by J. N. Chaney
"I don't need your attitude, X." My Reaper limited AI had been on his best behavior, but I knew his personality was a mirror of mine. He could be a jerk in all the wrong moments.
Henshaw seemed to think our bickering was amusing, even though he only heard half of the conversation. I ignored him.
"Fine," I said, stopping before we crossed the open area to the ship. "Give me a summary of what's so interesting that you’ve gotta give me lip."
"Lip? Really, Reaper Cain? How exactly would I do that?" X-37 said. "I'm dealing with a lot of data streams."
A tingle went up the back of my neck. I wondered what kind of data streams could keep X so busy. "Start prioritizing data streams. Partition what you can't analyze quickly."
"We really should get inside my ship while the coast is clear," Henshaw interrupted.
I waved him off, focusing on my environment rather than the ocular engineer. I learned long ago that when X was multitasking, I needed to double down on my own situational awareness. It was easy to look at my feet or something while I thought things through.
Which was a good way for a Reaper to die.
"Partitioning now," X-37 said. "There have been a large number of identity concealments at this landing pad. I can't tell who they were or where they went. I should warn you, Reaper Cain, I have rarely been this inundated."
"What does that mean, X?" I asked, growing alarmed—which for me meant quietly preparing myself to fight my way out of a bad situation.
"We really should be getting in there," Henshaw demanded, not looking like himself.
X-37 ignored the man. "There is one fact that is certain. The people who attempted to remove evidence of their presence in this area could afford to spend large amounts of money. Their identity concealment is very sophisticated and thus expensive."
"Good to know," I said. "Put that analysis on hold. Let's go into pre-combat mode. I want you to see anything I don't see until we've got what we came for."
"Ready to kick some ass, Reaper Cain," X-37 said.
"Are we ready?" Henshaw asked. "You should've just included me in your little LAI chat room. Might have sped things up. I could've explained to your X unit what was going on here and saved us some time."
"You mean you could've lied to my LAI and pissed me off," I said.
"Me? Tell a lie? I'm offended," Henshaw said.
We moved up the gangway.
Inside, it was an interior decorator’s wet dream. Whoever put this together had been too fond of mood-altering lighting and every sort of embellishment that made a terrible tactical landscape.
Beyond the main entrance was a hallway that curved with the shape of the ship. That element alone was enough to make it difficult to clear effectively. Along each wall were low tables affixed to the floor with wine cups every two feet.
Things were starting to get weird and I sensed the completion of Henshaw's long game of manipulation.
Henshaw casually picked up a glass, swirled the red liquid, and took a sip.
I stopped to glare at him as though I might deploy my Reaper blade to his face.
He smiled mischievously. "None for you, Reaper Cain. You have a death-match with your name on it."
"Unless I turn around and leave," I warned.
"That would mean no reward for you or your team,” he pointed out. “And the Lady Faith has been instructed not to let you leave. Much like when I was confined to the Jellybird. Turnabout is fair play.”
"Stay right there," I said.
He shrugged and continued to enjoy his drink.
I worked my way to the first bulkhead, finding a locked door. I doubled back, confident this part of the ship was as secure as I could make it.
Henshaw was growing impatient. "Is all of this really necessary? I have guests waiting."
I ignored him. "Elise, bring Path. I need you here. I cleared up to a locked door and need your help."
Henshaw became animated. "Now you're going too far. I'm afraid I must insist you continue without your friends. Lady, don't allow them inside.”
Leaning very close to Henshaw, I breathed a threat against his face, forcing him to flinch at the air hitting him with each word. “Let them in or I’ll cut off your head and gouge out your cybernetic eyes.”
I heard something I couldn't identify. Asking X-37 to analyze the nearly inaudible sound would ruin the moment, so I just waited.
Henshaw swallowed hard but seemed unable to speak.
My LAI said nothing, which frustrated me. I tapped two fingers together in one of our nonverbal signals.
"Give me a second," X-37 said. “You ever tried to listen through a blast door? I'm having to hack into the ship’s monitors to identify what that vibration was.”
I pulled back an inch from Jimmy Henshaw—the double-crossing dick.
"I have it," X-37 advised. "The vibration was caused by laughter, most likely in a large crowd.”
A realization struck me that nearly caused me to carry out my threat against the ocular engineer turned gambler and master plotter. "You’re not just recording with your cybernetics, but broadcasting!"
"Only here on my ship! No place else. Even if I could, I wouldn't have shared my time inside your ship," he said.
"You really are a gambler," I said. "Take my advice and get some help. You’re going to get yourself killed."
"We are outside the ship," Elise said. "How do you expect us to get inside?"
Her tone wasn't sarcastic or whining. Despite her complete lack of military training, I thought she adapted well to being on a mission. She was a lot like me. Danger focused her. It was time to start training her in earnest. As soon as we got back to the Jellybird. If we got back to the Jellybird.
“Last chance to keep your face in one piece,” I said, pointing at his eyes with my Reaper hand. “Let my people inside.”
Henshaw spoke reluctantly to his ship AI. "Lady, open the door for our new guests."
"Right away, James," the Lady Faith AI said.
