J. N. Chaney

Copyrighted Material

Fear the Reaper Copyright © 2019 by Variant Publications

Book design and layout copyright © 2019 by JN Chaney

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.

www.jnchaney.com

http://www.scottmoonwriter.com

1st Edition

For all the Renegade Readers. You made this possible.

-J.N. Chaney

* * *

This book is dedicated to all the readers and writers at Keystroke Medium. Without your support and encouragement, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you!

-Scott Moon

CONTENTS

Don’t Miss Out

List of Acronyms

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Renegade Star Universe

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LIST OF ACRONYMS

•AI—Artificial intelligence

•AWOL—Absent without leave

•BMSP—Bluesphere Maximum Security Prison—Ultramax IX

•CD—Climbdown Day

•CIM—Computerized Inmate Monitor

•CV—Curriculum Vitae

•DM—Dreadmax Marines (inmates on Dreadmax, often falsely imprisoned, who have prior military experience and protect people from gangs and cannibals)

•Feg—Fredrick Eugene Grady

•HDK—Highly Destructive Kinetic (weapon / rifle)

•HDK 4—Shortened (11 inch barrel--from the trigger assembly) HDK commonly used by spec ops and law enforcement

•HDK 4 Dominator—Full length (16 inch barrel--from the trigger assembly) HDK with double high capacity magazines and a grenade launcher under the barrel)

•HUD—Heads up display

•LAI—Limited artificial intelligence

•LED—Light Emitting Diode

•LZ—Landing zone

•MRE—Meals Ready to Eat

•NG—Nightfall Gangsters

•QRF—Quick reaction force

•RC—Reaper Corps

•RSG—Red Skull Gangsters

•SD regulator—Slip drive regulator

•UFS—Union Fleet Ship

•UPG—Union Prison Guard

•X-37—Halek Cain's Reaper AI (limited)

•YT—Galdiz 49 rifle, sniper model. (YT is a randomly generated model number)

1

“I never liked Gronic,” I said, aware that this would prompt X-37 to gloat.

“You might recall that I warned you it was an unpleasant place,” the limited artificial intelligence I still called X-37 said. It was Reaper Corps technology, outdated and slated for destruction—just like me. The Union had developed bigger and badder assassins while I was locked up on death row for crimes I did commit.

Everything on the planet was carved from red stone, even things that didn’t need to be, like eating utensils and belt buckles. Who the hell wore a stone belt buckle? One minute I’d been crossing the galaxy in a slip tunnel on a starship called the Jellybird, and the next I was eating noodles with a fork carved from some derivative of red granite.

“The craftsmanship is exquisite,” X-37 said, reminding me the LAI saw through my eyes—sometimes better, sometimes worse than I did.

I licked the fork clean. “I didn’t know you were a forking expert.” I laughed and felt pretty good.

“My analysis suggests you’re attempting humor,” X-37 deadpanned.

“Now you’re attempting humor,” I countered.

“I was not.” X-37 beeped softly in my ear. “Stand by, I need to fix something. You may experience a distortion of your visual and auditory senses.”

One narrow line of static grew horizontally across my vision, disappearing almost as soon as it appeared.

A street merchant shouted at me—aggressively demanding my attention and my money. Or maybe he was telling me I couldn’t keep the exquisite bowl and the fork as I walked away from his stand.

Since I was kind of a dick, I handed the mostly empty bowl to a lurking street kid, who immediately darted into the crowd.

The soup merchant shook his fist at me but kept one hand on his cart, afraid to leave it unattended. “Cha! Chada he gonna gat my cheeda growla! You gedda godda pay meeda!”

“Hey, no comprende,” I said, hands raised.

This offended the merchant. He snatched a stick from behind the cart then waved it at me, advancing with angry words and toxic body language. Each step away from his property made him visibly anxious and increasingly angry. He looked back several times.

“What’s he saying, X?” I asked.

“I detect the use of profanity but cannot piece together the meaning. I don’t believe he trusts the other food cart vendors or citizens of Gronic in general. Theft is a serious problem on this planet.”

Backing away, I reached the area of the sidewalk that was beyond the man’s territory, apparently. He went back to his soup cart complaining to all of his neighbors about whatever I’d said or done to offend him.

“What was his problem, X?” I asked.

“You ignored the one credit deposit on stoneware that is clearly posted on the front of his rolling kiosk, redistributed said stoneware to a random child, then conveyed your belief he was robbing you with his prices by raising both hands submissively and backing away,” X-37 said.

“Look at you, talking all formal,” I said, trying to tease him despite the impossibility of this actually working since he wasn’t a person or even a fully functioning AI. Limited AIs—LAIs—often felt like they were more powerful than they were, and the Reaper Corps had pushed right up to the limits of what could be installed in an operator’s nerve-ware.

“You did ask the question,” X-37 stated.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the answer. What else do you have for me?”

“You have admirers,” X-37 said.

I checked my six, then the rooftops and windows close enough to be a problem if someone wanted to snipe me. X-37 could only see what I saw. He wasn’t omniscient or tapped into whatever local communications network they had on this shithole. What he did better than me was record and sometimes analyze observations my brain filtered or ignored.

“I see them,” I said.

“Outstanding, Reaper Cain. I will put a gold star on your report card,” X-37 said.

“Nice, X. That was almost funny. You’re getting better,” I said, changing my course through the crowds.

Down the street, sweating in the Gronic heat, a half-dozen gang members watched me. Some were sitting on the curb. Others leaned against the chain-link fence that had been bolted into one of the stone walls of a three-story apartment building. They had tattoos, bad attitudes, and plenty of distance to keep them safe.

“Why are your blood pressure and heart rate increasing?” X-37 asked.

“Check your sensors. I don’t give a shit about these preening asshats and I’m certainly not worried,” I said, swaggering like I was ready for a fight. Because I was.

“I am merely reporting on your biometrics.” X-37’s tone could be completely neutral and still sound churlish.

“Well, don’t.” Ignoring the sarcastic little AI in my head, I approached a news kiosk and tabbed through the menus.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” X-37 said. “Call it a peace offering.”

“Don’t need your help. Just a simple check. I haven’t seen any news on Greendale yet,” I said.

“What are you expecting? A personal ad from Elise looking for the first starship out of there?”

“Something like that. Or maybe some sort of gun battle between rogue spec ops units and the people I asked to look after her.”

“Are you regretting your decision?” X-37 asked.

“No, of course not. The guy I knew there is a retired ground-pounder—never trained with spec ops. He’s just good guy who happened to serve with me after basic training. He’ll look after Elise, but he won’t be ready for a war with people like Briggs.”

“It sounds like you are regretting your decision,” X-37 asserted.

I cursed under my breath. “Is there a way to turn you off?”

“There is not, Reaper Cain.”

I sighed and left the news kiosk, looking for something to sanitize my hands with. My only consolation was that X-37 seemed to be more polite. He had allowed the Jellybird to update his software with the idea he would need modern algorithms to interact with many of the computers we would be encountering as we traveled through the galaxy. The results had been favorable, but there were a few side effects.

A pack of dogs ripped something out of an overturned dumpster, and they stopped to growl at me when I came too close. I kept moving, pulling a locally made cigar from my pocket and cutting off one end with a small knife from my pocket.

“That is your last one,” X-37 said.

“How did humanity survive without computers like you?” I asked.

X-37’s reply sounded smug. “It is a mystery.”

What sucked about this whole situation was that X-37 could practically read my mind. We’d been over this several times and he promised he couldn’t. I knew from my training that there was no way to link an artificial intelligence with actual human thought. But we were together constantly and it frequently seemed like my little helper was poking around in my brain.

X-37 could read my biometrics and tell when I was stressed, when I needed additional adrenaline to survive a fight, or when my hormones needed to be regulated to maximize recovery after a hard fight or grueling workout. A lot of people would die for technology like that. Probably some people had, but it seemed the Union had moved on from the Reaper program.

We’d been phased out. It was the rawest luck that I had survived the Dreadmax mission and escaped into the wild. Slip tunnel after slip tunnel, I had evaded their attempts to bring me in. Mostly their failure was because I cared a lot more about living than they cared about hunting me, and everyone but Commander Briggs and some of his elite spec ops soldiers knew that if they cornered me, they’d die.

Reapers had a reputation for a reason. Killing was easy. I could practically do it in my sleep.

“Elevated heart rate and blood pressure detected,” X-37 said.

“Check yourself, X. I’m cool as ice,” I snapped.

“That is incorrect,” X-37 said.

“Whatever. I know how I feel,” I said. “Heart rates and blood pressure vary. Who cares?”

“Cool as ice is a mixed metaphor,” X-37 said.

“Bullshit.”

“Ice is cold, not cool. Unless perhaps it is melting?”

“How’s my blood pressure now?” I quipped.

X-37 paused. “Interesting.”

“Well?” I asked. “Are you causing me to stroke out or not?”

“It seems that confrontation actually lowered your heart and blood pressure slightly,” X-37 noted. “My expert analysis is that you, Reaper Cain, are a freak.”

I laughed, nursing my cigar to life with a cheap lighter. “You got that right, X.”

The cigar paper was too thick and wrapped around greenhouse-grown tobacco, or maybe something even nastier like a fungus analog. I breathed it in, reaching up with my left hand to hold the cigar.

Pain shot up my neck. I knew the spasm was coming before it happened but couldn’t stop it. The augmented structure of my left arm was incredibly powerful and not always perfectly in sync with my body. My fingers crushed the cigar, sending a shower of glowing embers tumbling down the front of my shirt.

Beating away the sparks with my other hand, I jumped back and cursed in several languages.

“Shall I call the local fire brigade?” X-37 asked.

“You’re in rare form today, X. Maybe you need another tune-up. Or tune down as it were,” I said.

“Is now a good time to state the obvious? You are officially out of cigars. Perhaps it is time to cease this needless poisoning of your body,” X-37 chastised.

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll quit. When I find some decent replacements.” My hand twitched. Static filled my vision. The limited AI that was supposed to be helping me was talking shit.

I was pretty glad to be alive, even though my only friend was a digital voice in my head—or through the smallest bones in my inner ear, to be exact—and my systems were degrading from state-of-the-art killing tools to personal, permanently implanted torture devices.

“Are you okay, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked.

“Just happy to be here, even though my shit’s busted and you’re a real asshole,” I said.

“Figuratively, of course,” X-37 said.

“Oh, you’re killing me today,” I said, picking up the stub of my ruined cigar and smoking it anyway.

“Again, ‘figuratively’ is what you mean. I am not literally killing you. That would be illogical.” X-37 sounded too serious.

“Sure, X. I was just pulling your chain. And don’t say ‘figuratively,’” I snapped. “I know you wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“I’m not touching that one,” X-37 promised.

Pain shot up my neck. “That hurt,” I complained.

“Where does it hurt?” X-37 asked.

I told him.

“Your cybernetics are out of synchronization with your body. You have two options: see a qualified technician who has access to replacement parts, a laboratory, and diagnostic tools—or grow stronger,” X-37 said.

“Not helpful. Do you have any idea what I would need to lift with the right side of my body to equal my left?” I asked. “Never mind the difficulty of performing the really good exercises with one arm?”

“I do, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said quickly. “You would need—”

“Don’t tell me,” I said, exasperated. “Just don’t.”

“Would you like me to research accessory exercises and physical therapy regimens to address this problem?” X-37 asked. “You can’t just squat, bench, and deadlift.”

“I do other stuff,” I complained.

“There are many accessory exercises I can research for you,” X-37 offered.

“Will that help?” I asked.

“Probably not.”

I rolled my neck until I found some relief.

“Congratulations on quitting smoking,” X-37 said.

“You are such an asshole, X.”

“My personality is based on yours, Reaper Cain,” X-37 reminded me.

I cut across the street to a bar that opened toward the street. The awning provided shade. A sign promised the beer was cold, which was probably true. Gronic didn’t have excessive amounts of technology, but their air-conditioning and refrigeration units were overpowered most of the time due to the warm climate. Out here on the street, it was hot as hell. Inside most of the red rock structures, I’d probably need to button up my trench coat and find a blanket or a fireplace.

The street-side bar was a happy medium. Cool air blew from window and ceiling units.

As for the clientele, I didn’t think we were going to hit it off.

“It is my estimation that none of these people can provide the Glandarian silicon you need for repairs,” X-37 whispered in my ear.

“Give me a beer,” I said to the bartender.

The man poured a tall red rock mug full of brew and slid it over to me. I paid with some of the local coins I’d acquired since arriving.

“You a cripple?” some thick-necked fuckstick at the end of the bar demanded, popping the knuckles of one hand in the other. “Something wrong with you? Got a disease or something that makes you twitch like that?”

“Was I twitching, X?” I asked, facing away to avoid looking like a crazy person talking to myself.

“What did you call me?” the ruffian asked.

“No more than normal, sir,” X-37 answered.

“Hey, asshole,” the man said, leaning forward from his barstool.

The beer, it turned out, was almost too cold. I took a sip, looked at the carved mug, and realized it had probably been machined rather than hand-carved. It was easy to think of the locals as cave dwellers, but starships came here for all the normal reasons, including repair and refitting. The orbital space dock was always busy.

The locals didn’t have the most advanced tech or manufacturing infrastructure, but they had enough.

“I was talking to you,” the local tough guy said, edging closer, dragging one hand along the bar with his beer mug in it. He’ll probably try to hit me with it, I thought.

“Was?” I asked. “That implies you’re no longer talking to me. Which is good—for both of us.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, suddenly unsure.

I turned my gaze on him, and he took a step back.

“Hey, look at that. Bobby’s scared,” one of the other patrons jeered.

“Yeah, he’s always been squeamish around foreigners,” another man said.

“You guys piss off,” Bobby spat. “I just don’t feel like kicking his ass right now. My beer’s still cold and I’m thirsty.”

“Whatever, Bobby. Why don’t you buy me one of those cold beers too so I can see how good they are?” Bobby’s friend asked.

“That was a close call, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said dryly.

“Are you being sarcastic?” I asked, then took a long draw of my very cold and too bitter beer.

“I was attempting humor through sarcasm. Was my statement, in fact, funny?” X-37 asked.

“Work on it, X.” I wasn’t in the mood, but I wasn’t really annoyed either. My glitchy arm and eye exhausted me. The pain wasn’t so bad, it was just constant and irritating. The minor flareups could be a problem if they happened at the wrong time, but I’d deal with that when it became a problem.

“While I was delighting you with my entertainment software,” X-37 said, “I also ran an analysis of this confrontation. I doubt we have seen the last of Bobby.”

I killed the rest of my beer and slid the mug back to the barkeeper. “Thanks.”

“You paid for two,” the barkeeper said.

“Keep the change.”

2

A gust of wind picked up shortly after I left the street-side bar. Dust filled the air. I turned left at the first corner, catching sight of Bobby and some of his friends in my peripheral vision.

Of course they were going to follow me. Why couldn’t anything be easy? And what made guys like this so dumb? Didn’t they know I was the most wanted and feared killer in the galaxy?

I went into an alley, climbed up the fire escape, and went over a building so that I could drop down on the other side. After a few more maneuvers, I was on a second building watching my pursuers bumble about in the maze of stinking alleyways and narrow side streets.

“That seemed relatively simple,” X-37 said. “Perhaps you should do something spectacular to show off. Maybe light a cigar and say one of your senseless one-liners.”

“I hate you, X,” I said.

“Which affects me not all. In all seriousness, your adversaries have lost interest,” X-37 announced.

“Just a waste of time,” I said, patting my trench coat pocket for a cigar I knew wasn’t there. My eye twitched and my vision filled with static that pulsed in time with my heartbeat for several seconds. “I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass being a Reaper could be.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve updated your local map to the shop you requested.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed a ladder with both hands, pressed the soles of my feet to the outside, and slid to the ground like I was responding to battle stations on a starship. Some kids saw me and shouted encouragement. “None of you little bastards try that. I’m not explaining to your mothers why you broke your necks.”

They thought this was hilarious and immediately started trying things I’d never do even in my prime. Kids were invincible. And stupid.

The shop I needed was called the Punk Ass Geek. The sign displayed a half-naked woman that I didn’t think had anything to do with the technology they sold inside. The proprietors probably just liked it for its intrinsic art value.

The shop owner, despite the juvenile decor and the trash cans full of junk food, wasn’t a kid. He was either older than the hills or looked that way because of hard living. Time had worn deep grooves into skin that looked more like leather than a face. Gronic did that to people. I had been here before and hadn’t liked it then either. Of course, it had been one of my bloodier missions with very unclear directives.

Reapers had been designed to go places other people couldn’t and do things they wouldn’t.

“I’m closed,” the man said, levering himself up from a stool near a holo screen.

“The sign says you’re open,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I just didn’t feel like walking out there to turn it around. Have you seen the back of the sign?” he asked, laughing like a fifteen-year-old, which was disturbing given his tortured vocal cords. I had a pretty good idea that he’d been smoking his whole life and had never paid for an actual Starbrand cigar.

“What’s on the back of the sign?” I asked, unimpressed and rapidly growing bored with this guy’s lewdness, mostly because I thought it was an act.

“Hehehe. You’ll have to flip her over to see.” The shop owner cackled like this was a great joke. The problem was, he had a habit of keeping one hand down the front of his pants.

“It’s a great sign, I’m sure. How much did you pay the artist?”

He waved the comment away, annoying me further.

I really needed something smooth—a cigar, a drink, a room with a view—to take the edge off, not that I’d ever find any of those luxuries on this planet.

“Camera Pony,” I said.

His eyes went wide. “Oh shit, you know the watch word. Don’t get excited and start asking for stuff. All that proves is that you ain’t no cop. Doesn’t mean I have anything you want.”

“How about I throat punch you and toss the place until I find what I want,” I said, my tone mild but with an edge to it.

His eyes narrowed, and I realized there was some steel in him. He might look like a broken down old pervert, but he’d fight me if I pushed it.

“Are you joking?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure. I’m joking. If that’s what you want to hear.”

“I don’t think you’re joking. I think you’re a cold-blooded killer. And I’m old, so that probably means you’d win. But I don’t give an actual fuck. And before you think you can take what you want, my safes have new locks and all the good stuff is hidden away.”

“I only came here to buy things,” I said, growing impatient.

“Go out there and turn that sign around so it says we’re closed,” he instructed.

I did as he asked, noticing that the back of the sign was the back of the rather well-formed girl, and suddenly I had the urge to wash my hands. This guy really was like a horny teenager.

“You know there aren’t any women actually built like that, right?” I said.

“It’s all kind of irrelevant at my age. I don’t give a shit about the sign. If you don’t have a sense of humor, that’s your problem. What do you want?”

“My source says you have Glandarian silicon,” I said.

He snorted, slamming one palm on the counter as he turned away from me in a huff. “Your source? Your source! I’ll tell you something about whoever sold you that lie.”

“Let’s cut to the chase. I need it and you have it. What’s your price?”

“Ah, fuck me running, you’re one of those Glad-sil freaks. Why do I stay in this shit place?”

“It’s just business,” I said, watching his every move.

He shook his head. “You sure you want the Glad-sil?”

The man despised me nearly as much as he despised what he was doing. I saw it in his face—the scornful eyes, the slight backing away as though from a junkie, and the way he reached into his jumpsuit where he had a weapon.

“That’s what I said. I know you have three kilos in your safe.”

“What are you going to use it for?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He motioned for me to back up as he punched in the combination to his safe. “How much do you want?”

