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

by J. N. Chaney

  "See if you can get his attention over comms. I'd like to have him here when I try out the mask," I said.

  "What's he gonna do? He's not an engineer," Elise pointed out.

  "He could knock me out with that stick before I jump out of the ship," I said.

  "Good point," Elise said, nodding thoughtfully. "I like it. Especially the part where you get hit over the head."

  Once we were inside the mask room, I stood and observed the mask for several minutes while waiting for Path to arrive. It didn't look any different than the last time, with the light shining down on it through the security glass.

  I wondered if I would get more of the ghost images. Thane had tried to erase them, and according to X-37, he probably didn't see that they were still there. Something was different about my vision. Not even James Henshaw had been able to remove what I saw.

  Images recorded on the mask had been transferred to X-37 in my nerve-ware. Maybe I could get them wiped clean, and maybe not. I felt like they were a message, maybe even a cry for help from whoever programmed the mask.

  I had to find out where the mask was made and how to get there. Learning how to use it would also be a plus.

  Path arrived. I explained what I wanted to do, and he agreed to help.

  "I will keep you from jumping out of the airlock," he said. "Should I practice hitting you in the head a few times?"

  “I like this guy more all the time,” Elise said.

  “No, Path. I trust your skill,” I said, glancing at his practice weapon. The blunted instrument would leave a mark wherever he hit me.

  Path shrugged. “As you wish, Captain.”

  Elise helped me remove the safety glass. We set it off to one side then cleared the room of any obstacles. She pushed back her dark hair and faced me, nervous now that we were about to try the mask again.

  “Any last advice, X?" I asked.

  "The device should be simple to use," X-37 said. "My scans show no electrical problems with the Reaper mask. I am unable to explain why I was overwhelmed with data during our previous attempt."

  "Just thought I'd ask, since last time went so well,” I said, then slipped it over my face.

  The wall of blue light hit me hard, driving me to my knees. I struggled back to my feet. Hands spread wide for balance, it was all I could do to remain in place as blue images assaulted me.

  A tingling sensation spread out from my spine, almost like something was mapping my nerve-ware, exploring every corner of my body. I called out to X-37 but received no answer. Was this thing gathering information to send to the Union or looking for ways to control me? Neither option seemed good. A very small part of me that was an optimist imagined it was trying to help me in some way.

  Attempting to use a device I didn't understand was probably a mistake. I hoped it wouldn’t be a fatal one.

  Images coalesced in the blue light. There was a hallway with someone moving at the end. The figure looked back with a strange, longing expression. I couldn't decide if my suspicion of the figure’s identity was pure hope or if this was someone I had known all my life. Her beauty took my breath away and made me wish I could run to her like a lost child. I stared after the mirage once it was gone.

  It didn’t matter. There was nothing left for me to do but continue.

  The pain came when I tried to remove the mask. It refused to let go. My hands fumbled the release latches as I struggled to pull it off.

  X-37 made several beeps and clicks after I explained what I had seen.

  "Perhaps you should have worn it longer," X-37 said. "One minute and twenty-two seconds is not long enough to do much of anything."

  "Normally, I would agree," I said. "But I think it mapped my nerve-ware.”

  "That should take much longer," X-37 said, "if it can be done at all by an external device. Did you recognize the figure at the end of the hallway?"

  Elise and Path watched and listened with interest.

  "It was like a dream. I couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman,” I lied. “Everything I saw was blue, different shades that were always moving."

  "You might have been imagining the entire scene," X-37 theorized.

  "I saw something," I asserted, thinking I saw the one person I wanted to find more than anyone else.

  “For the good of the ship and the lives of the crew, you can monitor conversations, correct?" I asked Jelly, crossing my arms as I spoke.

  "Yes, Captain," Jelly said.

  “On my authority, tell me what they talked about while we were doing the mask trial,” I ordered.

  There was a slight pause, then the ship AI gave me the information. I listened to Jelly’s summary and learned several interesting things.

  James Henshaw had been Major James Henshaw in the Union Fleet, perfecting his military occupational specialty as a ship engineer to earn compensation for his advanced training at a major galactic university. More interestingly, he had worked on stealth cloak technology for his doctoral thesis.

  “He mentioned ships in the Deadlands which have somehow acquired stealth technology and have been giving the Union grief as a result," Jelly said. “These cloaking devices have been salvaged from fallen Union ships and repurposed on new vessels. Often, they’re sold on the black market at a premium price. Only the wealthiest Renegades and smugglers are known to carry them, but the Sarkonians have also managed to get ahold of a select few in the hopes of replicating the technology.”

  "That's interesting," I said. “A cloaking device would make our lives a lot easier. Might open up some interesting new tactical options the next time we run into Briggs and his spec ops.”

  "There is one other thing, Captain,” Jelly said. “James Henshaw went on to specialize in nerve-ware technology after his initial term of service was completed. I believe he knows much more about the Reaper Corps than he will admit, the mask specifically."

