nervous, Elise and Tom looked like they wanted to disappear.

  I realized something then. The ceremony wasn't about them, or even Byron Thane II. I had to face my past if I was going to change. X-37 wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either.

  Consciously, I wanted to be done with this life. Subconsciously, it was who I was. Should I resist the darkness within me, or just embrace it?

  A little while after my awkward eulogy, Tom took his usual seat. I moved around the observation deck gathering the essentials. One wall of the room was a view screen that displayed whatever was outside of the ship. Slip tunnel travel was always spectacular—the view screens full of vibrant green energy. When we were deep in the void beyond a slip tunnel, it magnified points of interest so that we didn’t have to look at a wall of darkness.

  Unless I felt like staring into the black void, which happened from time to time. But never with company.

  I poured Tom a fresh whisky and handed him a cigar from the humidor we’d put together after he joined the crew.

  “Thanks, Hal,” Tom said.

  He called me Hal, which took some getting used to. It was nice.

  I handed him an earbud.

  “What’s this?” he asked. “I mean, I know what it is, but are you sure you want to allow me to listen in?”

  “Might make things easier. I can always mute you from my conversations with X-37. Trust me, there will be times when you beg me to spare you the LAI’s chatter,” I said.

  “Perhaps he should form his own opinion of my witty banter,” X-37 said.

  Tom inserted the device into his ear, wiggling it until it was invisible. “Testing, testing. One, two, three, testing. Can you hear me, X-37?”

  “Loud and clear,” my limited AI advised.

  “I haven’t given one to Elise yet, but I will before we get to Roxo.” I exhaled, stressed about letting the young woman talk directly to X-37. They would probably gang up on me.

  “Do you want to talk about what you said at the funeral?” Tom asked.

  I pretended he hadn’t said anything. The strange moment of remorse was in the past and I needed to focus on interrogation. Getting into the proper mindset could be difficult, even for a Reaper. I needed to be remorseless. Accepting Tom’s empathy would interfere with this interview.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Tom said, shifting in his seat and looking toward the door—probably because he was wondering if he could escape if this went bad.

  “You never told me how you met Elise,” I began, my expression devoid of emotion.

  "We met at the diner," Tom answered. His body language suggested there was more to his story and that he wasn't sure how to say it. His posture suggested he sensed a change between us. I respected the fact that he hadn’t broken before we started. Not many people could withstand an interview with a Reaper knowing that a painful interrogation had to come next. Interview and interrogation were definitely not the same thing.

  But I didn’t want to hurt my friend Tom.
<
br />   I waited patiently, aware that silence could draw out more from an interview than clever words ever would. Patience mattered. Watching his body language was going to be as important as listening to his words.

  "I could see how hard she worked," he continued, exhaling as tension left him. Perhaps he had decided to just spill the truth, or maybe he had just found a comfortable place in which he could talk. "I came in before and after my shift. On the way, I needed the coffee to get me going, and on the way back, I had enough credits to eat."

  I tapped the index and middle fingers of my right hand against my left wrist, a signal for X-37 to pay close attention and record the interaction in real time.

  Tom smiled as though remembering something painful but poignant. "To be honest, I stayed as much as I could because it was warmer than sleeping on the street."

  "When did you realize there was a contract out for her capture?" I asked.

  "About a week before you showed up. A few locals came by asking about her. Jimmy ran them off, roughed a couple of them up pretty good."

  "That doesn't sound like Jimmy," I said, remembering the beefy man who had trembled in fear when standing up for Elise. He had good reason to be afraid, because Michaels and Olathe had been truly dangerous.

  "Jimmy's a lot meaner than he looks. He came up through the streets. Someone his size was practically required to be an enforcer. He took the money he earned and got out of the business pretty quickly, starting a food stand years ago. Eventually, it became his diner." Tom paused. "He had that safe room built, which almost worked. Olathe wouldn't have been able to blow it if the concrete had cured properly. It was a rush job."

  "I don't disagree," X-37 said to me privately.

  I let him ramble, talking about days spent in the diner and how his relationship with Jimmy and Elise had grown.

  When I thought the time was right, I shifted gears, focusing on my suspicions. "You did a great job fixing my arm."

  He went silent, shifting uncomfortably.

  "And you almost snuck up on me in that alley when we first met," I said.

 

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