Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers

by Josh Collins

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  THE STREETS

  DECAY

  ANSWERS

  RUNNING

  REGRETS

  FRACTURED PAST: PART I

  SYNCOPATE

  THE SHADOWS

  COMPLICATIONS

  EVOLUTION

  FRACTURED PAST: PART II

  WESTERN DUCHESS

  INTO THE COLD

  THROUGH THE MIST

  TERROR OF CONQUERORS

  REAPERS

  FRACTURED PAST: PART III

  DAYBREAK

  DESPERATION

  SURVIVORS

  FRACTURED PAST: PART IV

  PAYING THE PRICE

  SACRIFICES

  ASSAULT OF FORT LEDGER

  FREEDOM

  FIRST BLOOD

  THE FUTURE

  BACK MATTER

  Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers

  Copyright © 2016 by Josh Collins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any parallel to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  Edited by Laura Ostendorff

  Website: www.joshcollinsauthor.com

  Twitter: @JCollinsauthor

  To the hopeless

  THE STREETS

  They say the past is what defines a man’s future, but what if that past is one he’d like to forget? What kind of future is defined for him then?

  Ben Burns woke abruptly, springing up to a sitting position and gasping for whatever air he could find. Terrified, he looked around desperately. The previous moment had filled his mind with nightmares, recreations of real-life events that continued to haunt him. Trying his best to get these nightmares out of his head, he continued taking deep breaths. He still had chills, and the remaining images shot shivers up his spine.

  Thankfully, it was morning and the sun had just risen on the Dominion homeworld of Altias.

  Altias was usually rainy, and thunderstorms often pounded throughout her dark skies. Today, however, insects zipped about with glee, bathing in the warmth of the rare sunlight. That same unexpected warmth permeated Burns’ heavy, street-worn clothing, and then lay trapped, causing his skin to feel oily and tired. No doubt a side effect of passing out for the night in a trash-filled alley.

  Weakly, he rose and took a step forward, immediately hearing a decisive crunch. Lifting his untied boot and looking down, he saw what looked like a shattered bottle of booze on the concrete floor. Strewn a little before the broken bottle, Burns noticed that his old blue zip-up jacket had been tossed onto the ground, the few paper dollars in its pockets scattered about the alley. He let out a frustrated grumble and knelt down to grab the jacket. The motion sent what was only a slight headache erupting into a firestorm of pain.

  “Dammit!” he cried out to himself. He closed his eyes tightly and tapped his right boot impatiently as he gritted his teeth, hoping that this wasn’t going to be what the whole day was like. Much to his relief, he began to feel the pain slowly subsiding. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and then bent down again to pick up the remainder of his loose money.

  Pocketing a few in the jacket now laying limply over his right arm, his hand suddenly ran against something that seemed a little less flimsy than the paper money. Curious, Burns grabbed it and pulled it out. His eyes suddenly widened as he saw what it was. It was a picture…a picture that he thought he’d lost a long time ago.

  He swallowed hard as he tried desperately to place the photo back in his jacket pocket, but he just couldn’t commit. All he could do was stare.

  The picture was of a woman facing forward with her head turned slightly toward her right shoulder. She was in uniform, as it was her military portrait, but Burns thought she was still very beautiful. He adored that slight glimmer in her bright, blue eyes and the carrot color of her tied-up hair. He ran his finger along the edges of the portrait, trying his best to ignore the splotches of blood that adorned them.

  Looking away, he exhaled loudly. It was only a few minutes into the day and he’d already had it. First the nightmare, then the strange alley and the hangover, now the picture along with the flood of memories. He really didn’t want to figure this stuff out—not today. He needed an out, an escape from it all. He just didn’t know how far he would have to go to get one.

  Grabbing the last of his dollars, he exited the long alley and began to walk down the bright, awakening streets of Central City. This particular borough of Altias was nice. It was the business district, so it had lots of high-rise buildings peering into the sky. Its walkways were clean and had a thick police presence. From here the sun shined luminously.

  Peeling off the excess layers of his heavy clothing, Burns attempted to better adjust to the sudden heat. He stuffed his fingerless gloves into what pockets he had left empty in his blue jacket and then took that jacket and slung it over his shoulder.

  Burns was a big man: he was a few inches taller than the average male, and he looked to have once been quite muscular. However, years on the streets, and the fact that he was no longer as young as he once was, had caused him to have grown slightly out of shape. From the outside though, you would never have known because the layers of clothing covered much. Similarly, his rough, fair-skinned face was covered under a thick beard and dark, salt and pepper long hair that sat like a mop atop his head.

  He proceeded through the awakening city with little direction, as he was homeless and without a job, but sometimes these strolls would help silence his mind. People watching was always a good medicine for him.

  However, today it seemed like this wasn’t even going to work. All he noticed were people avoiding him. Everywhere, on the walkways and in the trams, there were people who saw him as some sort of abomination. Some looked like they lived on Altias, others were tourists seeing the sites of the homeworld, but they all had the same look on their faces as he walked by.