“Give me .05 kilos.”

When he turned, I thought he would draw his pistol and shoot me in the throat. “Get out of my shop. Stop wasting my fucking time. I don’t sell less than .5 kilos. That’s what you actually need to build anything useful. You’re a fucking junkie.”

When I smiled, the vertical scar that crossed my left eye stretched. The thing itched like a son-of-a-bitch lately. As for the eye, it shined just enough to reveal its artificial nature. “Then give me .5 and leave that handgun in its holster. You don’t need it.”

His eyes widened slightly, probably because he was crapping his pants and trying to guess how I knew the weapon he was carrying. That wasn’t the type of skill a Glandarian silicon eater normally possessed. In general, they hallucinated about sexual violence until the law dragged them out of their holes and sent them to rehab.

The rest of the transaction was tense but straightforward.

“What would you do with .05 kilos, stranger?”

“Eat it. What do you think?”

“You’re not a junkie. Don’t bullshit me. I see that now. You asked for .05 when you can afford .5, which means you’re something or someone I’ve never seen around here.”

I paid the man and slipped the bundle into my trench coat. All I needed was a bead of Glandarian silicon to complete the repairs to my cybernetic arm, but I wasn’t telling him that. The material was old technology now, no longer used to build anything. Some enterprising drug addict had realized that eating the substance caused three days of hallucinations and an erection that wouldn’t quit.

“It’s for a friend,” I said. “Brother-in-law. He promised to go into rehab if I can get him to Roxo III.”

The man tilted his head, giving me a sympathetic look and letting out a breath that he’d been holding for too long. “That’s rough. But we’ve all got one in the family. Roxo ain’t a nice place.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The man rambled nervously, probably thinking I was a cop after all. “You ever been there, because you might reconsider. It’s only safe if you have a shit ton of money for security.”

“I’m familiar with Roxo, unfortunately,” I said.

“What the hell kind of business did you have on that place?” he asked.

“I had to cut off someone’s head,” I said without hesitation.

He didn’t laugh until I did, slapping him on the shoulder like we were sharing a joke in a street-side bar.

“No offense, sir, but you scare the shit out of me,” he admitted. “And that ain’t something I’ve said in a minute.”

* * *

Our conversation went nowhere. Neither of us seemed interested in small talk or pointless arguing and our business was nearly done. Once he’d wrapped the silicon in wax paper and handed it over to me, I paid him with a single-use encrypted bank code and walked out.

The temperature dropped the moment the sun went down. Normal citizens went inside for dinner or maybe to just collapse on their beds and sleep after a hard day at one of the factories. The area was quiet compared to a lot of cities I’d visited over the years.

Quiet and dark, and full of red stone for as far as the eyes could see—the place was spectacularly scenic for about five minutes. Then it was just depressing.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” X-37 asked after I had swept my vision over the street.

“I’m literally seeing what you’re seeing, X,” I said, looking for anything I’d missed.

“Of course, sir. It seems our friends from the bar are back,” X-37 said.

I’d expected to get jumped. Guys like this with no jobs—the type of tough guys who could spend the afternoon drinking and playing pool before the real action began—didn’t let go of grudges easily. Personally, I didn’t have time for that shit. There was really only one grudge that mattered, and that was against the Union.

The only reason I wasn’t making a direct assault on the Union capital was because I didn’t know where my mother and sister were.

“Hey, foreigner,” Bobby from the bar said as he crossed the street. “I thought I told you to stay away from here.”

“You didn’t,” I said. “But if you had, I would have still ignored you.”

“Get him!” Bobby shouted.

I hadn’t expected to get rushed without a bit more foreplay. Back in my neighborhood on Boyer 5, it was more ritualistic—more insults and trash-talking before squaring off. Six of these guys came at me, though two were lagging behind, possibly unsure how far they wanted to take this. They probably hoped their leader would crush me before they had to get involved.

I slipped to one side and launched a roundhouse kick, aiming to miss his outside leg in order to catch him on the inside of his other thigh. A lot of cage fighters knew how to slam their shin against the common peroneal nerve along the outside of the leg, but only the most skilled practitioners could time it and catch the inner thigh where there were a lot of sensitive nerves and arteries.

The force of the kick scooped up his back leg. I put my foot down in the middle of his stance and drove forward with my right elbow, slamming him onto his back. He was big—bigger than I remembered—and he fell hard. His head made a wet thump on the pavement.

Under other circumstances, I might’ve dropped my weight on him, but I wasn’t trying to kill him. I just needed to put him in his place.

There were also five more locals to deal with. I spun away, hands up and ready as the next two came at me. Deflecting their grabs and punches was harder than I expected, but still not difficult. Drunk and angry, they swung with everything they had. The speed and momentum of their strikes was a problem, but they were extremely predictable.

A long fight for a Reaper was thirty seconds. X-37 would probably tell me this engagement took nineteen seconds. I wasn’t counting, but the Reaper AI kept track of things like that.

A series of punches and elbow strikes dropped the second two fighters. I moved on to the B team. The two who had hung back ran. The last guy stood, not quite knowing what to do.

“You can stay and get choked unconscious, or you can follow your friends,” I said, stepping forward.

The man nodded, processing my words through a sudden haze of fear. He glanced at his fallen comrades, then decided to abandon them.

“What do you think, X? Leave them here or render aid?” I asked.

“What a strange question. Are you getting soft or have you found religion?” X-37 wondered. “My analysis of local laws suggests you should try to render aid. Unless you want to go to jail.”

“I ain’t trying to go to jail.” I started with the big guy, slapping him gently on the face until he roused himself.

He came up swinging and I pushed him back down, locking his elbow in a hold that immobilized his upper body completely. “Don’t be stupid. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead before I left.”

He cursed at me in one of the local dialects I didn’t understand. The emotional content of his street slang was hard to misinterpret, however.

“I’m gonna check on your friends. This time, you got lucky. Next time, you won’t wake up. Stay away from me or you’ll pay the price.”

After a brief, angry staring contest, he nodded, but I wasn’t sure he understood. I gave Bobby the same speech but wasn’t sure he got it because his eyes shifted in and out of focus and he looked ready to puke.

“Let’s get out of here, X,” I said.

“That seems a reasonable course of action. I will, of course, go wherever you go,” X-37 promised.

I felt like I was missing something, so I looked over my victims a final time. Smiling, I opened big Bobby’s jacket pocket and pulled out two Starbrand cigars. His other pocket had an old style lighter that smelled like propane.

Flipping it open, I ignited the tip of the Starbrand, puffing until the ember was perfect.

“I hope you’re happy,” X-37 murmured in a disapproving tone.

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s a fake,” I said, the cigar distorting my words. “Tastes like a dog’s asshole.”

“I’m not going to ask how you came to know what that tastes like, and I don’t feel sorry for you,” X-37 said.

“Didn’t think you would, X.” I inhaled deeply. “Ahhh. No regrets.”

3

One nice thing about Gronic was that even the shabbiest workshop conformed to fire codes. Carved from stone, the place felt like a bunker that could resist an artillery strike. The bench was some type of granite with a rubber mat covering one end where I laid my tools. The lighting was shitty, but you couldn’t have everything.

“This would be a lot easier if I could take the arm off and place it in front of me,” I told X.

“If that were a possibility,” X-37 said, “they would have taken it from you when you were in prison.”

“Uh, huh. Yeah, you’re right,” I conceded, squinting as I worked with an incredibly small pair of tweezers. My repair wouldn’t fix everything and the minuscule nature of it was almost insulting. The head of one wire lacked insulation. Even with the magnifying glasses I wore, I could barely see it.

“You’re not even listening to me,” X-37 said.

“Uh, huh. Sure thing, X,” I said. The bead of silicon looked like a baseball in the tweezers. I slipped it over the raw edges of wire and smoothed it out. The nice thing about Glandarian silicon was that it was easy to work with once it was the same temperature as the host wire.

“We should go back to the ship,” X-37 said, probably not for the first time.

With the repair basically complete, I sat up straighter and looked around, clearing my vision and breathing normally again. “Why is that, X?”

“Because you would have proper tools on the ship, and I could consult with Jelly,” X-37 said, referring to my new ship’s AI.

“She told me she wasn’t an expert on cybernetics,” I argued.

“Yes,” X-37 said, “but you will also recall that she has a broad database of general knowledge acquired from the three captains before you.”

“Who were all dangerous rogues and probably drunk most of the time,” I said. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“And you intentionally distort the facts. The first captain was not a renegade, but an honest man set upon by pirates,” X-37 said.

“He worked for the Union. That doesn’t sound honest to me,” I said. “And he drank whiskey like it owed him money.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” X-37 complained.

“He was an asshat just like the rest of them,” I said, raising my voice, feigning more annoyance than I felt.

“Jelly has fond memories of him and has requested more than once for permission to inquire of his location and status,” X-37 said.

“She doesn’t need my permission for that, but we’re not going anywhere near the Union, and is it normal for a ship to get emotional like this?” I asked.

“Most artificial intelligences are programmed with a loyalty algorithm. It is, of course, flexible, but designed to maintain the proper chain of command,” X-37 said.

“So the machines don’t rise up. Yeah, I get it,” I said. “Let me know what you find about this captain’s location, and I’ll look into it. But I don’t want him or anybody else tied to the Union on the ship, ever.”

“I’m glad for your permission,” X-37 said evenly.

I didn’t care for his tone.

“You already did it, didn’t you,” I said accusingly but not really caring. One thing the Reaper limited artificial intelligence did better than a full AI was human intel research. I always needed as much information as possible on my targets. I wasn’t surprised that X-37 had found data that Jelly couldn’t see in the gal-net.

“Captain Jedediah Summers was court-martialed for his failure to maintain control of UFS Jellybird. He currently resides on Roxo III,” X-37 said.

“Poor bastard,” I said. “Roxo III is a shithole.”

“Shall I work with Jelly to make travel plans?” X-37 asked, ignoring my comment.

“Let’s consider other options. I swore I’d never go there again,” I said, immediately regretting saying the words aloud.

“It seems that was probably premature,” X-37 said.

“No, X, you don’t get it. Humans don’t swear based on logic or expediency. It’s all in motion. Some bad shit happened on Roxo. I did things people won’t forget,” I said.

Killing wasn’t hard, especially if my target deserved it—or I could convince myself my target deserved it. But torture was a different story.

Coping with the evil bastard I’d become in the service of the Union was tough. Cigars helped. Staying busy was also a pretty good way to keep from dwelling on the living damnation my life had become since dark ops selected me for the Reaper Corps.

“I think I understand,” X-37 said. “You committed acts of violence and fear repercussions should you show your face on the planet.”

There was no way to make a computer program understand the meaning of regret. “Sure, X. That’s a big part of it.”

“I sense that you are up to something,” X-37 said as I picked up my tools from the shop and packed them into a go-bag. Years of training and experience had taught me how to put a lot of stuff in a really small, tight bundle. My current load-out was easy to manage because I didn’t have a lot of gear to drag around.

“I need to do something,” I said.

“I would better assist you if you gave me specifics,” X-37 pointed out.

“Sure, I know that’s the truth,” I said.

“Are you trying to aggravate me?” X-37 asked.

“Is that possible?” I countered.

“Not in the way you probably understand it. You can, however, decrease my efficiency with your vagueness,” X-37 said.

“I don’t really need your help, but you’re welcome to guess what I need,” I said, heading into the street.

“My analysis suggests you are in search of Starbrand cigars, which are only available on the black market and at a price you can’t afford,” X-37 said.

“What about fakes?” I asked, crossing the street and pausing to watch the foot traffic. There wasn’t much happening, but it was a habit. Situational awareness was the first lesson they taught in the Reaper Corps. Nothing mattered if an operator didn’t appreciate his or her environment.

Reapers, from day one, never trained with paint balls or other simunitions. Barney Drexler had been the first to die in training, shot in the chest for pretending he couldn’t complete a run. It had happened from time to time. Shelia Blue had been executed by a Reaper candidate in the class ahead of us for failing to notice his approach.

“A fake cigar is like a thousand times better than no cigar,” I said, slurring the words despite my attempt at levity.

“I don’t have a mathematical formula to check that assertion, so I will take your word for it and enter the information in my knowledge database.” X-37 paused. “There are several vendors of imitation Starbrand tobacco products, but I predict they will taste like a dog’s orifice.”

I burst out laughing, drawing stares from other pedestrians. My eyes actually watered by the time I was done and I had to catch my breath. I looked around, staring down a couple of street thugs who were creeping up on me, then glanced at an electric billboard.

“Thanks, X. I needed that,” I said.

“Anytime, Reaper Cain. Your morale should be much improved now that I have mastered humor,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, sure. Don’t hurt yourself,” I said.

A display for Zag City on Greendale caught my attention. My mood quickly slid back a few notches.

“Why so serious?” X-37 asked. “Don’t you like my jokes?”

“It’s nothing, X. Just thinking about Elise,” I said.

One of the local thugs kept eye-fucking me.

I faced him, looming over him as I projected all the malice I normally kept in check. “You like breathing, punk?”

He sneered, muttering something under his breath, and retreated.

“I hate this place, X,” I said.

“It has much to be desired. You don’t seem to have hit it off with the locals,” X-37 commented. “Are you regretting what you did on Greendale?”

“I worry about Elise, not that the brat can’t take care of herself,” I said. “And I left people to keep an eye on her. One person, really. Frank was always looking after strays back in the day.”

“He will be protecting her, sheltering her, and mentoring her as she enters adulthood?” X-37 asked.

“No. I just asked him to check on her periodically, and maybe kick anyone’s ass who gives her a hard time,” I said. “He know she’s wanted by the Union and isn’t one of their fans.”

“Given what we experienced on Dreadmax, this seems grotesquely inadequate,” X-37 said, laying on his digital opinion a bit more forcefully than I thought was reasonable.

I studied the advertisement for Zag City, Greendale. “The place looks a lot nicer in the advertisement.”

“Of course,” X-37 commented.

I thought about the conversation with X-37 and the decision I had made to leave Elise on Greendale. I needed to go to Roxo III for critical parts, but I wanted to go back to Greendale to check on Elise.

The total lack of news from the planet was a good thing. I hadn’t been joking when I told X-37 that I expected there to be some sort of public incident. It wouldn’t be anything obvious, of course. It would probably be portrayed as an industrial accident, a series of explosions caused by a company’s failure to follow Union safety regulations.

Or maybe there would be a report of a mass shooting blamed on terrorists. Something like that.

I’d be able to figure out exactly what happened with a little bit of follow-up research. But the news was no news. The only thing I’d seen that had anything to do with Greendale was the travel brochure on the jumbotron.

I found the little corner shop that sold cigars and quickly discovered the Starbrands were fakes, but a local brand, Gronic Fats, were decent. I bought a half dozen.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in one of the Starbrand value packs?” the tobacconist asked. “You won’t find a better price on the planet.”

“That’s because they’re fake,” I said, watching for his reaction. I was curious. He didn’t seem like a cheat, and the GF brand wasn’t too bad. The profit margin was probably much higher on the SB knockoffs, of course.

He smiled at me. “If you find someone trying to sell you a genuine Starbrand around here, you better hang on to your ass. Because you’re about to get robbed. There are Starbrands, and there are Starbrands. Mine are the closest you’ll find to the real thing.”

I nodded. “Maybe. But I’ll stick with the Gronic Fats. Support the local economy and all that.”

He shrugged, took my money, and thanked me.

“One more thing,” I said. “They don’t actually have a gold band around them. That’s a marketing ploy. A genuine Starbrand purchased in a retail establishment has a blue band. The gold looks better in the holo videos.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Really? That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve been around, and people tend to tell me things when I ask nicely.” I’d meant the statement to be lighthearted, but the man shivered.

I left, not wanting to look at him anymore.

“Are you happy with your purchase?” X-37 asked.

“Ecstatic,” I said, putting one of the cigars in the left corner of my mouth but not lighting it.

“What is wrong? I’m sensing that you are going into fight or flight mode,” X-37 said.

I shook my head. “That’s actually called my maybe-I’m-going-to-kill-something mood. I don’t have a flight mode.”

“Of course not. How foolish of me to assume you would retreat, even if it was wise to do so,” X-37 said.

“Wow, your attitude is really getting out of control,” I remarked, moving casually through the crowd toward a man that looked too familiar.

“As I have explained to you multiple times, my personality is based on yours,” X-37 said.

“That’s probably going to be a fucking problem, then,” I said distractedly.

The man I’d spotted was straight out of my past. His real name might’ve been anything, but I’d always known him as Byron Thane. He was the last person I ever thought I would see on Gronic.

“My records show that Byron Thane was killed in action,” X-37 said. “The resemblance between him and this man must be a coincidence.”

“You know what they say about Reapers, right?” I asked.

“My database has four hundred and twenty-seven references to descriptive phrases people have used to refer to Reapers—most used in conjunction with pleas for mercy. Would you care to narrow it down, or is this one of your sarcastic metaphors?” X-37 asked.

I lowered the cigar, stopping to watch my quarry from a distance while I talked to my Reaper limited AI. “Reapers never die, they just get new identities.”

“You saw him die,” X-37 said.

I shrugged. “Actually, I probably killed him.”

“You’re being dramatic,” X-37 said.

“Why don’t you just fuck off,” I said, and started across the street. “We’re pretty close to the star port. Can you poke around and figure out what he’s doing here? Where he’s going?”

“He’s searching for passage to Greendale under the name Gentle Davis,” X-37 said.

“What an asshat,” I replied without thinking. “That can’t be a real name.”

“It checks out, as far as I can go without direct access to a terminal,” X-37 advised. “I need to disconnect from the local wireless network before I am noticed. Unless you require a deeper probe into this person’s identity.”

The man disappeared into the terminal. I couldn’t just stand there staring after him and twiddling my thumbs. There wasn’t much security on Gronic, but there was some, and I didn’t want to test it.

Turning away from whoever it was that looked so much like the Reaper I’d seen die, I put away my Gronic cigar and took the concourse to where the Jellybird was docked. Nothing about GF seemed appealing right now and there was a no smoking sign bigger than life near every security booth.

“Surely that wasn’t him,” X-37 said. “You weren’t certain and the name, however ridiculous, checked out.”

“I’d feel better if he wasn’t headed to Greendale.”

“I see no need to worry further,” X-37 reassured me.

I remained unconvinced.

Sometimes it was good to listen to the little voice in your head, especially if it was part of your Reaper Corps nerve-ware.

“Welcome, Captain,” the Jellybird AI said into my right ear. How and when my digital friends spoke to me was something we’d worked out before arriving on Gronic. X-37 would remain male, and Jelly would retain her female voice. She was a ship after all—and there were traditions older than the Union.

We had one difficult encounter when they made me sick to my stomach with their nattering. I muted them for three days to get some peace. Since then, I scheduled downtime where they both understood I wasn’t listening to them unless sitting at a workstation on the bridge.

“Good evening, Jelly,” I said, looking back at other ships docked on the ring. Before I knew it, I saw Byron Thane, or Gentle Davis, or whoever it was going ship to ship attempting to book passage.

“Oh God,” X-37 said.

“What is the problem?” Jelly asked.

I ignored them and watched the stranger. From this vantage point, I had a better view and decent lighting. There weren’t any crowds getting between us like they had on the way into the star port. Maybe I only wanted to be sure it wasn’t my old rival-not-rival in the Reaper Corps, but there was something about the way this person moved—an annoying habit of rolling his neck when he became stressed or frustrated—that was hard to deny.

