by J. N. Chaney
“But that’s not where you’re going, is it?” Jelly asked.
“Just work on my options. See if there’s a slip tunnel that takes us close to Roxo III on the way to Greendale,” I said, then worked on my own projects.
The notes I’d taken regarding my case weren’t reassuring. Whoever had framed the local gang bosses with my father’s murder had covered their tracks well. As a Reaper, I was impressed.
All I had was the allegation Callus had made. The son-of-a-bitch was beating me even after I killed him. Looking back on the circumstances, the crazy-ass conspiracy theory seemed a lot less plausible. I needed proof. And I needed a place to start.
“May I interrupt?” Jelly asked.
“Go ahead,” I said, still lost in thought.
“X-37 would advise you to focus on one thing at a time. You can’t help anyone until you take care of your own problems,” Jelly said.
“X would say that,” I agreed, pulling myself out of the mental funk I’d waded into. “He’d be right. But nothing’s ever that simple, unfortunately.”
“Then make it simple,” Jelly said.
I laughed. “Spoken like an inhuman thinking machine. I like it.”
“One other thing, Captain,” Jelly said.
“What’s on your mind, Jelly?” I asked, already feeling better.
“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a more diverse menu. One of my former captains was quite the foodie. You can’t just eat meat and potatoes. That’s bachelor food,” Jelly said.
“Technically, bachelor food is mostly microwave noodles and beer,” I said. “I don’t have any beer.”
“Good point. Would you like to review the menu I prepared?” Jelly asked.
“Sure, but I’m not hungry right now. Remind me later,” I said.
The next day, I was at the library when it opened, and set up to spy on Paul Pauls the moment he arrived. This time, I knew he was more savvy and paranoid, the kind of target who looked over his shoulder without making the movement obvious and would vanish the moment I took my eyes off him. His engineering skills were in demand and mostly illegal.
I decided to eliminate some of the factors, such as crowds, public transport, and other dirty tricks he might try to play to escape my attention. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…no one fools me twice.
He walked in, selected a book, and started to read. I flipped through my own pages, watching until he was deeply engrossed in whatever story he was reading.
Then I marched over and sat down right next to him, practically touching shoulders as I looked at his selection of reading material. “So that’s why you never checked anything out,” I said.
He leaned back. “You’re very rude. Haven’t you ever been in a library before?” he said, holding the period romance away from me like I hadn’t already recognized what it was despite the Principals of Ancient Aeronautical Engineering dust cover he’d used to disguise the manuscript.
“I have, and I’ve also been on death row,” I said, interlacing my fingers as I fixed him with my gaze. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“I saw you following me yesterday,” he said, twisting to drop the book on a cart. He picked up a technical manual that I guessed he would check out as his official selection.
“You don’t know me, and you don’t want to know me. I need you to run a systems check on some cybernetic enhancements, and then fix what you can. I’ll need a referral to anyone you think can do the rest,” I said.
“You should’ve just asked me that in the first place,” he said coolly.
I leaned in close, causing him to draw back as far as he could, until he was almost falling out of his chair. “You don’t make it easy. I get it. But I am on a tight schedule and I’ll kill the next asshole who slows me down. Are we clear?”
He nodded vigorously.
We became fast friends, never out of each other’s sight. I took hold of his arm when we went out into public, helping him down a set of stairs like he was an invalid who couldn’t do it on his own. I made sure he felt the strength of my enhanced grip.
“Sometimes this thing malfunctions and causes me to crush whatever is in my hand,” I said.
“I already promised you I would do what I can,” he said petulantly. “Not every science geek gets the chance to fiddle with creepy and outdated technology like a Reaper arm.”
“You recognize it, good,” I said. “I appreciate that. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. But do yourself a favor and think before you talk. Insulting a Reaper isn’t a great way to stay un-Reaped.”
Paul Pauls gulped and looked at his feet, body trembling in fear.
The rest of my time on Layton 5 was straightforward if not completely satisfying. Paul Pauls ran the diagnostic, made some slight adjustments to my own repair work that gave me temporary relief, and referred me to his contact on Roxo III—like I had time to go there.
The problem came later when I tried to leave the Layton 5 spaceport. There might’ve been a new batch of swearwords created when I realized I had to locate someone in the spaceport control tower to bribe.
This was the life of a Reaper that I remembered. It wasn’t all high-speed chases and assassinations. Most of it was dealing with the common bureaucracy of slip tunnel traveling and encouraging people to give up information, assist me on missions, or disappear.
7
“Reaper Cain, I cannot condone this course of action,” X-37 said.
“All I want to do is find the jackwagon who’s keeping me from launching my ship and throat-punch him. Is that so wrong?” I demanded.
“At least be smart,” X-37 said. “You’re moving too quickly and getting careless.”
“We’re in a spaceport. See those guards? They keep bad shit from happening. What do you want me to do, low crawl down the concourse?” I asked.
A crowd of people surged through one of the intersections, catching me off guard. I stepped into a doorway and watched them run past me. Some were holding wounds.