  This wasn’t new to him—he was used to the looks—but something about today made it hurt more than usual. Maybe it was the fact that he felt he deserved every look he got.

  It was then that something strange happened. Burns noticed a woman who insisted on staring him down. Despite her gaze, her young face looked almost innocent. Her skin was very light, and her eyes were a pale blue that looked almost as gray as the pantsuit outfit she was wearing.

  She continued to stare unblinkingly at Burns as she passed, like she was never taught any manners. His own eyes dotted between linking with hers and trying to avoid looking at her entirely. It was strange, and he didn’t understand what was going on, but the moment quickly passed as she benignly turned out of view.

  He quickly tried to forget what happened. Altias’ urban boroughs were chock-full of colorful characters; this young woman barely scratched the surface of what he’d seen in his years on the streets. He found it best to forget the encounters and move on to what was important—what would really help take the edge off.

  Alcohol. It seemed like he was healing a toe wound by shooting the other foot, but booze was just about all he could afford. Plus, it was a two-for-one whiskey special at Lagona’s pub, which, consequently, happened to be his favorite haunt.

  Mr. Lagona, the pub owner, was what you’d expect an old war veteran to be. He was gruff and crotchety but took care of his own. Burns respected that and, in a way, envied the man. Lagona had no fewer demons than Burns himself had, yet he managed to get past it. He was married to a woman named El
eanor, and they had a daughter together called Alex. This was the life, the normal route. Burns didn’t think he’d ever be afforded that luxury. He had a chance at it once but that was gone now.

  The pub itself wasn’t a spacious establishment by any means, but it had what it needed. It was organized in a fashion that supported a horseshoe-shaped bar in the center with outlying tables surrounding it. The metal kitchen was directly aligned with the front doors at the back opening of the centered bar. This allowed Lagona to quickly check new customers arriving as he simultaneously worked in the kitchen. Burns caught this routine check as the man’s gray-bearded face peeked from one of the metal kitchen walls. Realizing whom it was, he waved and then motioned for Burns to take a seat at the bar.

  Burns did just that, hanging his blue jacket on the coat rack near the door and then proceeding to slide into one of the green, padded stools surrounding the wooden array. Lagona was washing up in the kitchen, so Burns took the moment to do a scan of the room. Only two other people at this hour. They were a man and woman sitting together at one of the window tables.

  The holographic television suddenly beckoned from above the bar, which drew Burns’ attention painfully toward it. It was the morning news. A female reporter with short, black hair stood in the middle of a blizzard. She wasn’t on Altias: the only planet with storms like that was Silverset.

  Silverset was a mining planet covered with snow. It was one of the many worlds that the Dominion had annexed from the Isolated territories. It wasn’t the last planet to have been annexed by the Dominion, and it certainly wasn’t the first. In fact, there were still a handful of Isolationist planets beyond the Dominion’s vast reach. They would’ve probably ended up in the government’s fold sooner or later if the Spyra Accords hadn’t been passed. Since then, it’d been nothing but peace in the galaxy. Peace. Burns had forgotten what that felt like. He hadn’t had true peace in his life for many years.

  “Hey, can we get that shut off?” he ordered out loud, pointing toward the television. Lagona, who was on his way toward the bar anyway, nodded affirmatively to him. Instantly, the reporter, the snow, and the memories were gone. He let out a sigh of relief as Lagona finished his approach from the other side of the bar.

  “Oh, not you again,” the crusty old man joked, deadpan. Burns tried to switch emotional gears to counter the man’s humor, but could only manage to let out a fleeting smirk. He really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation of any sort, but he felt he owed Lagona at least a few words.

  “Well, I’m all you’re getting at this hour, old man,” he responded. Lagona’s straight face was then replaced by a hearty smile.

  “Good show,” he chuckled as he filled a shot glass and handed it over to Burns.

  “Here you are—the usual,” he said. Burns gave him a short grin as he grabbed the glass and downed the drink in one gulp, letting the liquid burn all the way down his throat. He then placed the glass back on the wooden table. It was a start, but it wasn’t near the fix he was looking for. Lagona had grabbed a cloth and begun washing the table, so Burns motioned to him.

  “Hey, it’s two-for-one today. Right?” he asked. Lagona looked back up from the table and shook his head.

  “Not for you, son. For you, both are on the house,” he offered kindly. It was a nice gesture, but Burns didn’t need charity.

  “You don’t have to—” Burns began but was immediately interrupted.

  “No, I do,” Lagona insisted, becoming very serious. “You look like you need a favor, son. More than usual.”

  “I’m fine,” Burns refuted. Lagona disapproved.

  “I’ve been in this business far too long to believe that. Too many good soldiers try and keep that same strong face as you, and they all end up biting a bullet in the end,” the old man warned as he shifted forward and earnestly grabbed Burns’ right shoulder. “If you need help, just ask. I’m here and Ellie’s here. We’ll take care of you, son,” he ensured warmly, but Burns only responded with silence and an intense stare. He knew the old man wasn’t going to surrender, but neither was he. He really didn’t like charity. He didn’t need help and wanted Lagona to know he was serious. The two continued locked in silence for a few seconds until a sudden scoff from the old man eased the moment.