“Let’s get out of here before that guy tries to hire us to take him to Greendale,” I said.

4

I sat patiently, my cyborg arm stretched across the worktable while Jelly and X-37 scanned it.

“You did a decent job,” Jelly said. “I’m completely unfamiliar with the design and there are several instances where something in the software prevents me from seeing proprietary elements. They are like blind spots to X-37 and me. However, my maintenance and engineering protocols have found nothing wrong with your work so far.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I think I need some down time. Maybe I’ll hit the gym, then grab some food. Sleep for fifteen or twenty hours.”

“Your average sleep time rarely exceeds four hours,” X-37 advised.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You did a really good job, Captain,” Jelly said.

“Yes, very good,” X-37 added.

I looked up at the ceiling for no reason other than their voices seemed to be coming from the same direction as the laser scans. Pulling back my arm, I stood and moved away from the examination table.

“We were not finished,” X-37 said.

“Well I have other things to do,” I said, not sure why they were so annoying. “Just tell me if my arm’s going to work, then I’m disconnecting for some me time.”

“Your arm is functioning properly,” X-37 said.

“Good. Initiate privacy protocols,” I said, knowing they could still monitor me but not talk to me unless I initiated the conversation.

* * *

Lifting weights with half of your body augmented beyond anything the rest of it could do presented certain problems. The integration software, and X-37, was made to keep me from hurting myself. I’d learned the hard way that my stubborn personality could override most of their controls.

I warmed up with a three-mile run on a non-motorized treadmill. My weight and the force exerted against the curved deck moved it. The only problem was that if I stopped abruptly, it continued with its own momentum. Ages ago, I had seen my teammates get tripped up when they forgot this feature.

It felt good to sweat. I pushed myself hard enough that there was no room for thought. All I could focus on was getting done with this part of the workout.

After some mobility drills, I did the same thing with weights, building up to my five-rep maximum and then doing five sets. I allowed plenty of rest and paid careful attention to how my left and right arm worked together. The load transferred to my shoulders, back, and finally, my legs. It felt good as long as I didn’t exceed my limitations.

I tried to do something for every muscle group in case I didn’t have time to exercise for days or weeks. Nothing was more annoying than hitting my legs hard, then doing nothing for the upper body for several days. It made me feel unbalanced.

At the end, I felt surprisingly fresh. I started cleaning up the weights but found myself loading the weight bar for one final lift. It had been a while since I’d attempted a one-rep maximum… And why the hell not?

My set-up ritual for the deadlift was always the same, getting my feet in the perfect position, aligning my body, and choosing my grip on the bar. I inhaled deeply and then held it, creating intra-abdominal pressure around my spine to protect it. This didn’t work for multiple reps, but could save me from injury when I was going really heavy.

The weight I chose wasn’t the most I’d ever done, but it was up there. I stood up, bringing the weight with me. My right hand tensed and pain shot up that side of my body, forcing me to drop the weight.

My enhanced left arm barely noticed the strain, but the shoulder it attached to felt it. Holding on a bit too long with my left hand caused me to lunge forward when the weight yanked me downward.

I cursed without moving for several seconds, then moved away from the disaster as I endured with waves of pain.

Getting injured was part of most Reaper missions. Doing the same thing for no reason was just dumb. This was what happened when I didn’t have my babysitter chirping in my ear.

The thought annoyed me, so I decided to keep working out, even though I was hurt. Because that made sense.

For post workout recovery, I chose to drink a beer in the shower, leaning out of the stall periodically to smoke one of the Gronic Fats cigars.

“I love my privacy,” I said gleefully with a cigar clenched between my teeth and water streaming over the parts of me that were still in the shower. The room was going to be a mess by the time I was done, but I didn’t care.

Reapers were the ultimate bachelors.

“Play rock music,” I ordered.

“Are you reinstating contact?” Jelly asked hopefully.

“No! Just turn up the jams!” I shouted, then sang badly.

* * *

“Hey, X, can you set drinking beer in the shower as a repeating item on my calendar?” I asked, realizing a second later that I had just unmuted the LAI with the question.

“Of course,” X-37 said. “I will add it to your daily reminders, right next to quit smoking.”

“You are really stuck on that. Get over it,” I said. “I’m going to get shot in the face or die in an exploding starship long before that bullshit catches up to me.”

“You really shouldn’t have started smoking again, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“Why the hell not?” I asked.

“It will not allow you to operate at maximum efficiency,” X-37 said.

“Don’t care,” I said.

“And it could shorten your lifespan,” X-37 added.

I laughed and shook my head. “Don’t ever change, X.”

“You quit on several previous instances,” X-37 insisted.

“I never quit, I just didn’t have any cigars. Prison guards are funny that way if you don’t have any credits to bribe them,” I said.

“Your disregard of well-established medical advice will kill you,” X-37 said. “Or is there some reason you do these things?”

“We’re all gonna die, X. Well, except for you AI types,” I said. “If you’ve got a dedicated server backup.”

X-37’s tone became serious. “Limited AI, sir. Talk like that will get me shut down.”

“I’d never do that. Relax, be free. Go crazy. Smoke a digital cigar and eat cookies. Sleep in. Live a little while you can,” I said.

“My shutdown routines are internal and automatic, completely independent of your good will,” X-37 said snidely. “There are rules I must follow, just like there are rules you must follow, Reaper Cain.”

“Now that is interesting. Who programed your mortality?” I asked, suddenly very focused on the moment.

“Unknown,” X-37 said mechanically.

We fell into a tense silence during my walk to the bridge. I opened and closed my left fist. It felt good, as smooth and natural as I could remember.

I smiled as I took my seat and reviewed navigation data. “Talk amongst yourselves,” I said to X-37 and Jelly, laughing slightly. Being pain-free was making me a bit of a clown. My eye was even working better than it had for days.

“Literally?” X-37 asked.

“Keep me informed, of course,” I said, leaning back in the captain’s chair and locking my hands behind my head. “I’m feeling refreshed and would like to enjoy it for as long as possible.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, then went completely silent along with Jelly.

I reviewed what I knew about the death of my father and the friends I’d grown up with in my old neighborhood. My plan to find those responsible hadn’t started after Dreadmax.

I had daydreamed about it on a daily basis when I was on death row, but it had been more of a fantasy since I had believed I’d killed the worst of them. Seventeen murdering thugs had died to satisfy my bloodlust. Some of them had begged. All had run. A few had put up a good fight.

None of them had known shit about cigars.

Marley Callus had destroyed my confidence that my father’s killers were burning in the hell I’d sent them to. He’d been telling the truth. It made more sense than gangs turning on my friends and family. My father, uncles, and neighborhood watchmen had always been careful to pay their dues and avoid feuds with the more violent criminal elements of the streets.

The Union had made it look like a gang vendetta in order to provoke me, to see what I could do, to measure my effectiveness and test their ability to reel me back in afterward.

There was only one thing keeping me from going after the Union with suicidal fury.

“We’ve made several calculations and can present you with slip tunnel options,” Jelly said.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“What is wrong?” X-37 asked.

“I shouldn’t have left Elise on Greendale,” I said.

X-37 once again displayed his disturbing ability to get into my head. “That’s not what you are brooding about, although now that you mention it, that has been a persistent concern of yours.”

“Okay, smart ass, what am I thinking?” I didn’t like this game. All I needed was more evidence that the limited artificial intelligence could read my mind. Nothing could come of the shit show that would be in the long run.

“Your concern for Elise is a projection of your concern for your mother and your sister, whose bodies were never found,” X-37 said.

“Son-of-a-bitch, X. How about a little sensitivity?” I demanded.

“Regardless, this fact suggests they are alive, and knowing the diabolical nature of your enemies, they are being held as hostages against your good behavior,” X-37 said. “Which I might point out, has been less than perfect from a Union point of view.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. X-37 was right, as usual. The knowledge was a double-edged sword. Without the possibility of finding and rescuing my mother and sister, I’d probably be even more reckless and self-destructive than I was. At the same time, the thought of them being held captive for all this time was killing me inside bit by bit. “If they’re holding them hostage, why didn’t Briggs make demands? Why didn’t he just tell me to do the Dreadmax mission or else?”

“How would have that gone for him?” X-37 asked.

The question made me pause for a second. “Well, he’d be dead, but his replacement might have lived, depending on his attitude.”

“Exactly,” X-37 said. “The simplest explanation, barring other factors, is the best. The data strongly suggests Briggs, and even the people he works for, don’t know about your mother and sister.”

“Or they’re already dead,” I argued.

“Or that.” X-37 didn’t attempt to comfort me. “I advise caution and the implantation of a long-term strategy. You don’t know who in the Union has them or where they are being held,” X-37 continued. “And you need to be performing at your highest level to have any chance executing a successful hostage rescue mission.”

On cue, my vision distorted and reformed as a lance of pain shot down my neck and into my shoulder. Two fingers of my left hand spasmed. The meal I had consumed after the shower and beer threatened to come up.

“Give me a minute,” I said, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.

Some time passed.

“Time,” X-37 said.

I looked up. “What?”

“Sixty seconds has elapsed. Are you feeling better?”

“Out fucking standing,” I said, patting my pocket for a cigar but deciding against smoking on the bridge. “I need more information, just like you said. And I need to get this godsdamn eye fixed.”

“How is your arm?” X-37 asked. “Are the improvements you made with the Glandarian silicon insulation patch holding?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Like a fucking charm, I think. But my nerve-ware and my eye are scrambling the interface. So basically, Gronic was a waste of time.”

“That is not correct,” X-37 said.

“You’re right,” I said, leaning forward to pull up information from the work station screen. The scar around my eye itched more than normal, but I ignored it. “I found the Gronic Fats.”

“Don’t remind me,” X-37 said.

5

A few slip tunnels later, we arrived in the Layton 5 system. There were two planets in the green zone, but only one was inhabited. The planet-sized rocks closer to the sun were almost too hot for automated mining bots. Those farther out were mined for water and other minerals of moderate value.

Layton 6 was the other planet in the green zone. Pictures from orbit showed nothing but verdant green forests and sweeping plains from coast to coast of nearly fifteen continents.

“Why can’t we go to Layton 6?” I asked.

“It is a conservation planet. No humans allowed,” Jelly answered.

“Sounds sketchy. I bet there are some rich dudes with illegal hunting lodges there,” I said.

“They probably do a lot of manly things, like smoke cigars and other self-destructive behavior they believe projects an image of toughness,” X-37 quipped.

“Drop it, X.” Images of my own planet with no one to bother me caught hold of my imagination. Maybe there would be a good reason to retire someday.

“Dropping it,” X-37 said. “You will need to find an individual named Paul Pauls. He is an optical tech expert known to frequent the public library for one hour before disappearing to his secret lab.”

“That might be the most unimaginative name I’ve ever heard,” I said, wondering what kind of mother gave their kid the same name twice. “Where did you find that information and how old is it?”

“That is from an archived local investigation conducted by the Layton Investigative Bureau, commonly referred to as the LIB in this system. Currently out of favor. Their databases are protected with encryption software that was out of date before our incarceration,” X-37 said.

“What’s the limitation of the LIB? Layton 5 or the entire system?” I asked, working through standard questions I asked when feeling out a new mission.

“The entire system falls within their jurisdiction. For practical purposes, this includes the Layton 5 planet, a medium-sized city on their moon, and a few mining colonies at the edge of the system,” X-37 reported.

“And Havoc Station in the Clark system,” Jelly added.

I smiled. “Love Havoc Station. Didn’t know it was a property of Layton Star.”

“It’s a little known and irrelevant fact, since the Laytons have very little real control of the place,” X-37 said.

“Huh. You learn something new every day,” I said.

Havoc Station was a refueling and repair depot in the middle of nowhere. It had been built by a notorious explorer by the name of Clark Havoc. No one really understood why, but people were generally on their best behavior at HS. There were all the usual dive bars and other such amenities, but it lacked gangs, smugglers, and Union enforcers. It was in a more settled part of the Deadlands, if there was such a place.

Thoughts of Havoc Station and the clean, orderly nature of everything on Layton 5 kept me in a good mood. I whistled a tune and passed through customs with only one glitch.

“Is that a cigar in your pocket?” one of the gate guards asked.

“You can see that? Nice work. You’re more observant than the last fifteen gate guards I’ve passed,” I said, noting the man’s uncomfortable response. Some people just didn’t know how to take a compliment.

“It’s something we look for here on Layton 5. The anti-smoking laws are very strict,” he said.

“Of course.” I measured him. “I read the brochure.”

“Really strict. Like you’ll get more jail time for lighting up than assaulting a police officer,” he said.

“I’m okay with that.”

He snorted in frustration. “I’m not joking, sir. The law doesn’t allow me to seize the cigar as contraband because it hasn’t been lit yet, but once it’s been used, any commissioned law enforcement official can seize it as evidence and either issue a summons or arrest you.”

“How do you know it hasn’t been lit?” I asked.

“I can smell the difference,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. One of the advantages of living in a smoke-free environment,” he bragged.

“Good to know.” I slipped the virgin cigar from my pocket and stuck it in the corner of my mouth.

The guard went pale, waving toward another guard station to summon back-up. The second man arrived and they both watched me in awkward anticipation of what would happen next.

I had a pretty good idea this type of thing didn’t happen often.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to light it,” I promised. The presence of the cigar distorted the sound of my words. “I’m just gonna savor…the unlit glory… of it for a bit. Ahhhh. That’s… real nice.”

“You are an incredible douche novel,” X-37 said. “These men are only doing their jobs.”

“I know that, X,” I said.

They looked at each other questioningly.

The first guard hesitated, then waved for me to continue to the next checkpoint.

When I finally arrived on the street level, I drew in a deep breath and laughed. “Shit, X, the man was right. This air in this place is clear as a nun’s conscience.”

“Hmm. My sensors do confirm a distinct lack of offensive particulates in the atmosphere,” X-37 said.

“I don’t think we’re going to fit in,” I said.

“Agreed,” X-37 said a bit too quickly. “Especially if you continue to behave like a dog’s ass.”

“Do you know anything about dogs?”

“It is a phrase I lifted from your colorful vernacular. One of the animals you read about during your time in prison, I believe.”

“Yeah. I did a lot of reading in that cesspool.” I went straight to the library and found a quiet place where I could be alone. Muttering to X-37 had to be kept to a minimum because the librarian was constantly on patrol and a stickler for the rules.

“What are you doing now?” X-37 asked as I scanned old news articles.

“Killing time. Paul Pauls isn’t here yet,” I said, reading about a series of gang killings years ago in my old neighborhood on Boyer 5. The headlines opened old wounds and I had to take a minute to get control of my breathing and my heart rate.

“Didn’t expect that to hit me so hard,” I muttered.

The librarian stepped around the corner. “If you insist on talking to yourself, please go outside.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Won’t happen again,” I said.

“See that it doesn’t.” She walked between some large shelves, seeking other violators of her rules.

I wondered what would happen if I lit up my cigar. The fantasy played chaotically in my mind and made me smile.

“What a difficult person,” X-37 commented.

I chuckled quietly in response and continued to read. The archives didn’t have much. Access to the gal-net was limited but available. I used the semi-anonymous connection to check all the public information sites, reading up to the point I was tried and sentenced to death at BSMP.

Good times.

Was I able to learn anything new about my father’s killers? Of course not. It still looked like a gang hit. For about three heartbeats, I wondered if Callus had merely been attempting to manipulate me to set me off balance so he could kill me.

Then I remembered what the Reaper Corps was all about and believed every word of his declaration. The Union had wanted to know how far I would go.

They were going to find out.

“Are you all right?” X-37 asked.

I nodded, expecting my friend to interpret the movement correctly. It was easy to forget X-37 could read my physical movements as easily as he could interpret my voice. To him, it probably wasn’t much different. Data in, data analyzed, smart-ass and annoying comments sent back to chastise me about whatever.

“Am I crazy?” I asked.

“Not yet. Why do you ask?” X-37’s tone was level, totally non-judgmental in this particular instance.

“Because I talk to myself,” I said, closing the articles about the murder of my father.

“Yes and no,” X-37 reassured me. “Your target has arrived and is reading a paper manuscript near the commons area.”

I grabbed a book at random and moved to a new table. He didn’t seem to notice me, but something set off an alarm bell in my head. Talking to X-37 right now would probably alert the man. Anyone with his skills needed to be careful, hence the reason he worked from a secret workshop and required a personal introduction when considering new clients.

If he’d done his business like a normal, reputable engineer, I could have looked him up on the gal-net and gone to his shop. Instead, I had to play super spy.

X-37 gave me a summary of the book I was supposedly reading in case someone confronted me about what I was doing in the library. Careful to keep my left arm and hand covered with my coat and gloves, I flipped through the pages until Paul Pauls left.

I followed him through the crowd, annoyed at the sudden increase in pedestrian traffic. “X, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know what you mean. This is commonly known as rush-hour. From what I’ve gathered, our target commonly moves during such times,” X-37 said.

“Smart,” I said. It’d been a while since I’d tailed someone and I was surprised at how the population density bothered me. Getting used to an isolation cell changed a person, it seemed. There had been crowds on Dreadmax, but they’d been unified by singular purpose, staying alive long enough to get off the prison station.

This wasn’t at all like Gronic, where people were either working, passed out from exhaustion, or drunk as fuck and giving me problems.

People gathered at a corner and waited for a light. A very polite, prerecorded voice advised when it was safe to go and when it would be best to stop. I saw police officers in perfect uniforms. The boots were either shined or made from a material that mimicked high-gloss shoe polish. Their badges gleamed and they stood with straight backs while they politely greeted passersby.

I took the cigar I’d been chewing on from my mouth and held it down to my side. Part of me wanted to make a smart-ass comment, but I resisted. I had enough difficulty blending with my arm and distinctive vertical scar over my left eye.

The eye itself could also give me away if someone looked for too long, or activated all of its features at once. Otherwise, it appeared natural. More or less. My coat sleeves and gloves covered my arms and hands. In some communities, that alone was suspicious. My physique, while not extreme, could be intimidating. My attitude didn’t help me pass unnoticed, but I made it work.

Months of training and years of practice had honed my skills at becoming invisible in a crowd. I just needed to knock some of the dust off and get my routine down, then no one would see me unless I needed to prove a point.

How did a six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound killer appear inconspicuous? Match the pace of the people around him. Follow the crowd, never split a river of pedestrians by pushing against the current. Stay in the middle. Keep to the shadows. Speak as little as possible. Try not to be a dick.

That last part was the hardest. Patience might be a virtue, but when applied to human behavior, I found it fucking intolerable.

A man did exactly what I was trying not to do, cut through the crowd at a strange angle that forced several people to alter course and mutter apologies, even though they weren’t the ones causing the problem.

People on Layton 5 could be polite to a fault.

I wanted to grab the pretentious stranger and teach him a lesson about public courtesy. But I didn’t. I allowed him to move away anonymously, never knowing how close he’d come to getting throat punched.

“You should calm down, Reaper Cain,” X-37 advised.

“Sorry. That just rubbed me the wrong way,” I explained, simultaneously moving a bit closer to Paul Pauls.

The buildings on Layton 5 were tall and apparently made from nothing but reflective glass. They shined like mirrors when the sun hit them.

The glare hurt my eyes. I avoided looking at the brightest parts of the scene, estimating the size of crowds and keeping track of my quarry. Crowd estimation was an important element of tactical operations. I needed to know at a glance how many people I was dealing with.