“X, is there a Union spec ops team on Layton 5?” I asked, backing further into the recess of the doorway.
“Have you decided to listen to my extremely valuable advice?” X-37 asked.
“It’s not a good time to play I told you so,” I said. Judging the flow of people and waiting for the right moment, I slipped out and moved against the tide. It would’ve been better to move with them, but they were going the wrong way. I needed to get to the control node and either bribe somebody or take a hostage. Or whatever.
“I am attempting to monitor the spaceport security feed,” X-37 said. “Yes, it seems there is a Union spec ops team demanding compliance from citizens and support from local security. They have fired less-lethal rounds. Wait, I have an update. There has been a gunfight of some sort. Probably a smuggler caught up in a commotion.”
“How do you know the smugglers aren’t who they came here for?” I asked, adjusting my trench coat to be sure it covered my cybernetic arm, then reaching to the small of my back to check for the small Mark 33 sidearm I had secured there.
“I suggest we assume they’re here for us. If they’re not, then that will be even better,” X-37 replied.
X was right, absolutely right. A Union attack on its own citizens wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. They didn’t normally go all shit balls in a place like this. Some poor public relations officer was going to be working overtime after this cluster. To justify such a spectacle, they needed a good reason, and a random, low priority exotic pet smuggler wasn’t it.
“I see one of their squads,” I said, slowing my stride. I’d almost been running when I saw eight Union bad-asses clearing room to room—heedless of the local authorities. Walking as naturally as possible, I moved through a wide section of the concourse and turned into a new hallway.
I stopped.
“Why are you stopping here?” X-37 asked. “They will be passing very close to our current hiding place. This is a needless risk.”
; “I’m going to follow them just to make sure I know who they are. Maybe even recognize them individually. Call it a gut instinct. It’s been a while but might be worth the risk,” I said.
“My assessment stands. This is foolish and dangerous,” X-37 warned.
“Maybe. But they’re also working their way toward the control node, so I might be able to move in their wake. They’ll watch their six, but I think I can adjust for that,” I said, already getting a feel for the timing of the rear-guards’ scans. Every three or four steps, the men looked back the way they’d come to make sure no one was following them with a weapon.
I blended with the confused travelers. They were headed in almost every direction now, making this easier than I had hoped.
The squad stopped abruptly. The leader gave hand signals that deployed his men in a perimeter. They gave everyone around them a hard look, not quite seeing far enough to spot me, but it was close.
“You see there, X, we learned something valuable. You tell me to run away, and I give you Commander Briggs and Sergeant Crank, two of my least favorite people in the entire Union,” I said, drawing back slightly, confident I had this under control.
My vision flashed white, no static to warn me of the hellish torture that followed, exploding through my brain viciously. The fire that shot down my spine didn’t stop there but extended through my limbs. Parts of my body that I didn’t normally think about ached and I thought my head would burst.
Everything came back to me when my knees hit the concourse, which told me the malfunction had been briefer this time. Unwilling to go all the way to the floor, I lurched sideways and clawed my way to a standing position along one wall.
Static cut through the middle of my vision but didn’t bring me pain, or if it did, I didn’t feel it in comparison to what I’d just endured. Sounds popped and hissed in my hearing implant. X-37 sounded like he was talking underwater.
“Just stop moving, Reaper Cain. You’re lurching around like a drunk and drawing too much attention,” X-37 said. “Try to imagine you’re a sniper or a secret agent behind enemy lines.”
It was good advice. I spread my palms against the wall and leaned into it, taking a deep breath and holding it for a second before releasing it and slowing my heart rate.
One of the Union soldiers looked at me, but something else got his attention. If it had been Briggs or Crank, I’d have been in serious trouble.
Like shot-in-the-face trouble.
“I think we need to find another way to influence the launch control officer,” I said, walking carefully away from the scene. Putting one foot in front of the other took more concentration than was reasonable.
“Are you okay?” X-37 asked.
“I want to die,” I said. Misery loved company. I had known a lot of it. This was orders of magnitude worse than a week of training in the Reaper selection pool.
“But you won’t. It isn’t in your nature to give up,” X-37 said emphatically.
“Please just shut the fuck up and let me walk,” I said as I considered puking but kept moving instead. It felt like someone had a fist in my body and was squeezing my guts like money might come out my ass with enough pressure.
The star port was locked down by the time I made it back to the Jellybird. No amount of strong-arming the locals was going to get me cleared for a regular departure. I’d have to do something stupid if I didn’t want Briggs and his goons to capture me.
“I’m really disappointed in your ability to find me a solution,” I complained, watching the Jellybird to see if there were any Union soldiers around it. Five other ships shared the landing area, each with their own docking clamps.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” X-37 said. “To which problem are you referring?”
“Let’s start with fixing my eye,” I snapped. “The damn thing nearly got us caught.”
“I’ve been working on a solution, Reaper Cain. Finding someone with the correct skills, tools, and low morals is a challenge as you have clearly seen here and on Gronic. I’ve checked every planet we’ve been to. Perhaps we’ll get lucky on the next world,” X-37 said. “Unless you want to go straight to Roxo III.”