Elise and Path joined me in the hallway. I could tell the young woman was hyper-alert and possibly nervous, but she was holding herself together despite the reality I knew was crashing down on her world. I'd experienced the same thing on the edge of times. During training preparation for missions, I was confident. But even after multiple engagements, actually doing the deed was stressful.
"Are you ready for this?" I asked.
Elise nodded. Path didn't have to say or do anything. I knew he was ready just by the look of him.
12
We followed Henshaw into the main room of the yacht. He immediately stepped to one side and out of my reach.
I saw dozens of gamblers and their entourages. One man was flanked by a squad of Union commandos—a detail that definitely meant I was in trouble. He wore a robe with a hood to conceal his face in the dark shadows.
“That's why I tried to make your friends wait outside. I don't have a choice. They would have been better on their own,” Henshaw said. "I told you I didn't have a choice."
I held my breath and ignored him. This wasn’t the time or place to argue semantics.
I aimed my HDK short rifle at the six men doing the same thing at me. There were only six because two of their squad mates were somewhere in the crowd flanking me—a basic but effective tactic taught in infantry school.
Dropping my aim several inches, I focused on the hooded face of the stranger. “Are you Nightmare?”
“I am, and not just because these fools require everyone who plays to have an alias,” the figure said.
“It’s a stupid alias. I’ll just call you the hooded douchebag,” I said, trying to unbalance him.
He didn’t react.
I reevaluated the crowd and saw several other gamblers and their fight champions. All of the warriors had one thing in common: they were beaten and defeated. Arms in splints, heads bandaged, or with stitches holding wounds closed. Some of the people I assumed had brought champions to the gladiatorial fights but were now m
issing them.
“Well, here we are,” I said. “Explain to me what exactly we’re doing.”
Henshaw started to talk, but Nightmare cut him off with a wave of a hand. “Everyone has their own reason for being here. You want your Reaper augmentations to work. Mr. Henshaw probably told you your limited AI was going to crash. I know him and how he works.” He paused. “Most of my companions are here for the thrill and for the money. I’m here to recruit talent.”
“I’m flattered,” I said. “But I wouldn’t work for you if you were the last hooded douchebag with too much money in the galaxy.”
Spectators laughed nervously. Henshaw again tried to intervene, this time moving between Nightmare and me. The strangers’ champion stepped forward, also concealed in an expensive cloak, and shoved Henshaw back. The ocular engineer flew off his feet and landed flat on his back. He groaned, then struggled to stand.
“I’ve already found my champion. Killing you will be his final test. The betting has already concluded. Would you like to know the odds?” Nightmare asked. He was a big man beneath his cloak. I could see his thick shoulders and muscular arms through the fabric despite his rough voice. The man sounded old but looked like a specimen of physical fitness.
“I don’t really give a damn about odds. But since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll tell everyone to change their bets. Because I don’t lose,” I said.
Some of the spectators laughed, others cursed and called me an arrogant fool, but Nightmare and his champion said nothing. I didn’t know if this was an act or if they were actually that sure of themselves.
“The contest will be with blades,” Nightmare said. “We’re too close to you as it is. None of us want to get shot by a couple of gunslinger hotheads.”
I clipped my HDK to the body armor I’d been given for the Dreadmax mission and always wore under my coat. A short, hard twist of my left wrist extended my arm blade. “That works for me.”
A hush went over the crowd.
Nightmare’s champion dropped his hood, then shrugged off the cloak.
“A fucking sword saint?” Elise sneered. “How is that fair?”
The swordsman facing me had long hair in flat braids with gold wires woven through. He had the same piercings that Path was so proud of, but more of them, and the metal of each glowed more brightly.
I cast a glance at Path.
He answered without me having to ask the question. "He is a master. Many times better than I am. More importantly, he has a mask.”
Practically on cue, the tall, well-muscled sword saint reached over his shoulder and pulled a Reaper mask from his back.
“How did you know he had a mask,” I asked Path under my voice.
“I’m more observant than you are, apparently,” Path said. “And I’ve seen him with it before this.”
I forced a laugh. “You’re not a Reaper, and even if you were, that thing would eat your face.”
The man responded with a thick accent I didn’t recognize. His voice was soft and confident. “I’m not a Reaper. I’m what comes after.”
I knew what he was saying but decided to be difficult, stalling for time as X-37 processed information and I decided on a plan that wouldn’t get us all killed. “After what? I get what you’re saying, but clarity is a virtue. You should say something like, I’m what comes after all the Reapers are gone.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest he say,” X-37 assured me. “And while we’re on the topic, my analysis of your skills versus what is known about a sword saint of this caliber isn’t good. I suggest renegotiating terms. Perhaps a spelling contest would be safer.”
“I am Uriah,” the swordsman said. “It will be an honor to kill you.”
“Not gonna happen,” I said, retracting my blade, swinging up my HDK, and taking aim.
“Not so fast, Cain,” Nightmare said, raising one hand for me to stop what I was doing. "We anticipated your complete disregard for the safety of the bystanders. In your mind, we're nothing but a bunch of decadent rich fools who deserve to die. So we paid some volunteers."
With a flick of his hand, a row of children were led out to stand around the ring.