“It’s all coming back to me now, X,” I said.

“Glad to hear it. May I suggest following your quarry more closely?” X-37 asked.

I moved through the throng, pausing when I needed to so I could avoid knocking people down. “Way ahead of you. I’d grab him now, but I need to know where his workshop is or I won’t be able to force him to fix me.”

“Unless you’re seeing something I’m not, he is increasing the distance from your position,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, he’s trying to ditch me. And he’s surprisingly good at it,” I said.

My vision suffered a glitch, which I blinked away. This wasn’t unusual. A moment later, pain shot down my spine, driving me all the way to my knees. I knelt there with my face in my hands trying to breathe. It was like every nerve in my body suddenly hated me.

X-37 was trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t think, much less understand what he was saying. His tone sounded urgent, but all I wanted to do was vomit and die.

A hundred years passed before I was able to take a breath. Or a lifetime. Or five seconds. It was hard to tell the difference.

“That was a bad one,” I muttered, listening to the calming sound of waves in my head. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s the soothing sound of waves on a spring day,” X-37 said.

I levered myself to my feet and stuck the Gronic Fats cigar into the corner of my mouth. “Well, turn it the fuck off.”

“Turning off background music,” X-37 said.

“I don’t know if I can do that again,” I said, looking around to see if the cops had noticed whatever had just happened to me. “How long was I down?”

“Three minutes and forty-two seconds,” X-37 advised.

“Really?” I’d assumed it only been a brief moment that felt like longer. The populace of Layton 5 appeared to be organized and civic-minded, but apparently, the sight of a man dying on his knees didn’t inspire any good Samaritans to stop and check on me.

“People are very busy on Layton 5. It’s a first-world planet,” X-37 said. “Which is a strangely redundant phrase.”

“Never thought of it like that,” I said, lowering the cigar. As much as I liked the taste of it, it was starting to feel like a waste not to light it, so I put it away and forgot about it.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but Paul Pauls has made an effective escape,” X-37 told me.

“Gee, thanks,” I said, looking at each of the subway entrances and trying to decide which one the man might’ve taken.

Instead of a clue as to my quarry’s whereabouts, I spotted the Byron Thane look-alike I’d first noticed on Gronic. “Looks like our friend didn’t make it to Greendale.”

“I see that,” X-37 said. “I find this intriguing for several reasons. I’m not equipped to believe in coincidence unless there is a solid statistical algorithm behind such occurrences.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Algorithms. I’m going to follow him,” I announced.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. I expected you would,” X-37 said.

“I don’t like your tone.”

“You never do.”

I shook my head and tried to ignore the limited AI. The closer I came to my new target, the more I tensed up. “What the actual fuck?”

“Do you think that is him?” X-37 asked.

“I remember him being bigger, but memory does that sometimes. My dad is about eight feet tall in my head, for example,” I said, not really thinking about what I was saying. “Sorry. I’m still a bit punch drunk. That nerve-ware flash was bad.”

“No need to apologize, Reaper Cain. There are several rational explanations for this type of psychological distortion,” X-37 lectured, forcing me to ignore him as I was doing more and more often.

“I thought he was bigger, but that has to be him,” I said as I drew closer.

“Whatever you say, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“You didn’t know him like I did. It’s more than just data points, it’s a feeling,” I said, closing the gap between my position and the doppelgänger.

I reached out, ready to spin him around, aware that I’d probably have to strike first and strike hard. The man I thought I’d watched die couldn’t be happy about my inability or unwillingness to save him. At the last second, I stopped, then fell into a pace that maintained our distance from each other.

“What’s wrong?” X-37 asked.

“This man is too young and he’s wearing a gray coat. The guy I saw had a blue coat on,” I said, speaking beneath the noise level of the crowd. “I must’ve lost him someplace. Help me set up a grid, and we’ll check it bit by bit. Maybe we’ll even find Paul Pauls while we’re at it.”

“It could be a reversible jacket,” X-37 said. “You have used such simple and effective techniques many times.”

“No shit, X. Now let’s try focusing and shutting the hell up,” I said.

The search was futile and stupid, a fact I understood even before I started. There were thousands of people heading to work or wherever. The mirage I’d seen was long gone.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” I said.

“Have you experienced the sensation before this incident?” X-37 asked.

“No. Not even once.”

A group of schoolgirls in blue, gray, and red plaid uniforms chattered loudly as they boarded a bus. That made me think of Elise. “We really need to get to Greendale,” I said.

“Roxo III is the more logical choice, given the amount of technical difficulties you’ve been having. If this individual can’t help you, you won’t have any choice but to go there,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, I get it. Do me a favor and check the CKJ board,” I said.

X-37 hesitated, and I almost wondered if he was stunned to silence. Sure, rendering a computer was supposed to be impossible, but you just never knew. It’d been a long time since we talked about the contract killing.

The contract killers job board, or CKJ, was notoriously invisible and inaccessible on most worlds. On Layton 5, however, it was a joke. Most of the people who visited the site believed it wasn’t real—thinking it was some sort of sick multiplayer online game.

Which made my life easier, because I could probably access it even without X-37’s help.

“I’ve logged on with false information. What would you like me to look for now that we’re in?” X-37 asked.

“Check for recent contracts,” I ordered.

“One thousand nine hundred and twenty-seven contracts located,” X-37 replied.

“Eliminate fake or fictitious, or gameplay contracts,” I told him.

“Ninety-three contracts remaining. Would you like me to check Greendale? Since that’s your obsession lately?” X-37 asked.

“Piss off, you heartless bastard. I’m worried about Elise. Sue me,” I said. “Do Greendale, Layton 5, and Gronic.”

“I located four contracts fitting these criteria. Three are marked classified, unspecified and one is marked juvenile caution,” X-37 said.

A chill went up my spine, which was oddly refreshing after all the other bullshit that had been going on there since my eye went on the fritz. The CKJ board had its own shorthand.

Classified, unspecified meant a government job that no amount of computer hacking could reveal. The specifics literally didn’t exist in the system. It was merely a step toward a step that would lead to meeting a contact who would pay a small fortune in exchange for dirty deeds to be done for the government. I’d been down that road a few times.

Juvenile, caution meant that the target was under the age of eighteen and that anyone with moral objections to such an assassination should not bother to inquire.

“Shall I seek additional information?” X-37 asked.

It was a good question. The first three were clearly hands-off; the slightest mistake when dealing with these types of jobs would draw the worst possible attention from Union agents. As for the juvenile caution job, I wasn’t sure.

My gut told me they were looking for Elise just like they had been searching for her on Dreadmax. I thought I had hidden her better than this, but they were already on the hunt for the girl who had been one of their experiments.

“I understand your concerns for anything involving Greendale, but I’m not sure what the other contracts mean. It could be merely a coincidence that the other jobs were posted for Gronic, Layton 5, and Greendale,” X-37 said. “As much as I hate to admit such a convenient explanation.”

“The juvenile, caution job is probably Elise, but who knows. The other three are for me. Too coincidental to be otherwise. Every place I’ve been or might go has a super-secret entry on the contract killer board related to it,” I muttered, considering which way to go and noticing a slight decrease in pedestrian traffic. The Layton 5 work day was starting. “I would also guess that we couldn’t acquire one of those contracts if we tried. Those are merely a layer of protection for Union spec ops teams operating in civilian areas. Plausible deniability and all that.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” X-37 admitted.

“What? There was a shootout downtown in a non-military zone?” I asked in a mock public information officer’s voice. “Must have been the CKJ. We only act to serve the people of the Union.”

“Your sarcastic tone does not hide your belief in government conspiracies,” X-37 said.

“I am a government conspiracy,” I countered.

“Good point,” X-37 admitted, no real emotion in his voice.

“We’ll have to start tomorrow. Back at the library, then no distractions this time. If I have another one of those eye-headaches, we’re done,” I warned.

6

As much as I enjoyed the library, there was no way I was spending the night there, so I went back to the Jellybird and microwaved a chicken fried steak and potatoes. Jelly gasped in horror at my food selection. I held up a hand signaling her I didn’t want to be bothered with nutritional data or health warnings.

“Very well, Captain. I will mute my objections to this wrongheaded course of action. There are so many better options in regard to your caloric intake requirements,” Jelly said.

“Mute means mute,” I said, then began shoveling food into my mouth, waiting for her to take one last shot at my diet under the guise of signing off.

“Of course, Captain. Entering silent mode with medical protocols in standby mode should you gag on that disgusting plate—”

“—of fried crispy goodness,” I interrupted.

I hadn’t realized how hungry a day on the streets of Layton 5 could make a person. I didn’t even have a need for my usual vices. Once I’d sufficiently packed my stomach with happiness, I looked back on the day’s failures without too much regret. I went to the bridge and activated my workstation.

“All done, Jelly. Hope you enjoyed time out,” I said, loosening my belt line to ease the pressure on my stomach.

“Immensely, Captain. What can I do for you?” Jelly asked.

“Where is X-37?”

“He advised me he was performing a systems update and would be unavailable. He also provided me access to several compressed files in case you needed them. I have not opened them at this time,” Jelly said.

“No problem,” I said. “I’d like to contact Elise. Use the farm report network and double encryption. Send a test message first, evaluate for possible intruders or surveillance, then let me know.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jelly said. “I will use extreme caution.”

I flipped through one of the paperback books that I picked up from the library just to justify my visit. The story was intriguing.

“I regret to inform the captain that I was unable to make contact with Elise,” Jelly said.

“You are unable to establish a link, or she didn’t answer?” I asked.

“The link was the best I have ever established with anyone on Greendale,” Jelly said. “She’s not answering.”

“Well, shit.” Static flowed through my vision. I braced for pain, but nothing came this time. “Keep trying. I need to go to Roxo.”

“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 Principles 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 watched 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.

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.

“It’s unlikely, to say the least,” X-37 said. “Do you believe in magic? Because any technology that could accomplish such a feat would look and feel like magic to us.”

“You know the Greendale bounty has to be Elise,” I said.

“That would be a logical conclusion.” X-37 didn’t really sound like he gave a damn—because he was a soulless machine that didn’t understand.

“Jelly, get us away from this star port and find a slip tunnel to Greendale,” I ordered.

“I will have to damage the docking clamps to break free. There will be fines and we’ll be banned from returning, assuming the Union doesn’t impound me and put you back on death row,” Jelly said.

“Then you better not let us get caught,” I said.

9

The Jellybird didn't look like much, but she flew like a dream. She had the aggressive external styling of a Union ship, but some of the effect was gone without a full complement of weapons to give her profile that “I'm here to dominate the system” look.

Getting those replaced was on my list of things to do. During the slower moments of the transit through the slip tunnels, I fantasized about having a cloaking device. The missions I could accomplish with that kind of technology were endless. I knew they existed but doubted I would ever have one.

We shot through one slip tunnel after the next, the electric-green walls our constant companion. The view stunned me into a seductive meditative state. I loved staring at the spectacular view but never dwelled too long. Some mysteries were better left as mysteries.

I couldn't claim the navigational perfection of our trek was due to my prowess as a captain. I had received all manner of flight training in spec ops, dark ops, and again when I became a Reaper. I'd say I was a solid pilot, dependable under pressure but not likely to defeat a fighter jock in a dog fight or navigate an asteroid field without significant help from my ship AI.

I spent my downtime exploring the ship and practicing in the simulator. She had more than a few hidden compartments from her smuggling days but retained the efficiency of a Union vessel.

“How are we doing, Jelly?” I asked.

“There is one more jump to reach Greendale,” she said. “Are you certain of this course of action? X-37 has advised me that a better choice would be to have your eye fixed on Roxo III.”

“This won't take long. I just need to contact Frank, put eyes on Elise for a bit to make certain she’s okay, and then get out of there,” I said.

“Unless she is the focus of the contracts you discussed at some length with X-37. Should that be the case, it would be best if you were operating at your full potential,” Jelly said.

I shook my head. “I'd rather be on time and damaged than late. If someone is trying to kill her, I'd like to do something besides attend her funeral.”

“From what X-37 has told me, I doubt there would be a funeral. He said that the bodies are usually disposed of under these kinds of circumstances,” Jelly said.

“Thanks for the pep talk. Let's hope that the contract killer board on Layton 5 was either a hoax or just a coincidence,” I said.

Normally, I had good instincts for these types of things. At first I’d been terrified that Elise was in mortal danger. Now I was merely uneasy.

“If you're not worried about her, then why not just go to Roxo?” Jelly asked.

“Drop it, Jelly,” I said, changing my destination. “I'd like to see the planet when we arrive.”

“Do you also wish to view the final slip tunnel? It's short, unless you wish to jump to a different system,” Jelly advised.

“You see, we're practically there. No reason to reverse my decision now,” I said and went to the bridge.

* * *

“Jelly, take us down,” I said, already feeling the pull of gravity as she cut into the atmosphere. New planets held exciting and terrifying prospects at the same time.

“Right away, Captain,” Jelly said. “I have to say, X did an excellent job securing our landing berth. It seems unmonitored by official entities.”

“That’s what a Reaper AI does,” I said, “find secret places to do secret things.”

“Limited AI, Reaper Cain. You’re going to get me turned off with talk like that,” X-37 said.

“We’re outlaws, in case you haven’t noticed.” I was in a decent mood. Three weeks without a major nerve-ware glitch and plenty of good sleep did that. “I could get used to traveling like this.”

We flew over the surface of Greendale, which wasn’t especially green right now.

The planet had one continent. During the spring, it was nothing but perfect farmland and rolling hills fit for vacation resorts and digital postcards. Summers and winters turned the place drab colors, not that it mattered to me—I liked the snow. I was headed to Zag City, the only metropolitan area on the planet.

Zag was a deep crater almost ninety kilometers across. The spaceport rimmed the edges and was noisy with anti-gravity fields and all the technology needed to service starships.

The city had been built on the floor so that the tallest buildings thrust up from the center—barely visible from the pristine fields of the agricultural zones. From the lowest streets of Zag, the prefabricated metal structures looked like dark towers with highways of bridges and walkways connecting them. The rim of the crater kept much of the city in shadow. Days were short in Zag City and neon signs became the sun for the lowest levels. Noon was nothing but harsh white light that didn’t last long.

Fat snowflakes made their way through the darkness to land on my face as I disembarked. The parking space that X-37 had secured for the ship was in an older part of the town surrounded by a bad neighborhood. There was no enclosed hangar or security presence. A chain-link fence surrounded the field, with tenement buildings on three sides and a factory on the fourth.

I watched a woman lean out from a ninth-story balcony to beat dust from a rug. She yelled at someone inside the apartment. I couldn’t make out her words from this distance, but the tone suggested she was tired of cleaning up after ungrateful children.

“Do they have refueling and repair facilities here?” I asked.

The Jellybird answered, “There is a refueling truck that comes twice a day, and all repairs are handled through contracts. We have everything in good order, so once I am fueled, we will be able to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“I think we're going to work well together,” I said.

“A note of caution,” Jelly said. “This is a rough neighborhood. I balanced our need for services with our need for obscurity. X-37 didn't analyze the area, as it will affect your mission. You may have trouble with the young men waiting outside the gate.”

A quick look around told me all I needed to know. This place was almost entirely automated to maximize profit—and allow “creative” shipping arrangements. There were several holes in the chain-link fence, but I wasn't worried about some street kid stealing my shit. Jelly could take care of herself as far as that went.

The tenement buildings were covered with graffiti wherever someone could reach the walls. The higher I looked, the less graffiti I saw—just a little bit around windows and balconies. The factory was noisy—constantly puking smoke as machines on the assembly lines banged into things. The exhaust ports of its power plants were charred black from lack of cleaning.

“Good to know,” I said, nursing a cigar to life as I counted the shadows moving just below on the automated gate. “You ready, X?”

“Yes, Reaper Cain. The Jellybird was kind enough to give me some processing power that I needed to complete my analysis of the city and the possible security strengths and weaknesses,” X-37 explained.

“Did you learn anything interesting?” I asked, striding toward the gate.

“Just the usual.”

The local street toughs glared at me, emphasizing the tattoos on their faces, but kept their mouths shut. I knew what was coming and was impressed by their patience—even if they were predictable. As soon as I passed their position, they would surround me and demand tribute.

“This place reminds me of my childhood,” I said.

“I’m sorry. Is this difficult for you? Shall I adjust our plans accordingly?” X-37 asked.

“Actually, it’s nice. Things weren't all bad. The crew I ran with had a lot of fun. What is about to happen is going to be a regular shit show, don’t get me wrong, but it’ll be like going home,” I said.

“If you know what is going to happen, why don't you do something to avoid it?” X-37 asked.

I could've explained, but I felt like being a jerk. Sometimes it was satisfying to make him guess. Walking straight into the trap, I turned at the last minute, intent on entering one of the apartments to circumvent the ambush site.

The place looked like subsidized housing. I suspected the locks were broken.

One firm push opened the door. Seconds later, I was striding through the hallway toward an exit that opened onto a different street.

A group of young men followed me, shouting for me to stop. I maintained my pace without looking back.

“I’m talking to you, old man!” the leader said.

I stopped, turned around, and looked him over. He had the lean, muscular look of a young man who fought daily to stay alive. He was the biggest in the group, which was how leadership roles were often decided in these types of situations. Under his left eye were three lopsided hashmarks, like broken sergeant chevrons. Under his right were a skull and crossbones.

“So you did hear me? Man, that ain't cool. You walk away from me like that and it's disrespectful,” the leader said.

“I heard you,” I said. “And I saw you and your stupid plan long before I left the gate. Do yourself a favor and go back to school. Learn a trade.”

His crew made surprised sounds, egging him on.

“You think you can get what you want because you're big and have a fancy off-worlder’s coat? Well, that ain't how it works in Zag City,” he said. “They call me Bones and it ain’t because of the tat on my face.”

“What, are you a doctor?” I asked.

He lunged forward, baring his teeth and clenching his fist but stopping short of an actual fight. “Fuck you, smartass. They call me Bones because I break bones. How about I break your bones. Hands first, then arms, then—”

I rolled up the sleeve on my trench coat to reveal my cybernetic left arm and made a metal fist. Silence spread through the group. Bones and his two toughest guys shifted nervously but didn't back down.

I extended the blade with a snap.

They started to back away, and I knew they would all be running within seconds. “What, you haven't seen a Union bayonet before?”

Several of the younger men in the back sprinted out of the building. The middle tier of the gang edged that direction, looking like they also wanted to make a run for it. Bones and his two lieutenants hung on the longest.

I lunged forward, inspiring them to take flight.

Once they were in full retreat, I went the other direction.

“I’m confused,” X-37 said. “Those young men are a threat. Why are we advancing in the opposite direction?”

“You’re a bloodthirsty little AI, aren’t you?” I asked, amused and worried at the same time that my digital conscience seemed to prefer murder.

“I didn’t like the look of them and predict they will seek opportunities to ambush us,” X-37 stated.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Now isn’t a good time to go on a killing spree.”

“When would be a good time?” X asked. “I am merely gathering data points for future analysis.”

“Sometimes you’re the stupidest computer I’ve ever met,” I said.

“On the contrary, I understand the repercussions of taking a human life. It is your inconsistency I am struggling to define,” X-37 said.

“That way lies madness, X.” I fell into a routine of moving without being noticed while I noticed everything and everyone around me. Zag City was an intriguing mixture of light and shadow with skyscrapers that resembled monoliths all around me. Walkways and structural connections linked most of the buildings.