  I thought back to the greed in his eyes when I mentioned the mask. "Why did he leave the Union?"

  "He was court-martialed for performing some of the experiments on himself," Jelly said. "Or that's what he led Tom to believe. My careful analysis of what was said, topics that were avoided, and Mr. Henshaw’s biometrics suggest he also stole something from the Union and has it hidden—on his yacht most likely.”

  "Okay, Jelly. Please maintain the maximum surveillance allowed on Henshaw. Also, make sure you’re defending against any of his attempts to access your system."

  "Of course, Captain,” Jelly said.

  It was difficult to establish a morning ritual. After Zag City, I'd been doing things a little different each day. In the slip tunnel, I often slept too much. There had been more than enough time for introspection during my waking hours, so I decided to double down on the basics whenever I could—fitness, nutrition, practicing basic fighting, and weapons skills. The advanced stuff won fights, but the basics were the foundation for mastery.

  Half asleep, carrying a mug of coffee, I headed to the lounge to talk to Tom. I sat down across from him at a small table, where he set out game pieces on a magnetic board.

  "You look like you've slept," he said, glancing at my face. “That’s good, I think.”

  I took a sip, feeling more human as it went down. "How was your conversation with Henshaw?"

  "He's frustrated with the situation on Roxo III. We had a long talk and even he admitted that it was unsafe to travel to the surface or his yacht. Which gave us a lot of time to talk."

  "Really? How was that?" I asked, studying the board in planning my moves before he was even done setting up the game.

  "He's interesting. I didn't think we would hit it off, but it seems like we both had our initial training in the Union military. I don't have much use for them now, but at least they gave me the foundations of an education," Tom said.

  "What about Henshaw? Did they teach him everything he knows?" I knew that Tom was mostly self-taught, and that his initial training had been foundational. He was constantly reading tablets and doing database se
arches. His curiosity seemed endless, but in a quiet way that wasn't annoying. I could count on him to try and figure out how things work.

  Which was why I would've liked him to help me with the mask.

  "He gambled his way through several universities after his Union term was complete and the educational reimbursement his service earned him ran out. Even then, he continued his education long after he was seeing returns for the effort he put into it," Tom said. "I think he's a tortured soul on some kind of mission."

  "Now I'm interested," I said. “He did his full term with the Union?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Then spent the educational grants he earned?” I asked, clarifying his statements but also studying the tone of his voice and his body language for honesty.

  Tom shook his head. "I can't tell you what he's trying to prove. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know he's on this quest for knowledge. It is just something he continues to do. I don't think he knows any other way of living," Tom said. "There were some things we talked about that you would be interested in."

  I motioned for him to continue.

  "He did a lot of work on Union stealth ship technology prior to specializing on cybernetics. Maybe he can help you with your arm as well as your nerve-ware and your eye,” Tom offered. “I’m just saying he has a lot of skill, from ships to cybernetics.”

  I thought about it, but I knew it was based on different science. Still, he would be a very useful person to know so long as I could manage my distrust of his intentions.

  "We got sidetracked after a while and started talking about smuggling, because he was curious about the Jellybird, I think," Tom said. "Don't worry, I didn't tell him anything that would compromise Jelly. Besides, I haven't been part of the crew long enough to know any deep dark secrets. He wanted a full tour, but I stalled until the conversation moved on."

  "The way you work, Tom, I imagine you know a lot more than you're letting on," I said.

  Tom laughed softly at the compliment. "I had Jelly listen in every time we talked about ships, so she could have steered us away from dangerous topics. She resisted at first but eventually advised you gave her a directive to guard against hacking attempts. Apparently she had been operating on some rather strict privacy protection orders."

  I looked into my cup as I sipped, hiding my knowledge of exactly how much of their conversation Jelly had monitored. “What about his eyes? That seems like an extreme thing to do even for a specialist in ocular nerve connections," I said.

  Tom's body language changed. He seemed not to know the answer to my question, but also seemed to want to know.

  "Tell me what he said," I pushed, worried that he might cut off the conversation there due to some misplaced notion of privacy he owed Henshaw. This wasn’t part of the briefing I’d received from Jelly. She must not have thought it was important.

  "He gave a long explanation about total commitment to a project and that he believed if he had both of his eyes replaced, his only choice would be to master the science,” Tom said.

  "But you don't think that's the truth, or not all of it," I observed.

  Tom shifted uncomfortably, still studying the board. Neither of us had made a move, and the game was almost forgotten despite the effort he had put forth to set it up. "Like I said, he’s searching for something. Knowledge, I think, but maybe that's just knowledge of himself. I kind of got the impression he's afraid of something."

  "He said he doesn't think he can win this gambling rematch they're forcing him into," I said, knowing this wasn't what Tom was talking about.

  "He's not afraid of losing his wealth, although most of it is spread across his assets. Suffering wounds that would keep him from working are what he dreads. But there's something more. I think he's being hunted," Tom said.

  "By a Reaper, most likely,” I said, trying to be funny.