  “Just let me buy you a drink,” he chuckled lightly. Burns exhaled, blinking away his death stare as he pushed the empty glass toward the man. Lagona offered a pleased smile as he grabbed and refilled the glass. He then placed it back on the bar table and gestured knowingly at Burns, making sure everything was alright.

  Burns watched as the old man hobbled back to the kitchen.

  Maybe Lagona would know, he thought. Maybe the man would be helpful and talking would make everything clearer. He just didn’t know how to start. The truth was, it was easier to sit in silence and drink. Admitting the truth to himself was brutal, but telling others was even worse. It wasn’t fun, but it kept people happy. Sometimes, it was nice to just stay with what was comfortable. Enjoy the moment and forget the negatives.

  Still, Burns wasn’t stupid. He knew, despite how hard he tried to bat them down, that the negatives were on the rise. Soon, they’d boil over. He just didn’t know when, but it would probably be sooner than later. He swallowed hard again as he took another sip of the amber liquid in his glass, relishing its burn once more.

  The couple in the corner suddenly became audible. He had always been good at listening in, but with these folks he didn’t even have to try. They seemed to be speaking intentionally loud.

  “—I just need to make sure that this won’t come back on us,” Burns heard the man say to the woman in a rather croaky voice.

  The woman shuffled some papers and then responded, “Don’t worry, Jack. I told you, your people will be safe. I have the Flenin papers right here. We can prove its advantage.”

  Flenin? The name was suddenly highlighted in Burns’ mind. He squinted his eyes a little as he began to search his memory for where he’d heard that name before.

  “So, you can handle all the legal issues?” the man’s croaky voice said in response to the woman. Burns then remembered where he’d heard the name. Flenin was illegal. If he remembered correctly, the medication had some fatal side effects. In its first week, it had caused over a million fatalities galaxy wide—yet these people were fighting for its innocence?

  “Like I said, we can prove its use. As you well know, all drugs have undesirable side effects. They only clear them if the use outweighs the consequence. We can prove the use for Flenin,” the woman responded as the man let out a pleased sigh.

  “You don’t know how much this takes off my shoulders, Cynthia,” he told her. Burns growled but did nothing. It was an injustice for sure—bad medicine shouldn’t be allowed in hospitals no matter the cost—but this situation was clearly bigger than him. No sense in intervening in something he didn’t understand.

  He tried his best to tune the couple out and then went to take another burning sip of his drink, except the glass was dry. He set it back down on the wooden table and tried to signal Lagona, but the couple interrupted his thoughts once more with their conversation. It was the croaky voice again.

  “You know, when we built an on-site pharmacy, we expected to have pills to stock in it. When we found out the funds were dry, we scrambled. This cheap, off-the-market Flenin will change that...and turning a profit would be a miracle. Who thought building near a bunch of penniless vets was a good idea anyway?” Burns suddenly gritted his teeth. They were screwing over veterans. This made things personal for him.

  He growled as he stood up. The hangover and the bad day would have to wait; he was going to give this man a piece of his mind.

  He shifted the stool out of the way as he turned and walked toward the couple.

  Laying eyes on them, he could see the man had a full head of gray hair, a thick chin, and wore blue scrubs. The woman had fair skin, a brown ponytail, and she seemed a little younger than the man. From
the look of her high-dollar clothes, she must have been some sort of a lawyer.

  Burns proceeded toward them, thinking of words to say, but couldn’t find any. These two were nothings. Most likely, the man was a minion more than he was the boss and the woman was just on the job. Talking to either of them wouldn’t really solve the issue. They would just think he was some senile veteran and shrug it off.

  The truth was, if he was going to do any good at all, he’d have to do a lot more than yell at the first people he could find. What would make a real difference is if he hit that new hospital hard and stole every shipment of Flenin they had. It would be completely illegal, but the fantasy of breaking in and doing the galaxy a favor actually managed to cheer him up. Far more, in fact, than the glasses of whiskey had.

  Deciding he might actually give this plan a try, Burns quickly veered off from the couple at the last second and headed toward the front doors of the pub.

  They had said the hospital was near some old vets—he knew the place. Fifth Street. It was where he’d ended up when he himself returned. It had to be it, so that was where he would be going.

  DECAY

  Fifth Street was the oldest of Altias’ boroughs. Where Central City had high-rise modern buildings, Fifth Street had short and stubby derelicts that had long since seen their heyday. The reconstruction effort hoped to modernize it. It would have normally been a shame to see such history torn down, but most had fallen to depravity. Graffiti lined the outsides of the buildings while druggies and gangs scrambled about within their depths. The area had witnessed such destitution that the proposal to reconstruct it was unanimously favored by the population. It was strange to see so much support for such an expensive Dominion taxpayer project, yet it happened.

  Burns briefly remembered the days back when he returned to Altias from the front. When he first sank into homelessness, Fifth Street’s depravity became his home. He had lived here for a couple years until the shelter was torn down. Ironically, the grounds of that shelter were now the home of the new Veterans Affairs hospital.