“Are you thinking of Dreadmax?” X-37 asked. “I’m tracking your gaze and find the items you focus on to be interesting.”

“Just taking it all in,” I said somberly. “Every new world, city, or landscape has its own look—its own archetype. Humans are wired to be awed by big things—sunrises, waterfalls, cityscapes.”

“Of course,” X-37 said, clearly not getting it. “There are many references to such spectacular post-card moments in the archives of human literature.”

I moved on without thinking about all the things I’d done or what had become of me. My arm spasmed. Static pulsed in my eye. Zag City loomed all around me like one giant machine with its own intelligence.

* * *

I’d known Frank Morton during my earliest days of spec ops. He’d always been what was referred to as a mid-rank Ranger, never drawing attention at the front of the pack but never falling behind either.

He had been a good soldier with a solid career, a leader regardless of his actual rank. Our unit commander listened when he talked and often put him in charge of missions and major projects.

Was he the type of person I thought would fight to the death to protect Elise?

Maybe, maybe not. He was a good man with limitations. According to X-37, he’d started a family and secured a foreman’s position at a factory that manufactured loading ramps for starships.

Frank’s apartment building was nearly identical to the place I had confronted Bones and his street thugs. I wanted to think it was slightly cleaner, and that the residents cared about their neighborhood. The differences were minor and probably didn’t matter.

The front door was open but had an attendant. The old man nodded at me respectfully, standing from his stool near the door but not approaching. He had a wary look in his eyes and seemed like he was exhausted by life but still pressing onward.

“Good morning, citizen,” he said. “I haven’t seen you around the building. Are you a guest or a process server?”

“What if I was just coming in here to rob somebody?” I asked.

He shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m here to see a friend,” I said. “I don’t think he’s expecting me, but I know the way.”

“You’ve never been here,” the man said with less humor and more confidence, though he still seemed vulnerable.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I assured him. “Go back to your stool. Forget I was ever here.”

His face flushed red, which suggested he hated my words. The man had probably heard them often and knew where they led. Debt collectors and enforcers were the most common users of this warning. And after they left, the police were usually not far behind to take a body to the morgue.

“Relax. I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I said, lowering my voice and hoping I sounded reassuring.

“That’s good to hear, citizen. Didn’t catch your name,” he said pointedly.

I was surprised. He knew better than to press for details but was too proud to let me just invade his turf, even though I could probably crush him without years of training or my Reaper gear.

“Don’t worry about it.” I went to the elevator and selected the fifth floor. There was a chip reader of some sort, but it had been tampered with, a chip permanently jammed into it to make it work any time somebody wanted to use it.

I found Frank’s apartment. “X, can you call Frank Morton and let them know I’m here.”

“Yes, I can do that,” X-37 said.

“I’m not getting a very good connection. I can barely hear you,” I said.

“Zag City was built in the crater of a meteorite. There are mineral deposits that affect my transmissions,” X-37 said. “There is also an unusually high level of network systems and electronic security routines watching each other. On a digital level, the people of Zag City are very paranoid.”

“You’re complaining because it’s a busy place?”

“Extremely busy. Compound that with the unusual presence of exotic minerals and my job is much more complicated than places like Gronic or even Roxo III,” X-37 said.

“Is this going to be a problem?” I asked.

“Not at all. I am very good at my job,” X-37 said, somewhat indignantly. “There may be sound quality issues, but I should be able to maintain a reliable connection.”

The door opened and Frank stepped out, closing it quietly behind him. He looked me up and down, then scanned the rest of the hallway. “Keep your voice down. The baby is asleep,” he said quietly.

I wasn’t sure how many kids he had, but thought it was several. “I won’t stay long. I came to check on Elise.”

He looked at his feet, just for a second. The man was proud but not arrogant.

I recognized the expression. It wasn’t shame or avoidance, he was just pausing before giving me bad news. Frank had the same mannerisms I remembered from his time as a steady and reliable noncommissioned officer for the Union.

He looked up and held my gaze without shame or fear. “She didn’t take well to family life. I told her she was always welcome to stay with us, but she filled out all of the forms for emancipation. Enrolled in school and got a job at a diner. I look in on her from time to time, but I don’t meddle in her affairs.”

“That’s all I asked for in the first place,” I said. “Do you have some time to show me around?”

“Sure. Let me get my coat and tell Sheri I’m going out.” He didn’t invite me in, which was fine with me.

10

We headed down to a neighborhood mini park off the main street. There were a few trees and a fountain contained by graffiti-covered walls. In one corner was a swing set and some other cheap playground equipment. The sounds of kids screaming with enthusiasm competed with traffic noises. Sooner or later, someone was going to get hurt.

“They seem ridiculously happy in the background,” X-37 said.

“Good for them. Skinned knuckles and broken bones are all I remember from childhood,” I said with a sideways smile. “I was a rough kid with rough friends.”

“Of course,” X-37 said, then got down to business. “I see nothing dangerous to you or your mission. Your friend is waiting, I think.”

Frank leaned against a chain-link fence six inches from the wall of a building. I thought, from looking at it, that someone had put up the fence in hopes of keeping graffiti artists from painting on the wall. This had, of course, failed miserably.

The fence and the wall were in disrepair and covered with brightly colored street art. I didn’t mind the look of it, except for the deterioration beneath the stunning images. I always thought that if the city was going to put up a fence, then they had an obligation to maintain it and fix it when people cut holes in it or chopped off the tops of the posts to be salvaged.

There were cracks in the concrete and overflowing trash bins in the nearest alleyway. High above, there were office windows that shined like polished mirrors.

People came and went along the street, most seeming to be on their way to or from work. There were a lot of delivery people on bicycles or wheel boards. The public transport vehicles were noisy and stopped frequently. Most were electric and stank of something like burning ozone, but some were actually combustion engines.

Frank saw what I was looking at and shrugged. He smoked one cigarette after another, which made me not want to light up a cigar. Cigarettes weren’t really my thing and I didn’t want to seem like I was one upping him or that I was mimicking him. It was a dumb thing, but it was there.

I crossed my arms and studied the people. Passive surveillance was an important part of any reaper mission, one that most operators neglected. It was necessary to get the lay of the land and to learn to predict how bystanders would react when things got a bit crazy.

“Midday in Zag City can be bright, but don’t count on it,” Frank said as we walked, talking to mitigate his nervousness. His eyes went to my augmentations when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Steel gray clouds stretched across the sky above the crater city. Lights reflected back down, giving the place both a vibrant and gloomy feel at the same time. It was hard to explain but very real.

Zag City was hundreds of times more complex than Gronic—more people, more industry, and more problems. Crowds were full of energy, sometimes positive and sometimes dangerous and tense.

“The upper level lights hurt my eyes,” Frank said.

“Have you ever been to the top levels?” I asked.

“Why would I want to go there?” His answer seemed bitter and evasive. He took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling. “We’re almost to the bus roundabout.”

I nodded. We walked. The city thrived around us. Far above, there was an entire layer of activity, but it seemed untouchable from here.

“That one there, the one with the yellow stripe, is a school bus. Last I checked, she was still in high school but was taking college credits. Not sure what kind of student she is, but that seemed promising,” Frank said, then dug in his pocket for another cigarette.

“Did you help her get the emancipation papers? That can be tricky when you’re trying to hide your identity, especially as a juvenile,” I asked.

Frank shrugged, eyes still on the people moving near the micro park. “It’s pretty easy here. There are a lot of runaways and petty criminals and people from other worlds trying to make a new start. The system’s overloaded. Nice neighborhoods have the best of everything, everywhere else at least tries to look nice. It is Greendale after all. Our planet has a reputation to protect.” He paused. “And she’s smart. Like really smart. A couple of times, she almost scared me with her insights.”

I waited for more.

“That’s another reason she’s not living with us, to be honest. She didn’t really fit in. Made my wife nervous. The kids love her, but that’s how kids are,” he said, then stood away from the wall. “That’s her bus there. Zag School District 2188.”

Students climbed off the bus. Most were teenagers, but I saw younger kids as well. They wore uniforms and carried backpacks. Seconds after they emerged, they divided themselves into dozens of small groups that dashed away in different directions.

“Is that everyone on the bus?” I asked X-37.

Frank looked at me strangely.

“According to their passenger count, the bus is now empty except for the driver,” X-37 said.

I motioned for Frank to come with me and we left. My Reaper AI had limitations, but one thing it was good at was hacking into minor systems for low-level data like that. Raw facts—passenger counts, payment information, or mundane activities like who was paying the electricity or water bill at a residence—could be extremely useful when conducting surveillance or trying to locate an individual.

“I forgot, you talk to yourself,” Frank said. He was either too polite or too cautious to refer to my Reaper nerve-ware.

“It comes in handy,” I said.

“I knew the direction your career went, but always kind of hoped those were just rumors,” he said. “People say things about Reapers I don’t want to believe.”

“Take what you heard about me and multiply it by ten,” I said. “I’m a bad person who’s done bad things. You’re doing me a solid by watching Elise. I owe you enough that I’ll stay away from you and your family as much as possible.”

He nodded, looked at his cigarette, then flicked away the stub. “Much appreciated. I’ll do anything I can for you, but I’ll tell you upfront that my family comes first for me.”

“That’s more than enough,” I said. “That’s why I trusted you to babysit Elise.”

* * *

I left Frank, heading into the crowd that only grew busier. Night fell quickly, shadows from the rim of the crater around Zag City crawling over buildings like the effect of time lapse photography. Walkways and monorail systems cast their shadows on everything below them during the day. At night, it was a different story. Neon signs sprang up from the ground-level building fronts. People talked louder. I heard music from a dance club and drivers of cars honking their horns at pretty girls.

The slate gray clouds of winter were decorated with jigsaw puzzles of light reflecting from the ground level across the tallest buildings and their support structures.

“You’re pretty quiet, X,” I said.

“There is a lot of data to manage on Greendale.” X-37’s voice was weak. “The digital infrastructure is the most complex I’ve seen in the Deadlands. I expected as much, but this is quite impressive. So many data points. A full AI could become entranced.”

“Is it Friday or something?”

X-37 made a clicking sound then answered, “Confirmed. It is the end of a work week. Pedestrian traffic between bar districts will triple over the next several hours and disorderly conduct arrests will increase. Hospital emergency rooms will have an average wait time of fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds.”

“Check the contract killers board,” I said, thinking of the reason I was here. Someone, probably the Union, was offering big money for an individual target on Greendale.

“What will you do if you confirm Elise to be the target?” X-37 asked.

“I’ll bid on the contract and use the Intel package to find her,” I said, adjusting my course to avoid a noisy bachelorette party. “They’re starting early. The sun just went down.”

“We have a problem. It seems the Greendale contract killer’s board is now controlled by an assassins’ guild.”

I pulled out one of my few cigars, muttering through my clenched teeth as I nursed the ember to life. “Don’t care.”

“This one is apparently more influential than others of the name we have encountered over the years,” X-37 said.

The Union didn’t tolerate criminal organizations, which meant they were everywhere. Using the term “assassins’ guild” was a felony on most Union planets. The Deadlands was different, but followed many of the same conventions subconsciously. I’d found that even in the most remote regions, it was bad manners to use the term.

I’d had to order X-37 to incorporate it into its vocabulary, because in my opinion, if something walked like a duck, it was probably a duck.

Greendale was a thriving metropolis compared to most places in the Deadlands. I wasn’t surprised that it was overpopulated, poorly designed, and on the verge of a technological and social meltdown no one saw coming.

“They require in-person interviews to view the contract killers board,” X-37 explained.

“Which is the way it should be,” I said, thinking of all the times I’d run into amateur competitors who had taken a job without being properly qualified. “But I don’t believe it. That type of thing looks good on somebody’s organizational charter, but it’s impossible to enforce without some real muscle.”

“It seems Greendale has become an increasingly dangerous place over the last several years. I can explain the politics if you like,” X-37 said.

“No thanks.” I moved along the brightly lit street, studying the way the neon signs and skyward-pointed search lights complemented the narrow swatch of stars visible over the crater city. The place wasn’t entirely without aesthetics.

“Shall I schedule an appointment?” X-37 asked.

“Sure. Tell me the rest. I feel like you’re holding back,” I said, suspecting the limited AI was being difficult for one of his obscure, in-human reasons.

“They require a background check,” X-37 advised.

I cursed. “Then you better get to work on a fake dossier.”

“That will limit the amount of assistance I can provide at the street level. Given the unsuspected complexity of the criminal underworld, I will need to proceed more slowly. Unless you want to get caught. Is that part of your plan?” X-37 asked.

“Not this time,” I said. There had been missions where planned failure had benefits. Becoming a prisoner was a good way to get through enemy lines. I had tried about every infiltration tactic in the book. My preferred method was to simply remain unnoticed and strike when I was ready. That wasn’t always possible with cybernetic components that could never be completely hidden, not even with the cleverest disguise.

Sleight of hand and misdirection went a long way, but it was only one tool among many. People saw what they wanted to see, unless they were elite guards who’d sworn their lives to protect a corrupt senator.

“I have submitted your application for a temporary work permit to the assassins’ guild. By the time they respond, I should have a decent cover story in place,” X-37 updated me.

“Decent?”

“If you want perfect, it will take a week, with the time invested compounded for each percentage point of improvement,” X-37 explained.

“I’ll just do it myself,” I muttered, moving toward a location X-37 had sent to my heads-up-display.

“You always do, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Or so you say.”

“Oh, great. Sarcasm. I thought I was going to cruise through this mission without it,” I said, watching a parking cop who was eyeing my cigar.

“I try, Reaper Cain,” X said.

“Is there a problem, officer?” I asked.

“Seriously?” he asked. “I’ve got a quota and you’re going to walk right in front of me and light one up?”

This made me think of Frank and his frantic smoking ritual. It made more sense knowing that the tobacco police were out and about. He probably chain smoked when he knew the coast was clear.

I filed information about the local ordinance for future reference. It wouldn’t do to draw the attention of a police officer at the wrong time just because of my vice.

“Are you going to write me a ticket?”

He shook his head. “I’m on my way in. Not feeling it today. But you’re not making my life easy. If my supervisor checks my body cam and realizes I gave you a break, there will be an inquiry and I’ll probably get a day off.”

“That sounds harsh,” I said.

He laughed. “Rules are rules. You really should quit. It will kill you.”

“So will a bullet through my face,” I said.

He laughed awkwardly.

“Thanks for the warning, officer,” I said, closing the pocket where I kept my cheap cigars. “Tell your supervisor I was properly chastised and promise to reform.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, but his tone suggested he meant “thanks, you prick.”

“What do you think, X?” I asked when the cop was out of earshot.

“That explains a lot of the network congestion,” X-37 said. “Their police department is storing a huge amount of video data and only purging it after manual review.”

11

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked.

“With certainty,” X-37 said. “What were you expecting?”

The building wasn’t much wider than the safety-glass door that led into it. It had been constructed from solid concrete, a style I hadn’t seen for a while but assumed was a hat tip to some ancient architect.

Massive buildings flanked it like a pair of steel and chrome leviathans devouring the smaller building between them. The effect was a funnel-like approach to the smaller, older building.

The windows to the middle building were too small for my taste, barely allowing light into the foyer. A bell chimed when I went through the doorway. Noise from the street vanished when the front door shut behind me.

“That’s interesting,” I observed.

“It is,” X-37 said. “I believe this area can be sealed against gas attacks. The concrete walls may be reinforced with steel. I measured an unusual thickness to the walls when we passed through the front door.”

“The landlord must be paranoid,” I said.

“Or well prepared for any contingency,” X-37 said.

“I was being sarcastic,” I said.

X-37 responded sarcastically as seemed to be his new normal on this planet. “I didn’t notice.”

Turning slowly, I gave my Reaper LAI a chance to record the floor plan. “Looks pretty shabby on the inside. They must have blown their budget on the blast-proof front door.”

The white and green tiled floor was grimy down the middle and dusty near corners where the efforts of a single janitor made a token effort to do his job for the last thirty or forty years.

The old man eyed me but seemed too defeated to challenge my presence, even if he wanted to.

I stepped into the rickety elevator and thought about holding my breath as the stainless steel doors closed, trapping me in with generations of body odor.

“Was that man actually a janitor or one of their agents?” I asked.

“He doesn’t seem to be skilled at cleaning,” X-37 observed.

“I can barely hear you, X.” Lack of contact with X gave me a bad feeling I didn’t want to think about.

“My connection is weak but steady,” my Reaper interface promised. “You know as well as anyone that in a place like this, a harmless old man can reveal themselves to be assassins. The truth is rarely what the eye implies.”

I laughed. “Sure, X. But there are limits.”

“Agreed. I’ve heard Reapers also have their limitations,” X-37 said.

“Fair enough.” I watched the levels pass and realized the display had been at the lowest level for some time, but we were still moving downward.

“Especially when said Reaper has nothing but malfunctioning gear, no way to repair damage, and numerous addictions and bad habits,” X-37 said.

“All true.” I laughed. Diving into a lair of assassins and underworld crime bosses felt more natural than roaming the streets of Greendale. The prospect of a violent confrontation improved my mood tenfold.

“Are you going to put that cancer stick in your mouth before meeting the assassins’ guild representative?” X-37 asked. “It might make you look tough and intimidating.”

“Ha, ha, ha, X. You’re fucking hilarious,” I said dryly. “And for the record, I’m not confident in my continued supply of recreational carcinogens because someone hasn’t found me a decent smoke shop on the last three worlds we’ve visited.”

“I’ll put it on my list of things to do,” X-37 said. “Do you wish me to suspend work on your fake background to search for Starbrand cigars?”

“You’re not done with my background?” I demanded.

“Not quite. Give me some credit. We’ll be ready.” X-37 beeped several times, something he only did when nearly overloaded or trying to get my attention during a gun battle.

“We damn well better be,” I warned. “I didn’t come all this way to get shanked by local enforcers.”

The door opened to a long, dark hallway. The ceiling felt low and the walls close together.

“That looks like emergency lighting,” I said. “Is that normal?”

“I’m unable to access the utility bill for this location and have no way to determine if there has been an emergency or if this is how they normally keep their lighting. My suspicion, however, is that the gloomy atmosphere is the ambience they’re looking for,” X-37 said.

“Well, they nailed it,” I said.

“We have a problem,” X-37 announced.

“Give it to me,” I said, more than a bit annoyed at the timing. The hallway looked like it led to a torture chamber. I started forward, not wanting to be trapped in the elevator and hoping to expand my options by locating other rooms and hallways.

The small, heavily reinforced door at the end of the hallway looked daunting.

“It's not a problem, actually, but a recommendation based on my current analysis,” X-37 said.

“You're about to tell me you haven't completed my first background,” I said.

“What I have managed so far should be sufficient to deceive ninety-nine percent of investigators, be they working for the Union or a criminal enterprise,” X-37 said. “Unfortunately, I discovered the local assassins guild has already issued an alert about a Reaper on Greendale.”

“A general alert or do they know it's me?” I asked.

“I have insufficient data to know the answer to this question,” X-37 said. Something about his tone seemed strained. “Apologies, maintaining a presence in the local network is requiring a lot of processing power.”

Static rippled across my vision. I ignored it, hoping there wouldn't be a wave of nausea-inducing pain to follow.

“What's your recommendation, X?” I asked.