“Hell no. that place isn’t safe,” I muttered, spotting a pair of Union soldiers moving away from the Jellybird. “It looks like Jelly’s identification forgeries held. It could’ve been bad.”
“I have a lot of ships to inspect,” X-37 said. “And their operation isn’t running as smoothly as I imagine they would’ve liked. Layton 5 looks like a perfect example of Union law and order, but apparently, there is a serious smuggling problem. According to what I’m hearing on the security network, there have been three additional armed encounters since we were nearly apprehended.”
8
“Make contact with Jelly and get an update,” I ordered. “If I was running Brigg’s operation, I’d have a team with eyes on the ship. The easiest place to take somebody down is when they’re trying to board. Getting them once they’re inside is exponentially more difficult. Finding a target in a city the size of Layton 5 is nearly impossible without a network of informants.”
“I am conversing with her now,” X-37 said. “Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. X would figure it out soon. A man was haggling with the captain of a nearby ship. This time, I was positive of the man’s identity. The sound of his voice carried and his mannerisms were unique.
“That is Byron Thane,” I said. Excitement, guilt, and host of emotions coursed through me at the sight of him. He had been well known among Reapers. Stronger, faster, and braver than anyone I’d met before or since, Byron Thane had been a force of nature.
“It is impossible for me to argue,” X-37 said. “I am forwarding the images to Jelly for high resolution storage. You are too far from this stranger to make contact before he boards. Now would be a good time to return to our own ship.”
I sprinted toward the ship, determined to grab hold of this imposter, demand his identity, and beat the truth out of him or kill him—whichever came first.
He looked at me from the gangway, eyes bright and full of attitude.
I couldn’t believe how young he looked, how fit. Nothing I’d done had kept me in that kind of physical condition—and I put in plenty of time at the gym.
Stunned, I wasn’t sure what to do. My mind fumbled for explanations and could only come up with partial information from Doctor Hastings on Dreadmax. This had to be something from the Lex-tech research.
They’d healed him and turned him into a super soldier who would make Callus look like a spineless wimp.
“Get back to the Jellybird!” X-37 shouted in my head.
I stopped. X-37 was right. That didn’t keep me from wondering what the hell was going on. I’d seen the man die. We’d been running parallel missions and I hadn't had time to stop and help him even if I could have.
“Where’s that ship headed?” I asked as I rushed back to the Jellybird.
“We can’t access that information from the spaceport,” X-37 answered.
“Something’s weird about the interference,” Jelly said. “I’m being blocked by a high-level operator.”
“Of course you are,” I said. “Maybe you can’t tell me this, Jelly, but I bet X recognizes the technique.”
“I do. It’s something a Reaper would do. Very basic, entry level stuff, but definitely a Reaper hack,” X-37 confirmed.
I went straight to the bridge and took a seat in the captain’s chair, but wasn’t thinking about piloting, I was replaying memories in my head. No one, not even X-37, knew what I had seen that day.
The mission that killed Byron Thane had occurred during a time when our unit commanders thought pitting us against each other was an effective tactic. Essentially, everything was done in parallel, ensuring that at least one of us would succeed. Our mission planners acted like it was a competition and even gave out stupid prizes when we came back.
Best kill.
Best HALO jump.
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Closest call.
Everything was a game to those assholes. Because they never deployed with us, or near us, or on the same planet as the mission. I'm pretty sure there was an officer's betting pool.
It’d been a multiple assassination that went off without a hitch. We had taken down seven targets at five locations, then vanished before their security teams could respond. The problem came when we tried to exfiltrate from the planet.
I’d been on one rooftop, guiding a stealth shuttle into our landing zone with an infrared pointer. The simple technique worked well when the enemy forces were expecting something more complex.
Thane had been two buildings over doing the same thing.
We both realized we’d been made at the same time. He engaged the sniper, a losing proposition because the enemy marksman had been in position for hours with plenty of time to get the range and atmosphere readings.
Thane was good at long-range shooting, probably better than I was, but there was no way he could do that on the fly. The moment he started returning fire, the sniper put all his attention on him.
The weapon the enemy marksman was using was almost a cannon, firing rounds that could travel for several kilometers without any drop or variation unless the shot was fired in the middle of a hurricane.
I could’ve put some suppressive fire on the sniper’s general position, drew away some of his wrath, but my shuttle was almost there. I looked at Thane through my scope just as a round the size of my fist hit him in the chest.
Chunks of his armor had flown out his back. He had fallen immediately to the ground and the shuttle that had been almost there to pick him up turned away. Later, the pilot swore under oath that Byron Thane was dead.
“You seem distracted,” X-37 said.
“I was thinking about the day Byron Thane died,” I said.
“You’ve stated more than once that he could not have survived his injuries,” X-37 said.
“But what if he did? What if he managed to come back from the dead and take the bounty on Greendale that is so lucrative?” I asked.