"Be mindful of the backdrop, Cain," the stranger said. "You wouldn't want to murder more innocent children."
"I've never killed a child," I said. It was true and one of the reasons I had fallen out of favor with the Reaper Corps.
Finished with the discussion, Nightmare motioned his champion forward.
Uriah put on a mask that was very different from the one I’d left on the Jellybird. It resembled a smooth visor more than the skull. The eyes and sensor ring glowed green.
"Come on, eat his face," Elise murmured, hands balled into fists.
I didn't think we were going to get that lucky.
Uriah drew his sword, advancing into the center of the ring. He held the blade above his head, elbows slightly flared but still pointing toward me. The sensor ring in his forehead seemed to rotate, the variations in the green light mesmerizing me.
"The mask will assist him. He may feel as though time has slowed. From your perspective, his reaction time will be incredibly fast," Henshaw said from the sideline just loud enough for me to hear.
I pretended to ignore the ocular engineer because this was important information right now. Getting distracted by his motivation to help me after working so hard to trick me into coming here wasn't something I had time for. My gut reaction was that he felt guilty.
I stepped into the ring, still holding my HDK carbine. "I'm not sure who your tactical advisor is, but having kids in the background doesn't mean anything. A headshot from this range with a shoulder-mounted weapon is easier than sipping whisky and nearly as much fun.”
I pulled the stock of the HDK tight against my shoulder as I spoke, training the barrel on Uriah.
Nightmare laughed darkly.
"Something is wrong," Elise said.
"You won't be able to hit him," Henshaw warned.
I fired, confident the round would strike him in the throat where he had the least protection. The bullet sailed through the area he had just been.
"Your intent was obvious," Uriah said, then lunged forward, slashing downward from his new location. He had sidestepped only a few inches but it had been enough for me to miss—winging a bullet through a diving crowd of gamblers. The sword smashed the HDK from my grip, which alone was enough to surprise me. The force of the strike had been like getting shot with a heavy slug gun or hit by a train.
I thought for a moment that he'd severed the barrel, but it had just been my imagination. I tried to bring it up but was too slow. Snapping my blade out at the last second, I deflected Uriah's next strike.
He came at me like a blur. There was no wasted movement and he seemed to think three steps ahead of me.
Abandoning the HDK, I focused on using my Reaper blade. I rushed forward, crowding him to offset his technique. He adjusted nimbly, slashing and stabbing too fast to be seen. X-37 dumped adrenaline and other hormones into my system to help with my speed and reaction time.
I blocked two out of three strikes, and was soon covered in slashes and stab wounds. If any of the injuries were fatal, I hadn't realized it yet.
Jumping forward, I left the ground and executed a flying punch they didn't teach in the Reaper Corps. I plunged the blade down for my first successful strike on the man. The blade that extended from my left arm was shorter than his, but more than long enough to pierce his upper arm through and through and take a chunk out of his rib cage.
He twisted, his body holding the blade for a second as he delivered a counterstrike with his elbow.
We separated. He put one finger in the wound and stopped the flow of blood. I stumbled sideways, leaking red fluid all over the ring.
"Is now a good time to point out he stabbed you through your ballistic vest two times?" X-37 asked.
"Not helpful," I grunted, then charged. The man had infinitely better technique and was clearly a killer.
I needed to bulldog him, rough him up like we were in a street fight.
He slashed and sidestepped. I kicked at his groin, forcing him backward. It was a miss, but it impacted the inner part of this thigh enough to stagger him.
I looked forward, stabbing with the Reaper blade like I was punching his throat. He moved so fast that I only managed to nick his shoulder as he got out of the way.
“You have to grab his sword," X-37 said.
I took action before my brain caught up. In my mind, I was thinking about how it was going to hurt when the blade slashed through the flesh of my right hand. But of course I wasn't going to use my right hand.
My Reaper blade retracted as I snatched his sword near the hilt and twisted sideways. I could feel myself losing the grip even as I began punching him repeatedly in the face with my right hand. It wasn't made of metal, but that didn't help him.
The mask absorbed the surface contact, but I could tell I was ringing his bell. He staggered back, giving me the opening needed to trip him to the ground and straddle him.
I put my left knee on his sword arm, pinning his limb and the weapon to the ground. Then I stabbed my Reaper blade into his mouth and twisted.
"Was that actually necessary?" X-37 said. "It definitely lacks precision. But if you're wanting to look like a murdering psychopath, congratulations. You win.”
"Mute yourself, X-37," I snapped, tired and in pain and still not convinced I had survived the ordeal.
Panting, I looked up to see a large number of people exiting the room. Nightmare and his squad pushed through the crowd. I saw their rearguard looking at me as though resenting the order to retreat. The spec ops soldier thought the eight-man squad could take me, and he wasn't wrong.
For some reason, Nightmare had decided to just leave with his champion lying behind him in a growing pool of blood.
Elise brushed my side, immediately pulling the first-aid kit from my belt and tending to my wounds. Path stood over me, sword drawn, guarding the both of us.
Henshaw sat on one of the now vacant benches, an exhausted but satisfied look on his face.
"I really hate you right now, Henshaw," I said.