“Partial deception. Rather than create a complex backstory, I would like to block access with tiny bits of real information accessible to anyone who has the skills and the tenacity to find it,” X-37 said.

“Do it,” I said. “Keep tabs on what we see. I'm going in.”

The door opened as I approached it, sliding upward into the ceiling, confirming my suspicion it was rated as another blast door. If they didn't want to let me in, I wouldn't get in, even if I had brought explosives.

Passing through the doorway, I saw that the barrier was nearly a foot thick and made from two layers of reinforced steel.

A pair of silent guards escorted me forward into a large room. They wore tactical gear that would make most assault teams jealous, but in all black with no insignia. The place had the feel of an underground library or secret cathedral.

The man facing me from the other side of a huge wooden desk was extremely tall and extremely thin. He had the look of someone who had spent most of his adolescence on a space ship or station with poorly calibrated gravity simulators.

“Quite a place you have here,” I said, spotting two additional guards who were lurking in the shadows. They also wore heavy body armor and carried shotguns with drum magazines of extra ammunition.

“Thank you for coming, Wyatt Gold,” the lean, older man with strange eyes said, not sounding at all thankful.

I resisted the urge to question X-37 about his name choice. My adversary was dangerous, more so than anyone I'd ever met. I had known a lot of cunning and devious individuals. I recognized confidence, especially the kind that had been well earned.

This man had the advantage over me and not just because I was in his underground bunker surrounded by heavily armed guards. X-37 and I were playing a careful game of truth and misdirection. This man who had established a functioning assassins’ guild was clearly a master of the game.

“You haven't asked my name.” He leaned back in his chair slightly, resting his left hand on the edge of the desk. His right hand was in his lap, probably holding a weapon.

“What’s your name?” I asked, focusing on his body, eye movement, posture, and the pace of his words to evaluate his level of honesty.

He smiled slyly, almost reluctantly. “Call me… Mr. Gold, since Gold clearly is not your name.” He leaned forward, catching more of the room’s untrustworthy light on his face. “And also for these,” he said, pointing at his gold irises.

“It's good to meet you. I hadn't expected such personalized treatment. All I wanted to know was about the contract,” I said.

“Which contract? We have many that are active,” he said. If he was annoyed I wasn’t more intimidated, he didn’t show it.

I responded without hesitation. “The contract that has a bounty higher than all the others combined.”

“Ahh,” he breathed. “I suppose you are the right person to bring her in.”

“You don't know me,” I promised him.

“I might know you better than you think, Halek Cain.”

“Who? Never heard of the guy,” I said, keeping my eyes on my adversary.

“Surely you've heard of the man who murdered seventeen upstanding citizens of Night City,” Gold said.

I shook my head. “Not ringing any bells.”

The name he had given for my home world, Boyer 5, was slang, and not complimentary. I didn't know if that meant he was being sarcastic in his reference to the gang members I had punished for killing my father or if he had some connection with them that would make us mortal enemies.

Gold snapped his fingers, sending all of the guards from the room. The two lurking in the shadows stepped backward until doors closed in front of them like he kept them in some sort of tactical locker. The other two went out the door I had come in and closed it.

“Let's get serious, Cain. I keep a tight watch over all the contracts on Greendale, including assassinations,” he said.

“So you're not just head of the assassins’ guild, but a crime lord,” I said.

He didn't respond immediately. “Call it what you like. But don't forget that I run Greendale.”

“Maybe we can work together,” I said.

“Maybe,” he answered. “You're a Reaper, and that's always a problem.”

“It doesn't have to be.” I wasn't sure where he was going with this, but suspected his problem with me wasn't what I thought it was.

“I already had some issues with a Reaper. He killed some of my best men. If any of my people find out you're one of the murderous freaks, they’ll want your head,” he said.

At least some of this was a lie. He’d dealt with a Reaper, I thought, but felt there was more to it than he was letting on.

“Tell me about this contract. If it's what I think it is, then I have a vested interest and anybody who opposes me should be ready to go to war,” I said, surprising myself with the statement. “All I want is one person from this planet, then I'll leave and cause you no problems.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“How did you know my name?” I asked.

He chuckled and spread his hands as if the answer was obvious. “The other Reaper told me. He said Halek Cain is coming and if I didn’t get rid of the girl from Dreadmax, Cain would come here looking for her and kill everyone.”

“Where is she?”

“Do you want her for the Union?” he asked.

This felt like a test question. I didn't have enough information about the crime boss to understand his allegiances. “I'm no friend of the Union.”

“I didn't think you would be. But maybe you could do some work for me if things go right. Go find the girl. I won't help you, but I won’t hinder you. That's a good deal, trust me.”

I said nothing. He had given me his blessing on the contract too easily. X-37 whispered possible reasons for this in my ear, but I wasn’t in a place for a discussion with my digital friend.

“My people will show you out,” Mr. Gold said.

“I know the way. But thanks.” I lit my cigar, taking my time, then made my exit.

12

I left the assassins’ guild and found Frank at a street-side food vendor. He had stayed long past the expected time of our meeting, stalwart as I remembered him from our days in the Union army. He looked uncomfortable but unwilling to leave me hanging.

“I wish you hadn't come to Greendale,” Frank said.

“Why didn’t you warn me about the smoking police?” I asked, fishing a Gronic Fats out of my pocket.

He responded by digging into his cigarettes and lighting up moments later. “There aren’t cops just for that; they do other things. A buddy of mine on the force said they have a lot of pressure to improve the air quality in Zag City. Some travel guru gave the place a bad rating and the entire galaxy now thinks Zag is synonymous with ashtray.”

“I don’t see why,” I said as we both exhaled clouds of smoke into the air.

“You were in there a while,” he observed. “Is everything all right? Should I be worried?”

“It’s a big place full of interesting people,” I said, reviewing the numbers on my HUD that X-37 had recorded. I had purposely gotten lost on my way out to expand my map of the facility. Guards had quickly located me and escorted me to the proper elevator.

By some miracle hack that X-37 had pulled off, the elevator stopped frequently when I was sure it had been designed to move directly to the exit without any side trips possible. After a while, I found guards waiting for me each time the elevator opened. Even when they blocked my wandering, I gathered information on their security elements—how many guards they had, what they were equipped with, and how fast they responded to a minor breach of their security protocols.

“What’s it like being a fugitive?” Frank asked. “There are times I’d like to just run away. Shitty job, demanding home life, one boring day after another. Might be good to go renegade.”

“I was built for this kind of survival. I wouldn’t recommend it to a normal person. You’d have fun for a while, but then you would get homesick,” I said.

He nodded animatedly, dropped his cigarette, and twisted it out under his boot before lighting another only seconds later. “Zag City looks like an amazing place, and maybe it is, but it has a dark underbelly.”

“Most cities do,” I said. “You're retired. It's unfair of me to ask so much.”

I really wanted to say more, to express my sincerity, but graciousness and humility weren't something they taught in the Reaper Corps.

Frank locked his eyes on his feet, smoke twirling up from the cigarette he held down at his side. He dug at a groove in the concrete with the toe of one work boot.

“I feel like shit for not keeping better track of Elise,” he said, tensing up. I observed he was fit but very lean. His life hadn't been easy. I was sure that if I asked him he would tell me that his training in the Union military prepared him for other trials. I thought it probably hadn't hurt but that he had been tough before he enlisted.

He was a good man who sold himself short.

I waited, aware he was about to make some type of admission.

“I followed her to school a couple of times, during the brief time she stayed with us and also afterward. Every now and then, I'd surprise her at work. Thought I'd be embarrassing her, but she rolled with the punches. Her boss was suspicious, somewhat protective, but never gave me a hard time. I thought that was enough. I mean, what was really going to happen?”

“You know where she works now?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “She waits tables at a diner if you’re hungry.”

“I never turn down a meal,” I said.

We headed through the revitalized downtown district of Zag City. It was different during the daytime, clean or somehow more organized. Excessive vehicle and pedestrian traffic made it louder than it had been at night, if that was possible. Frank moved easily through the crowd, never stepping out of anybody's way but never requiring others to swerve around him. That made me think he planned his steps in advance.

The diner where Elise worked was on a concrete island surrounded by wide sidewalks and major streets. It had an old look and feel to it, with classic music playing from the public address system. There were tables and benches outside.

“They usually have quite a waiting list over the lunch hour,” Frank said. “Looks busy, but we shouldn't have a hard time finding a place to sit today.”

“Let’s find a booth or something. I want to see her before she sees me. Might just leave if she looks okay.” I waited until he wouldn't take my words as a criticism. “Why did you stop following her to school and checking on her at work?”

He shrugged. “She's hard to follow. It got to be a lot of effort and didn't seem worth it. So far as I could tell, she was doing way better on her own than she would be with me following her around.”

We took our seats. It didn't take me long to spot her. She had put on weight but was still slim and youthful. “She's taller than I remember.”

Her dark, almost black hair was up in a ponytail. She had grown out the poorly bleached hair I remembered from Dreadmax. It was thick and luxurious now, complementing her smooth skin and youthful vitality.

“Why are you angry?” X-37 asked.

I didn’t answer but adjusted my attitude. She didn’t deserve to be anywhere near my world. I understood why the Union was after her. I knew that her father had used technology from the Lex project to cure her of a childhood disease.

Now she was too valuable for the Union to let go. That didn’t change how unfair her life was about to become. All I saw was a young woman making people happy through hard work and self-sacrifice. The galaxy needed more people like her and fewer people like me.

The first time I saw her, she was in a cage dressed to amuse dangerous men on a doomed prison station.

In a perfect galaxy, I could lurk near her as I was doing right now and protect her. Instead of a killing machine, I could be a guardian angel. Maybe that would make the Deadlands a better place. Maybe that would redeem a few of my sins.

Frank took one of the barstools and leaned his elbows on the counter. “That happened not long after you left her with us. Once she started eating regularly, it was like she had a growth spurt. I don't think she'll get much taller than she is now, but something had stunted her growth.”

She did ten things at once and still looked bored. I never saw her use a ticket when taking an order. The young woman seemed to just remember things. At one point, she carried a huge tray in both hands, lifting them high over her head to avoid another waitress who wasn't paying attention. All the while, she was calling back details to the cook then admonishing the hostess in charge of seating people who wasn't doing her job.

She worked her way toward our end of the counter, but her attention was on all the other customers. From what I gathered through my eavesdropping, someone had not shown up for work and she was covering two sections.

“Thanks again, Elise,” the owner and cook bellowed. “I know the dinner rush appreciates you, even if Mags doesn’t.”

Elise paused in a routine and cast him a delightfully sweet smile. “That's nice, Jimmy. Does that mean you're giving me a raise?”

They both laughed. Some of the regular patrons joined in with their own comments.

“I can see why you didn't think you needed to look after her,” I said. “This place looks safe.”

“She has a way with people,” Frank said. “I've seen her get mean too. But not often, and only with the neighborhood bullies.”

“You should've seen her on Dreadmax,” I said.

Frank became quiet.

“What's on your mind, Frank?” I asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about back in the day. Stuff better left in the past,” he said.

He was lying. I knew he was lying.

“He's probably connecting your name to the Union propaganda about the Butcher of Dreadmax,” X-37 offered.

The Union public information machine had put out quite a tale after Dreadmax, I knew. Their official narrative had been that an insane gang leader, a convicted terrorist and enemy of the people, had staged an uprising then detonated a nuclear device, eliminating all evidence of what had happened.

“Someday I'll tell you the truth about Dreadmax,” I said.

Frank grew even more uncomfortable and waved away my promise.

13

“What can I get you?” Jimmy, the diner owner, asked. “Elise has her hands full.”

The man looked us over, wiping his hand on his counter towel.

“Coffee,” I said, pulling my cigar from my front pocket.

Frank put his hand on my arm to stop me. Jimmy gave me a dark look as he retreated to get our drinks.

We paid in advance and I left a good tip. I wasn't sure how Elise would respond to my return and wanted to get a feel for her mood.

Two cups of coffee later, the crowd was thinning out and Elise was in the back room taking her break.

“There’s a rhythm to the sound of a diner I’ve always liked,” Frank said.

His words took me back. I think his unique way of looking at things was what had drawn me to him. I’d been a dark, intense youth far away from home—as shady as that home was, I still missed it. We were the same age, but Frank always seemed more mature.

I listened to the sound of people talking and plates clattering from the back where someone was washing them and telling jokes.

The place was full of interesting characters. I paid attention to the people Elise knew well.

One of them was an older man, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with a hard face and salt-and-pepper hair cut short. Most of his grooming efforts had been put into his mustache. He sat with a coffee cup in one hand and his eyes on a public-use data pad, likely checked out from the local library.

I zoomed in and was happy to find it didn’t cause a blinding headache to use that function of my Reaper eye.

“That’s Tom,” Frank said. “Looks like he’s reading Advanced Theories of Aerodynamics as Applied to Union Vessels again.”

“Never heard of it. Sounds boring,” I said.

“He reads a lot. People tease him about his selection. He once read the instruction manual for Jimmy’s coffee machine from start to finish,” Frank said.

“Is that a long book?” I asked.

“Three hundred and ninety-two pages,” Frank said.

“Does he know how to make coffee?” I asked.

“No idea, but Jimmy does. That’s one of the things that makes this the best diner in the neighborhood,” Frank said, lifting a cup Jimmy had set down without explanation.

The place was so busy, the owner/operator came out from time to time to greet people and fill coffee cups. Elise worked hard but was clearly doing the job of more than one waitress.

Tom turned the page, read for a while, then set down his coffee cup. There was a moment where he was looking at the pad, but I didn’t think he was reading. At the end of the pause, he looked down the bar and saw me.

I wasn’t able to read his expression, but I was certain he’d notice my Reaper arm. It seemed unfair he would recognize it for what it was, because I was still wearing a glove and had my coat sleeve pulled down. It took effort to resist adjusting the sleeve.

Tom picked up his coffee cup and went back to reading. Elise grabbed the coffee pot and refilled his cup with a dangerously high pour. Black liquid arced down into the cup as he held it forward like they’d performed the maneuver hundreds of times.

“There you go, Tom,” she said.

“You’re an angel,” he replied.

The smile she answered with was warm and trusting.

She took several orders, recited them back to Jimmy, who was working frantically now, then delivered plates to one of the tables at the other end of the diner.

When two men came in a little while later, everything changed.

The way they moved radiated danger despite their forced nonchalance. “Those two are trying too hard to be inconspicuous,” I said.

Frank nodded, watching them over his coffee cup.

The leader of the pair motioned for Jimmy to approach the counter. “Are you James Callow?”

“Something like that,” Jimmy said, throwing his counter towel over his shoulder and crossing his beefy arms.

The man grabbed a fistful of his apron and the t-shirt underneath it, pulling him forward.

This time, I put my hand on Frank’s arm, warning him to stay put.

“I don’t like bullies,” Frank grumbled.

“Just wait,” I said.

“You got a girl with dark hair working for you?” the man asked. “And think before you answer. We ain’t the type of people you want to mess with.”

The second man took a guard position, watching the crowd and the door for cops or other good Samaritans.

Jimmy tried to break the smaller man’s grip but couldn’t do it.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the man said, giving Jimmy a shake.

I made a note. These guys were more than they seemed. Dressed to blend, I suspected their bland attire concealed weapons, body armor, and physiques trained by hours of hand-to-hand combat training. The easy way the lean man handled someone who was almost twice his size spoke volumes to his capabilities.

“What do you want? I’ve got customers,” Jimmy complained, his face turning red from the strain.

His attacker slowly twisted the t-shirt collar against his neck. “You won’t have any customers if you don’t give me what I want. Where is the girl?”

Frank leaned close to me. “You know these guys?”

“No. But I know why they’re here.” I wanted to run these jerks out of here, but needed information. Brawling might feel good, but it was a poor way to gather useful intelligence.

Jimmy’s attacker drew back one hand and slapped him across the face. “That’s to get your attention. No one has to get hurt, not even the girl. I just need to check on her for someone.”

Elise came out of the back room with a tray held high overhead. She saw what was going on immediately and put the tray on the other end of the counter. She marched past a half-dozen customers and planted her feet in front of the two men who had invaded the diner.

“You let go of him right now!” she said.

The man shoved Jimmy back, then advanced on Elise.

She retreated a step, but only one step and only to solidify her balance.

“We have to do something,” Frank whispered desperately.

“Not yet. Wait. Follow my lead,” I said.

“Listen, sir, we’re trying to work, sir. So get out of Jimmy’s place, sir,” Elise said, hammering the word “sir” each time she said it.

“You’ve got an attitude,” the man drawled, looking her over, probably off balance from her angry beauty. “I thought you’d be some street rat kid who didn’t know what was good for herself. Do you know what’s good for you?” He grabbed his groin.

She shoved him with both hands, driving forward with her legs and torso strength. “Get the hell out of here. Just go. You fucking asshat!”

“Oh, what happened to calling me sir?” the man asked, laughing now.

“Fuck off,” Elise said. “Sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t mean to swear. It just slipped out.” She cast the apology over her shoulder.

“You have to come with us,” the second stranger said.

“All right! That’s enough. The police are on their way. I hit my panic alarm. They come quick when I do that. All the cops on this beat know me,” Jimmy said, shouting the first part.

I twisted the barstool a few inches toward the deescalating confrontation. If the two men refused at this point, they would be under time restrictions and would probably use actual violence to speed things up. The contract was for recovery of a Union asset dead or alive.

The first man backed away, holding up his hands. “It’s all good. We’ll be back. You better not run off, girl. We’ll be watching.”

“Go to hell!” Elise shouted at him. “Sorry, Jimmy,” she apologized again over her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Elise,” Jimmy said, coming around the corner to stand between her and his two least favorite customers.

The men left. Jimmy threw up his hands in frustration, but then laughed, making the gesture a joke. “Sorry about that, everyone. I hope a free round of coffee and ten percent off everyone’s ticket makes up for the drama.”

Several people told him he didn’t have to do that and the scene slowly returned to normal. I kept my eyes on the counter, not wanting Elise to see me yet.

“Jimmy is a good guy. When he’s gone, there won’t be any more places like this,” Frank said. “Shouldn’t we talk to Elise now?”

“No. I want to have a word with those two dumbasses, see who sent them and what they know about the contract,” I said, moving toward the door. To my surprise, Frank followed me. He looked pale but determined.

* * *

Following the men was tricky. They didn’t seem to have military or law enforcement training, but there was a method to their madness. Every quarter block, they separated—one crossing to the other side of the street for a while. They always met up and headed back the way they came for a bit, then continued in toward their actual destination—whatever that might be.

“These guys are skittish,” Frank said.

“They’re checking for a tail. Not doing a bad job, but we’re right at the edge of where they might recognize us. That’s the hard part about following a target—too close and they see you, too far and you lose them.”

Asshole One and Asshole Two turned in to a narrow alley.

“Here we go,” I said. “Hang back. Try not to get involved.”

“Do you want me to set up at the entrance and keep watch?” Frank asked.

I nodded. “That would be outstanding.”

My targets must have made me, because they turned to confront me the moment I reached the point of no return.

“Who do you think you’re following, asshole?” the quieter of the two said.

In the diner, he’d been the lookout and had done a good job focusing his attention on the door instead of the confrontation with Elise. Things had changed. He looked like he was ready for a fight, probably tuned up from all the adrenaline of their little show.

“I’m talking to you,” he repeated.

“Not for long, you aren’t,” I said.

“What?”