  "Maybe," Tom said, missing the joke. "We’re not going to be friends, but he’s not a bad guy."

  I went to see Henshaw next, mostly because Jelly warned me he had been threatening to take his chances on the concourse.

  "Has he tried to leave?" I asked, annoyed he would abuse my good will.

  "Should I unlock his door?" Jelly asked.

  "Do you think he would exit the Jellybird?" I asked, knowing the answer. Henshaw had needed us to get him to his ship, but that wasn't just getting him through the crowds and onto the concourse. I understood his real worries were up here, where somebody with money and power could force him to go play a high-stakes poker game he couldn't win.

  "There is one other thing," X-37 said. "I believe he’s recording his time on board the Jellybird with his limited AI.”

  "Can you confirm that?" I asked.

  "I have logged numerous instances of suspicious behavior," Jelly said.

  “Suspicious how?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “He has made a systematic tour of his confinement,” Jelly said. “At first I thought he was planning an escape, but he elected to take a nap instead. His attention to the smallest detail of his environment intrigues me. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “He’s an engineer, a scientist—that’s probably his natural curiosity,” I said.

  “The only people I have seen behave like that have been customs agents searching for contraband, commercial investors appraising the ship’s loan value, and spies,” Jelly said.

  “You’ve had all those types of people on the ship?” I asked, honestly curious about the history of the Jellybird.

  “Of course,” Jelly said.

  “Interesting.” I arrived at Henshaw’s room, ready to confront the ocular engineer turned customs agent, commercial investor, and spy. The door slid open. James Henshaw stood near a view screen displaying Roxo III’s docks, staring at it with intense concentration. The view of the concourse from this perspective was much different than the posh environment between launch pads that excluded the dregs of society from the lower level.

  I had expected him to be in one of the chairs sipping a drink.

  He turned partially toward me, looking me up and down. “You’re not a good host.”

  “My guests are usually dead,” I explained. “I’m a Reaper.”

  “Do you often bring the corpses of your victims back as proof of death?” he asked, maintaining his distance. We were as far from each other as was possible in the standard sized room.

  “Every mission is different,” I said.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  For the most part, I felt good. Henshaw had promised to improve the interface between my Reaper eye and my nerve-ware by another forty percent. I should have known that was a lie. It was hard for me to imagine that kind of improvement. I was used to static, interference, and pain.

  “Decent,” I said.

  “Only decent? Your functionality was greatly improved by my modifications—that much I can measure. You should be experiencing less pain and fewer visual distortions. I would think that qualifies as good or even outstanding,” Henshaw asserted.

  “You promised more,” I said, aware he was drawing me into a debate. “I need every enhancement I can get to stay ahead of the Union.”

  Silence.

  We watched each other like chess masters or gamblers searching for tells.

  “I still need to get to my ship,” he said.

  “The concourse is safe enough. If you see someone you owe money, just turn around and go the other way. Roxo III is a big place. There are places to hide,” I said, testing his reaction.

  “Arnold’s guards around my ship were there to take me back to the surface. Once they’re gone, I can board the Lady Faith. I have something for you there. Something you need,” he promised.

  “Two things: who is Arnold and why should I believe you now?”

  “Arnold is the governor of Roxo III,” he said.

  “Nice. That’s not the type of detail to leave out of a job offer. You’re wanted by the governor of Roxo III?” I asked.

 
“I’m wanted by a lot of people.” He shrugged. “As for the second half of your inquiry, believing me is a calculated risk,” he said.

  “Feels like gambling.” In a way, I liked the game we were playing even if I shouldn’t. It was a contest of wills, a measure of our intellects, but most of all, I thought he could help me.

  And if he could help me, then I could protect Elise and Tom. I could learn why the Union had cast me aside. But most of all, I could unravel the mystery of the disappearance of my mother and sister.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “In the meantime, I’ll instruct Jelly to expand your access to the ship—cafeteria, fitness room, and the observation deck. Stay away from the bridge or the armory.”

  “What if I want to leave?” he asked.

  “You don’t,” I said. “You still want something from me, and you might even get it if you make it worth my time.”

  This threw him. His expression suggested he wanted to say something but decided against it.

  I left him to ponder his options.

  10

  Sleep was the last thing I wanted to waste time on now that we were out of the slip tunnels and on a mission, but I knew from experience I needed it. Three or four days without rest, sure, I could suck it up if I had to. But it was smart to stay caught up.

  Deciding to compromise, I took a soldier’s nap before going in search of Henshaw. Images of Greendale, Gronic, and Dreadmax filtered through my fading consciousness. Other worlds and other missions threatened to claw up from the darkness. My soul was a desert shaded by a lightning-scorched tree. Images of desert worlds haunted me. In my nightmares, I was surrounded by a wall of skulls. On each forehead, I had carved the words “regret nothing” in blood.

  I emerged from sleep in fight mode, surging out of my bed disoriented, tripping and falling between the sink and the door to my quarters. For a moment, I thought it was the Bluesphere Maximum Security Prison.