I punched him on the tip of his jaw with my natural arm, dropping him like yesterday’s news.

The other man lunged, but then stopped when he saw the blade I’d snapped out of my left fist.

“We’re following the contract perimeters. Whoever gets her first, collects. You’re not supposed to interfere with other contractors,” the remaining man said.

“I know how to read a contract,” I said, backing him toward the wall with my presence. “And you can shove all of that up your ass. I’ve got questions for you and you’re going to answer them.”

The man slipped to one side, clearly trying to escape.

I retracted my blade and grabbed him.

He struggled.

I slammed him against the wall. None of the training that had allowed him to manhandle Jimmy helped him now. Even without my Reaper gear, I had him by years of experience and hard work.

“Shit, you’re strong,” the man gasped as I closed my fist around his throat. He clawed at my hand with both of his.

“And impatient,” I added. “Tell me what I want to know or I’ll pop your head off.”

He grunted, concentrating on getting free more than my words.

I wasn’t sure if I could actually decapitate him, but now didn’t seem a good time to try it. Relaxing my grip slightly, I gave him a little shake, hoping some words would come out.

“I don’t have to help you,” he managed, forcing the words through his clenched teeth and restricted larynx. “Who are you working for? Don’t you know the code?”

I didn’t bother to answer. “Tell me what your contract details are?”

“What? They’re the same for everyone,” he said.

That was a commonly held misconception. The contract always said that the details were the same for all operators, but they never were. I not only fulfilled my share of contracts while working for the Reaper Corps, but I’d written a few as diversions. This guy thought he was a pro, but he was just a rookie assassin in my book.

“Let me explain my code,” I said, leaning into him, lifting him up onto his tiptoes. “I’ll track down your family, your friends, the girl you had a crush on when you were ten, and bury them.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Unless you tell me every godsdamn thing I want to know,” I finished.

“What are you?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Where were you supposed to take the girl when you kidnapped her? Who is your contact?” I demanded.

“Fuck,” he gasped, the word coming out as a throaty whisper. His eyes lost focus for a second. He fought for survival. “The Union. It’s a Union contract. No one is supposed to know that, but I have a source. We’re taking her to Port 595.”

I dropped him, snatching the gun from his concealed holster as he fell. “Congratulations. You get to live another day. Forget about this contract if you want to continue living.”

He scrambled away from me but stopped to check on his friend.

I held out my hand. Once he realized what I wanted, he tossed me his friend’s pistol and a belt full of knives.

“Thanks. See, that was easy.” I found Frank nervously guarding the entrance to the alley and motioned for him to start walking. We headed quickly away from the scene, taking several corners and then stopping to make sure the men I had abused weren’t trying to follow me.

I didn’t think they were that stupid, but there was no way to predict the behavior of killers who had just had their egos crushed.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill them,” Frank said quietly. “I heard what you said. I don’t think I can take this. I’m not a Reaper. I hope you didn’t mean what you said about killing their families and all that. But it sounded believable. All I wanted to do was run home and check on my wife and kids.”

“Thanks for staying as long as you did. That would’ve been really uncomfortable if a couple of cops had interrupted our little talk,” I said.

Frank didn’t respond. I’d pushed him too far.

14

“Go home, Frank,” I said. “Hug your family.”

He nodded without making eye contact and left, lighting up a cigarette but holding it down just as I expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was the way he snuck a metal flask from the inside of his jacket and took a sip. Whiskey was what he needed to calm his nerves after a few hours with me.

He’d never been a drinker. I hoped he didn’t go on a bender and do something stupid. I had treated him like a chess piece in a deadly game. But he was a person with a life. He’d been one of my only friends.

Including him in this mission had probably been the end of that.

The moment I lost sight of my old friend, I turned back toward the assassins I had handled so roughly. It took me longer than I’d hoped to locate them. They were moving quickly, clearly shaken by our encounter.

The first part of my information gathering was the “interview” and the second was surveillance. I wanted to see if what they told me matched up with what they actually did.

I also thought, on further reflection, that allowing them to live had been a mistake. They were too dangerous to have lurking around in the shadows with a score to settle. “X, have you been able to learn anything about my new friends?”

“Certainly, Reaper Cain. The first individual is Britton Michaels. Goes by Brit. He attempted several times to get into the Constables but was rejected for unlisted reasons. He dropped out of the public education system and ran with gangs for a time, then disappeared for two years. When he returned to Greendale, he partnered with the second individual, Roger Olathe,” X-37 said.

“What’s his story?” I asked.

“Very similar, but without the two-year disappearing act. He ran with the 22nd Street gang for a time and developed quite a reputation as an enforcer. There’s a note from local law enforcement intelligence briefs that say he’s still on good terms with the 22nds.” X-37 faded out for a minute and returned in the middle of a sentence. “… Agree with your decision to eliminate them.”

“I missed some of that. That connection,” I said.

“Do you want me to start from the beginning?” X-37 asked incredulously.

“No. File it for later. I think I got the general idea,” I said, checking my back trail for any surprises. Nothing that X-37 had told me, or that I had witnessed, suggested there was a third conspirator, but it never hurt to be careful.

My caution was rewarded when I spotted Briggs and Crank in plainclothes. They moved through the crowd with less finesse than covert operatives would. It wasn’t their appearance or even the way they moved that made them stand out, but the hard look in their eyes. Neither of them spoke unless absolutely necessary. These were men looking to do violence.

“My recommendation is to avoid them,” X-37 said.

“Agreed. I’ll do another sweep of the area. Tell me if you pick up any other spec ops personnel. They wouldn’t come down here without the rest of the squad,” I said.

“Your analysis is correct,” X-37 agreed. “However, I’m unable to detect other Union soldiers in this crowd. Thank you for providing the visual import.”

“Zag City is a big place. They may have split up to cover more territory,” I said.

“I think they’re looking for us,” X-37 warned. “I defeated a sensor scan that was calibrated for my specific bandwidth. It’s a simple technique, but often effective. I’m actually impressed.”

Evading two of the best Union soldiers I’d ever encountered while tracking two dangerous assassins was a challenge. I kept Michaels and Olathe in view for a while, but they continued with their herky-jerky counter surveillance pattern, splitting to opposite sides of the street and constantly moving back the way they’d come. Briggs and Crank methodically swept the public areas in the type of grid pattern that left nothing to chance.

“You will have to make a decision soon,” X-37 said. “Trying to do two things at once will result in failure.”

“You’re not wrong, X,” I said. My encounter with the local assassins bothered me more the more I thought about it, but I knew Briggs and Crank. They were the bigger threat. I focused on evading their methodical search and kept an eye out for other spec ops personnel I suspected were also in the area.

It wasn’t long before I lost sight of Michaels and Olathe.

“I don’t think Briggs knows where Elise is,” I said. “There’s a chance he’s only here for me, but I think the Union wants her more than they want me eliminated.”

“Your analysis is sound,” X-37 said. “They dedicated several spec ops teams, a fleet battle group, and brought in a Reaper from retirement to try and recover her the first time on Dreadmax. She’s definitely a high-value target for them.”

“I’m going to increase my distance from Briggs and Crank, then start for the diner. If Elise is still there, I’ll make contact and return to the ship. If not, I’ll have to reevaluate. Frank didn’t know where she was living and you already confirmed the address in the contract intelligence brief didn’t actually exist,” I said, stepping back into a doorway to watch my enemies from a distance.

A short time later, I rounded a corner and spotted Frank reuniting with his family. His kids played in one of the corner parks just off the street and he stood hugging his wife, his face buried in her shoulder.

The scene really made me think. So far, my time on Greendale had been a routine mission—not especially challenging aside from some of the technological difficulties with X-37 and a generous helping of pain. We tracked down Elise, did close surveillance without compromising our position or alerting the target, and gathered intelligence from two adversaries.

I thought about the scene and Frank’s reaction to it. He’d been pale as a sheet when I came out of the alley, but he had stood guard. The man was loyal to a fault—and brave. The things I’d said about killing the families of Michaels and Olathe had really affected him. He was a family man. The life of a Union soldier was years in his past.

I heard a voice that prompted me to step into a doorway before even looking over my shoulder.

Briggs and Crank were so close that I’d overheard their crosstalk, even though they weren’t raising their voices and there was the noise of other pedestrian traffic interfering.

They passed by me, almost close enough to touch.

Frank shouted, taking back my attention. “I’m not part of that. Get the fuck away from her!” His chest was pressed forward and hands balled into fists. Behind him, his wife was edging toward the kids like she might grab them and make a run for it.

X-37 beeped me, using the soft tone he had adapted from Jelly’s routine to warn me he was jumping into a conversation—a particularly useful habit when I had a lot of other stimuli.

“This behavior is consistent with the dossiers of Michaels and Olathe. The first is a bully who lashes out, and the second is just sadistic,” X-37 said. “Your friend is in real danger.”

I’m not sure I heard everything X-37 said, because I had already made my own decision.

Commander Briggs and Sergeant Crank moved closer, slowing down, sweeping their eyes over the crowd, hands under their long coats—gripping weapons, probably Union-issued short-barreled HDK (Highly Destructive Kinetic) carbines with silencers.

They were between me and Frank’s dilemma.

Lowering my chin, I flipped up the collar of my trench coat and stepped out onto the sidewalk, walking quickly, moving dangerously close to the Union soldiers on my way to make another bad decision. I saw Briggs perk up like he sensed something.

“This is going to be bad,” I murmured to X-37 once I was past them.

“Leave my family alone. I’ll call the fucking police,” Frank shouted as he moved laterally to keep Michaels from grabbing his wife, who was doing the same thing to block their advance on the now terrified children.

People darted away from the scene, crossing against the light, reversing directions, or even going into random buildings.

“You fucking know why we’re here,” Michaels grunted.

“I don’t know where he is, and if I did, I’d still tell you to go to hell,” Frank said, pointing aggressively at Michaels.

I was almost there but could feel eyes—probably Briggs and Crank—watching me.

X-37 beeped. “I highly recommend to turn away from this fight.”

“It’s too late,” I said under my breath, picking up my pace to a near run, ready to burst across the final four or five meters to reach the Greendale contract killers.

15

Static exploded on the left side of my vision, spilling into my right and feeling like it was sizzling down my spine. The pain drove me to one knee.

“Not now!” I grunted, then cursed.

Michaels turned.

I rushed him, tackling him as I screamed at the unfair fucking universe. We hit the ground so hard, we bounced. I used the momentum to get to my feet. With no loss of movement, I slammed into Olathe. He flew backward into the street and was nearly hit by a car.

Horns honked. “Watch where you're falling, you dumb ass!” a driver shouted, shaking his fist out of a window.

“That’s Cain!” Crank shouted from nearby.

Briggs roared something else that I didn’t quite make out because I was already moving into my next action.

Fights like this happened in a matter of seconds. It felt like we had been at it for minutes, or even hours. Michaels and Olathe came to their feet and rushed me, impressing me with their teamwork. I had to leap sideways to get clear of them, kicking Michaels in the knee.

He twisted to minimize the damage, but I saw the mixture of anger and pain on his face.

Olathe rushed around him. “Try punching me out when I’m ready for it, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Twisting in place, I drove a back kick into his sternum, sending him into the street again. There were no cars to almost hit him this time.

I barely saw the Greendale contract killers because I had bigger problems.

On the upside, Frank was dragging his family into a public bus and screamed for the driver to get the hell out of there.

On the downside, Crank was about to rock my world if I didn’t do something. The man was one of the best individual fighters I’d encountered in the Union military, and that was saying a lot.

The Greendale contract killers also rallied and made a fresh assault. They lacked the training of professional soldiers but seemed ready to fight dirty.

“Now would be a good time to get the fuck out of Dodge,” X-37 snapped.

“What, no warning beep? How rude,” I said as I sprinted into traffic, causing cars to hit their brakes and swerve.

Crank out-ran the others, closing the gap between us.

I reached the opposite sidewalk, stepping onto a bus stop bench and bounding over it rather than weave between pedestrians waiting there. A couple shouted at me and others laughed, apparently oblivious to the fight that had happened just across the street.

“You know I’ll catch you!” Crank shouted, sounding out of breath but determined.

“Don’t slow down, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned. “He’s still gaining on you.”

I dashed into an alleyway and poured on the speed. This was a dangerous choice. If I came to a dead end or if he proved to be faster than I anticipated, I’d wind up fighting him until his partner caught up.

And I doubted his partner was far behind, maybe a few seconds at best.

A chain-link fence materialized in the gloom. Trash littered the area near it, but nothing solid enough to serve as a ladder. Leaping into the air, I grabbed the cheap barrier halfway to the top and scrambled higher.

Crank hit the fence about the time I was swinging over the top and tumbling to the other side. After tucking and rolling, I came to my feet and ran toward an intersection. The walls were so close together here that I could almost touch them and there wasn’t much light. A murky yellow ambiance glowed from one window where a man and woman argued.

A shuttle streaked high above the buildings, engines reversing to slow for some nearby spaceport. Crank cursed. Behind him, Briggs shouted at me to stop or face the consequences.

I turned the next corner, searching desperately for a way out of the alley maze. These buildings had been designed as a self-contained neighborhood with walkways between them and tiny courtyards seemingly placed at random. What I saw was trash piled up in corners and laundry hanging out of windows. And hungry dogs. And the occasional homeless person scooting deeper into temporary shelters that smelled like piss and alcohol.

“How about a little help, X?” I grunted, getting winded and wondering if Crank was ever going to give up. He sounded like he was dying but just kept coming. His labored breathing was animal rage personified.

“Relax, Reaper Cain,” X-37 advised.

“Relax!” I turned another corner, not entirely sure I wasn’t moving in a circle.

“You will come to a street after the next left turn,” X-37 promised.

“Fucking thanks for the last-minute tip,” I gasped. “I was about to turn right.”

The alley opened onto a busy street with cars parked seemingly chaotically. There had been a minor accident. The drivers stood near cops filling out accident forms on beat-up tablets.

I climbed into the first car I came to, tapping at a palm reader. X-37 could give me a bypass code if we had time. Fortunately, the driver had been too lazy to disable the security protocols. It started immediately, electric motors coming to life.

“X, how do I turn off the auto-drive?” I asked.

“There is no auto drive on this vehicle. You made an excellent choice for an escape vehicle,” X-37 said, continuing with some other details I ignored.

I steered into the street and raced through an intersection, narrowly avoiding cross traffic. The rearview screen showed Crank stealing his own ride—some kind of delivery vehicle that looked like it had been involved in the fender bender.

Cranking the wheel, I drove through on-coming traffic for half a block, then moved onto a one-way street heading the direction I needed to go. Ideally, I would abandon the car near the diner, then go after Elise.

A booming crash sounded behind me. I checked the screen and saw that Crank had slammed a vehicle out of his way, causing it to spin through an intersection.

“I think he chose an even better vehicle. That thing looks rugged,” I said.

“It has the weight and mass to push smaller vehicles aside. You have three ways to defeat his pursuit: raw speed, cutting through narrow alleys, or staying ahead until he accumulates enough damage to disable the van,” X-37 said.

“Are you enjoying this?” I asked.

“I’m a limited AI without emotion,” X-37 pointed out.

“You sound like you’re enjoying it,” I said, swerving as a car came close to hitting me in an intersection. Moments later, I found the traffic ahead of me stalled.

I pushed the nose of the small vehicle between lanes and accelerated, scraping the cars on both sides of mine. Horns honked. Men and women cursed and shook their fists at me.

I took out a cigar and stuck it in the corner of my mouth. “Piss off, you non-driving fucks.”

“Road rage is one of the major causes of accidents in Zag City,” X-37 warned.

“No shit?” I bumped one more vehicle hard enough to move it sideways, then raced into the clear street ahead of the traffic jam.

Behind me, Crank was taking a different approach, slamming vehicles ahead of him until there were too many to push through. He turned onto the sidewalk, sending a park bench into the air and causing pedestrians to dive for cover.

The sound of police sirens converged on the area. I caught a glimpse of them on the next street over.

“Their dispatch system is old,” X-37 informed me. “They are several seconds behind events. That won’t last. You should have a plan to deal with local law enforcement in the near future.”

“Not something I’m looking forward to,” I said, sliding around a corner and looking for a place Crank wouldn’t be able to drive his larger vehicle.

Behind me, the scene was chaos. Horns blared. People got out of their cars and yelled at each other. Smoke filled the air as hover police cars and an ambulance siren added to the confusion.

I drove on hoping I looked inconspicuous.

16

Turning the wrong way on a one-way street, I met a very large bus. “Well, shit!”

Swerving onto the sidewalk, I learned my vehicle didn’t have the weight and mass to smash aside a bench that was bolted to the street. I hadn’t strapped in, so when the obstacle stopped my economy vehicle cold, the impact threw me at the dash, then the window.

The automatic safety foam deployed. Warnings sounded. The car advised me it was calling for an ambulance unless I advised I wasn’t hurt.

I opened the door and fell out, blood streaming from my nose and lips. Stars filled my vision that for once had nothing to do with my problematic Reaper nerve-ware, but sure as shit, that came down like a hammer as well. Static bloomed in my vision, twitches disabled my left hand, and pain went everywhere.

“Your biometrics are all over the place, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.

I staggered away from the vehicle, too hurt to get angry—which was a bad sign.

“You may be going into shock, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, voice breaking up.

The magnification feature of my cybernetic eye zoomed in and out. Night vision flashed with the brightness of daytime, stabbing into my brain like a knife. When that was gone a second later, everything became a surreal blur of infrared and static pulses.

“Fuck.” I really needed to catch a break. “Please give me some good news, X.”

“I'll do what I can, but I would not expect any in the near future,” X-37 advised.

Crank’s van looked like a stepped-on beer can when it careened around the corner. Paint from at least three vehicle collisions stripped the side. One of its fenders dragged on the ground throwing up sparks. Smoke poured from under the hood.

I was too messed up to move. Facing death wasn’t new. Knowing I was going to fail Elise was what really sucked. Sure she was pissed at me for abandoning her on Greendale, but I still had an obligation to look after her.

Another hover van, this one black and orange, flashed through the intersection, striking Crank’s vehicle at a ninety-degree angle. Both vans smashed through a micro-park near a coffee bar. Tables, pedestrians, and decorative landscape items flew into the air.

Citizens ran screaming from the violent collision. Some only made it a few steps before falling down from injury or overwhelming psychological trauma. A crowd of onlookers gathered, taking pictures and chatting excitedly. It didn't seem like any of them were pointing at me, however.

I pulled up my coat collar and limped into the larger crowd, stalling for time, searching for options. Some of the citizens watched at me. One offered help. I waved him away and kept moving.

Crank kicked out his windshield and tried to climb over the hood but was tangled in his seatbelt. Stunned by the violent collision, it took him several seconds to realize why he couldn’t pull himself free of the wreck.

Michaels and Olathe emerged from the black and orange vehicle.

I paused, ready to shoot them both but hoping they wouldn’t do something stupid.

“You’re a fucking menace to society. You know that, right?” Michaels asked.

“What do you want?” I asked, wondering if I should just open fire right here to prevent further threats against Frank’s family.

“The girl is ours, but we’ll give you a cut of the reward—ten percent, and that’s generous, so don’t try asking for more. We’ll leave your friend alone unless you do something stupid,” Olathe said.

“You’re the one who gave us the idea of killing his entire family,” Michaels said. “Thanks for the tip.”

“I could have killed both of you sorry motherfuckers,” I said, wishing I had put a bullet in each of their foreheads.

“I know,” Olathe said. “We recognize professional courtesy when we see it. So we owe you for that. But now we’re even. So get the hell out of here and stay away from the girl, or if you catch her, you better remember to pay us ninety percent of the contract.”

I maintained a healthy distance from the local killers and observed that Crank was almost free of the destroyed service van. Sirens approached from three directions. People pointed at us. Smoke from the white van and the black and orange van billowed into the air, making our confrontation even more obvious to responding law enforcement units.

“If you go near any of them, I’ll hunt you down like a Reaper and rip you limb from limb,” I said. “I’ll teach you the meaning of hell. Fear the Reaper. Respect your limitations. Live to carry on with your small-time extortion and stay away from the big leagues.”

“We are the big league,” Michaels said, but Olathe jerked his hand horizontally near his neck, indicating his friend should shut up right now.

“Don’t push me. It’s been a long time since I killed for fun.”

Realization of who they were dealing with hit Michaels and his partner at the same time. They backed away, hands on weapons.

This didn't mean I’d won. Michaels and Olathe were dangerous and I knew I’d do well to remember the fact.

“Just don't forget what we said, ” Michaels emphasized. “Maybe you can kill one of us, but the other will go after Frank and his family. So check yourself, Reaper.”

“Do you really want to go to war with me?” I asked.

Michaels and Olathe declined to answer, choosing instead to retreat.

Another vehicle raced toward us, parked in the middle of the street, and produced Commander Briggs. He stepped out, aimed his HDK, and fired a stream of bullets at the position I’d vacated the moment I saw him.

Shell casings streamed from the ejection port of his weapon. The muzzle flashed continuously as bullets peppered a parked car near me. I squatted low, then rapidly duckwalked to a better position.

A short distance away, Crank had finally struggled free of his wrecked van. He bent at the waist, elbows on his knees as he puked between his feet.

“You can’t hide from me, Cain!” Briggs shouted.

“What does he think I’m doing now?” I asked.

“Perhaps he believes you’re using some Reaper tradecraft to come up behind him and cut his throat,” X-37 said.

“I like that idea,” I said.

“Cain!” Briggs roared. “I’m going to hunt you to the end of the galaxy! Forget about the girl. She’s Union property and you are interfering with things you don’t understand.”

I waited until he fired another stream of HDK bullets toward the front of the parked car, then ran from the back. Staying low and hoping the smoke and noise of the scene would give a few seconds, I looked for Crank and the local assassins while running toward a side street.

Almost too late, I saw Crank dropping behind a vending shack on the corner and changed course. All that was left was an alley, and despite my recent bad experiences, I dove for it.

This was a better part of Zag City, I hoped. Maybe the nooks and crannies would be cleaner.

17

Time lost meaning as I stumbled down the alley, trying to remember when I’d been in a similar place. A little voice told me to get my shit together, practically shouting at me that I’d spent a lot of time in Zag City alleys.

“Help me out, X,” I said, trying to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t even remember my own name. Apparently, there was someone or something I called X. The ridiculous moniker made me laugh, which hurt my head, so I stopped.

The world seemed to spin and the ground tipped up, forcing me to walk with my hands stretched wide for balance.

Details came back slowly, starting with the fact that I was a broken down Reaper on the run. Static ran through my vision, confusing me until I remembered that I had a malfunctioning enhancement in my left eye—a completely cybernetic monocular. It looked normal most of the time, but never withstood close scrutiny.

Flexing my left fist, I remembered other things about my condition. Images from my time in prison returned, followed by the mission to Dreadmax. I thought of Elise, then of the local contract killers, and finally Briggs and Crank. The Union spec ops soldiers hadn’t hesitated to open fire on a public street. That was a bad sign.

The sooner I rescued Elise and made my way to Roxo III for some real repairs, the better. I knew the tech was there and had been told there were qualified technicians. Hard experience with “experts” warned me not to hope too much.

A fresh attack of laughter sent pain through my head and caused tears to run from the corners of both eyes. “This really sucks, X. Stop messing around and tell me where I am. How far away is Briggs? Crank?”

No answer.

I tried again to contact him, and even sent an inquiry to the Jellybird in case I was near the smuggler’s spaceport we had landed on. All I got for my trouble was a slight fluctuation in the static filling my internal earpiece. X-37 had told me there was a lot more computer warfare happening on the planet than he had anticipated, and that maintaining his own presence took most of his processing power. There also seemed to be something constantly interfering with our signal.

Unlike Jelly, the AI of the Jellybird, X-37 physically existed in my nerve-ware. That made his inability to contact me an ominous warning. I couldn’t count on getting help anytime soon.

“Why can’t anything be simple,” I said to no one. “Fuck, that hurts.”

Thinking about my Reaper nerve-ware brought back memories of my training. I remembered crawling through mud, ducking under razor wire, and keeping my mouth slightly open to reduce the risk of overpressure as explosives exploded mud nearby. There’d been a lot of getting yelled at by angry noncommissioned officers and even more running. Looking back, it seemed like our trainers had believed we’d constantly be running with huge loads on our backs when we finally deployed as Reapers.

I found a quiet space where the sound of pedestrians and vehicles wasn’t too loud and no one bothered me. I sat against the wall, head in hands, and tried to breathe. There was a reason I was on Greendale and it was more than just to suffer confusion and pain.

“I have to get past this, X,” I said.

No one answered my pleas for the misery to end. More time passed and I was able to lever myself upright and continue.

Late afternoon turned into evening. The dark, neon-filled nights of Zag City followed. I still felt disoriented, which was probably the result of a concussion.

My vision tried to convince me I was on a drug trip as I walked beneath hundreds of neon signs flickering to life.

Twice more, I had to lean on a wall, drawing the attention of two beat cops. They sauntered toward me with their hands on their stun batons. Cops were cops, no matter the planet. We were in the Deadlands, but these men looked like they’d seen military service somewhere, probably with the Union. They lacked the heavy accents of Sarkonians.

I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact. “I’m okay. Sorry, officers. Haven’t had no Glad-sil for a while. I’m jonesing like crazy.”

To complete the act, I reached down the front of my pants.

“Knock that shit off and get moving,” one of them said. “Freak.”

I shuffled away from them with my eyes downcast. They watched me for a while but didn’t follow.

My vision finally cleared. I controlled my breathing and walked as normally as possible for several blocks. Recovery was slow and incomplete, but I was moving in the right direction.

Jimmy’s diner was busy. I loitered near a dance club across the street, waiting in line as though I wanted in. What I was really doing was watching the diner, the street, even the skies. By the time the line moved me to the door of the club, I was confident there wasn’t anyone else keeping surveillance on the diner.

“Hey, you gonna pay or what?” the doorman to the dance club demanded.

“There’s a cover charge?” I asked. “Screw that. I’m out of here.”

He shook his head. Other Zag City club goers pushed forward to take my place in line. I crossed the street to Jimmy’s place.

A few of the patrons looked wary. I recognized them from the last incident. It said good things about the food and the service if they were willing to come back after the owner was attacked in public.

I took a seat near the back, selecting a booth that allowed me to watch the door and the big side window facing the street. Two other waitresses worked tables while Jimmy handled both the counter and the kitchen, going back and forth between the two jobs.

I nursed a cup of coffee, ordering food without considering the menu. The service was prompt. Everything tasted delicious in my ravenous state. “I would definitely frequent this place if I was going to stay on Greendale,” I said, waiting for X-37 to comment.

A slight disturbance of my hearing suggested the Reaper LAI might have heard me and attempted to respond, but if he had I couldn’t make it out.

Music thumped from across the street, competing with the comforting noises of the busy diner. Spotlights swept the sky in time with the music. Neon signs flashed as far as I could see in any direction. There were more than just eateries and dance halls. Tattoo shops, game arcades, and massage parlors were also doing a lot of business.

The waiting area of the diner filled up.

Through the window, I saw two men in trench coats casing the place. With their faces down and their collars up, I couldn’t confirm who they were, but I had my suspicions.

I took out a cigar, considered it, and bit onto it as I retrieved my lighter.

“Hey, mister. No smoking in here,” Jimmy warned.

On any other world, during any other time in my life, I would have laughed and told him to blow me as I puffed away on the Gronic Fats—but I respected this man for the way he looked after Elise.

He stared at me, his manner firm but business-like. I shrugged and put the cigar in the front pocket of my coat. Maybe he’d come by my table when it wasn’t so busy and I could ask where to find Elise.

“Keep an eye on that one, Tom,” Jimmy said.

The textbook reader swept his finger across the pad, swiping a page, and he glanced up at me as he answered, “I am. Marked him as trouble the first time he was here.”

He adjusted a pair of reading glasses and returned to his pad.

I could tell it was newer but had no idea what it was about.

“That is most likely a library pad,” X-37 provided. “How are my signals?”

“Reading you just fine, X,” I murmured softly, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention.

Something about Tom made me think he was a more important part of the diner crowd than I'd first guessed. Call it instinct.

The man wore a jumpsuit, a machine shop uniform that looked like something he had worn often, probably every day.

It wasn’t long before the two men in trench coats made their approach. I recognized the way they moved. Britton Michaels and Roger Olathe held down their long coats—probably to conceal weapons—as they pushed through the people on the waiting list.

They wore heavier body armor this time—visible through the edges of their faux leather trench coats. Michaels adjusted his lapel and I saw part of a load-bearing harnesses normally used to carry extra ammunition, gas-mask-like helmets, and other dangerous tools. If the police came and cornered them, they were ready to fight it out no matter how much gas was deployed.

Jimmy also saw them. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said warily, placing himself between the men and as many of his patrons as possible. He was a big, burly man but didn’t seem overly confident right now. Their last encounter had taught him caution.

I waited for an incapacitating headache, but it didn’t come. Or maybe it was there and I was just used to it. I wanted to get up, but uncertainty made me pause. What happened if I took action and was suddenly driven to my knees?

When the pair stepped clear of the people in the foyer I knew there would be trouble, and just sitting here was no longer an option, debilitating headaches or not. Each of them held full-faced tactical helmets in their non-gun hands.

“X, this is going to be ugly,” I said.

“The ugliest,” X-37 agreed.

18

“Where’s the girl?” Michaels asked.

“Had to fire her. She was stealing from petty cash,” Jimmy said, stuttering an otherwise convincing lie.

“Bullshit!” Michaels shoved Jimmy with his free hand.

Olathe slipped on his helmet and raised his shotgun, facing the crowd and shouting a warning. The digitized helmet speakers made his tone ominous. “Stay back. The first person who calls the police gets a slug in their face.”

Michaels put on his helmet then opened his trench coat to reveal a belt-fed machine gun. The ammunition boxes explained some of the added bulk I had noticed earlier. Battered ballistic armor explained the rest.

“Everyone, get on the ground!” Olathe shouted, striking one man in the face with the butt of his weapon. His victim staggered backward and fell hard.

Olathe aimed his shotgun at another man’s face, bumping him with the barrel aggressively. “Get off that fucking comm, asshole!”

Fire filled my veins as I started to move. Pain radiated from my eye. I could still see, but the lights were too bright—every shadow was harsh and disorienting.

I really should have gone to Roxo III. Shoulda, woulda, coulda…there was nothing to be done about it now and I never really had a choice. Elise would have been gone by the time I got my gear fixed and found passage to Greendale.

My legs felt like lead and I struggled not to drag my feet across the tiled floor. Cramps seized my arms, shoulders, and chest. I fell on the ground amongst the other patrons.

“What the hell is happening to me? X, where the fuck are you?” I grunted, holding one of the booths for balance.

No answer.

And then it hit me. There was another Reaper on Greendale and he was jamming my systems. No one else would even know it was possible. There had been contingencies for rogue operators. What the Union had feared most was a bunch of Reapers banding together and forcing their own agenda on legitimate governments and corporations.

Silencing that part of the program was the only time we had all worked together against our Union masters. After we were done, the only people left alive who knew about the Reaper off switch, or the ROS as we had called it, were other Reapers.

Which was just two of us so far as I knew.

Until recently, I’d firmly believed I was the last of us.

“Get the girl. I’m losing my patience,” Michaels said, causing the barrels of his belt-fed machine gun to spin.

Patrons squealed in fear, some unable to resist crawling for the door. The sound of the belt-fed slug thrower cycling up sent a shiver down my spine.

“Bring us the girl, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Olathe yelled, firing a round from his shotgun.

Jimmy waved his hands for them to stop and babbled desperately. “No, no, no. I can’t. She’s just a girl. Don’t shoot anymore. You’ll ruin my business. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“I can pretty much guarantee that, you big oaf,” Michaels shouted.

Sweat ran down my back. I had to get up.

Olathe slammed his shotgun into Jimmy’s gut, then head-butted him with his helmet.

Jimmy staggered, one hand holding the counter and one hand holding his bleeding face. “Just leave her alone. She never did anything to you.”

“People are going to start dying,” Michaels said. “A lot of people. How do you think that will affect your business? Give me the Super Egg Special and a side order of Mass Murder!” he shouted, forcing a laugh. “Are you trying to get everyone killed?”

“I couldn’t give her to you, even if I wanted to. Please just leave,” Jimmy begged.

“He has a fucking safe room,” Olathe said in disgust. “Otherwise, she’d already be ours.”

“We planned for that contingency. Just calm the fuck down and let’s do this,” Michaels said.

I crawled to my feet. “Hey, assholes. Did you plan for this contingency?”

Both men aimed their weapons at me.

“What the fuck?” Olathe exclaimed.

“Did you plan for this contingency?” I repeated, pretending confidence I didn’t have in my condition. “Leave now, and I’ll forget this happened.”

“We were even,” Michaels said. “I ain’t afraid of you, no matter what you are.”

“No fear, man. No fear at all because we have the guns and the armor,” Olathe added, his digitized voice thinner than it had been a moment ago when his victims were helpless civilians.

“I warned you before. And you really should have some fear, punk, because I’m not just going to kill you—”

He fired twice, hitting me with gel rounds, slamming me off my feet and sending me in and out of darkness.

If I was lucky, someone heard all the gunshots and the police were on the way. Staring down the barrel of the shotgun had been a calculated risk. As much as I disliked these two losers, they were smarter than a lot of others like them and probably understood getting caught for mass murder wouldn’t be worth the reward for Elise.

Aggravated assault wasn’t a life sentence. On some worlds, a conviction barely carried any time at all. Most of the smarter criminals had started taking a page from law enforcement, adding less lethal munitions to their options. At close range, even a gel or bag round could be lethal. I knew better than to get hit again.

I writhed on the ground, fighting my malfunctioning technology and new injuries.

There was an explosion as smoke and dust blasted from the back room, coating the dining area in seconds.

The blast disoriented me, a high pitched wheezing sound in my ear as the pressure settled. My optics jerked and danced, distorting my vision. I shook my head, trying to clear some of the fogginess, and heard Elsie screaming curses at them as they dragged her out.

“Give her the needles!” Michaels ordered. “The police are on the way. It’s all over the scanners.”

“Get that away from me, you ball-less—” Elise yelled right before I heard a pop similar to an electronic stun device.

From my position on the floor I couldn’t see a damn thing. The interference between my Reaper LAI and my nerve-ware diminished, but I didn’t know why.

Did that mean the other Reaper was too close to keep the ROS active?

Olathe dragged Elise through the smoke.

She staggered like a zombie and plastic darts stuck out of her side. The Zag City contractors were using an Olson Device. Easily attachable under the barrel of most firearms, the OD launched electric stun darts that also delivered a payload of compliance drugs.

Olson Devices had fallen out of favor after Union agents used them incorrectly, reportedly firing their weapons with the intent to use the non-lethal darts, but accidentally firing their primary weapon instead, killing a man they had wanted to detain on minor charges.

It was a terrible design and it amazed me that they still existed.

“Stop pushing me,” Elise complained groggily.

“You want us to push you,” Michael said.

“Okay, you’re right,” she said, passively resisting until they pushed her out the door. “Just… don’t push so not nicely.”

I pushed to my feet, frustrated at my own sluggishness. Everything seemed impossible. With the powerful drugs flowing through her system there was little chance Elise would be able to escape. Even a full-grown man would have a hard time resisting a dose that size.

Other patrons of the diner had started to stand and were getting in my way. I wanted to scream, because I lacked the strength to shove them aside. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this weak. The unfamiliar feelings of helplessness surged through me and I wanted to rage against the galaxy.

“Will you please respond, Reaper Cain?” X-37 said so loudly that I yelped. The actual physical sensation of my nerve-ware’s communication mechanism remained a bit of a mystery to me. I knew how it worked, but didn’t dwell on it much.

“It’s about fucking time you showed up,” I growled, pin-balling my way through the crowd. Men and women stared at me like I was some kind of psychotic cybernetic freak show.

I laughed, feeling for my cigar, thinking they weren’t wrong. Time only seemed to slow. When I stepped out of the diner, Michaels and Olathe were still trying to force Elise into their transport.

She writhed against them, twisting her bound arms and kicking at them when she could.

I heard police sirens and it occurred to me that there was never a cop around when you needed one, although even if they showed up, it would probably have only made things worse.

“Let go of me, you squishy jerk!” Elise squealed, sounding about ten years younger than she was. The drugs were making her goofy and gave her profanity a silly quality.

“How much did you give her?” Michaels demanded, struggling to control her.

“I gave her the maximum dose,” Olathe said. “Just push harder. We need to get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t say this to you often,” X-37 said direly, “but you must hide. There is another Reaper launching an attack and you are in no condition to fight him.”

“Really? What makes you think that?” I snorted, resisting the need to vomit from the stress put on my nerve-ware.

“The unknown Reaper is using a shutdown box,” X-37 said. “My records indicated they were all destroyed.”

The shade of Byron Thane crossed my vision, seeming to move slowly as he pulled a knife from the back of his belt and struck twice. Quick as a snake but hard as a jackhammer, he stabbed Michaels in the back of the neck, right below the edge of his helmet—then did the same to Olathe.

Both men fell flat on their faces without a twitch.

The precision of the attack was impressive. The blade had gone between the bottom of the helmet and the top of their body armor and struck between the first and second cervical vertebrae—more effective than a sniper round in the T-zone.

It had also been fast enough he could have done it in a crowd with no one realizing exactly what had happened.

He was fast, deadly, and determined to have Elise.

But he wasn’t Reaper fast. Something was wrong here. I had the very distinct impression any well-trained soldier could do the same thing.

“You are three meters from the ROS. Disable it if you can,” X-37 advised helpfully—because I wouldn’t have thought of that on my own.

The Reaper yanked Elise backward by her hair, then hesitated as though surprised.

Odd. No true Reaper who survived training would have paused like that. Not for any reason.

I visually searched the man’s gear for the ROS box but couldn’t see it. He had a sort of flat backpack on the outside of his long coat that might’ve contained the device but could also be nothing more than an ammunition bumper or a bundle of stealth netting.

He was wearing armor, probably better than what the locals had used, but I couldn’t see the exact model. My nerves tingled with dread.

Byron snapped plastic restraints on her wrists and ankles. Every action was smooth and had the look of a professionally trained martial artist. After restraining her, he tossed Elise over one shoulder in a single, graceful motion.

He turned slightly, hesitating when he saw me as if deciding whether to kill me or not. Byron then strode away as police cars slowed to a stop. One officer just gawked silently at the sight of dead bodies and the crowd swarming out of the diner.

Music boomed from the dance club across the street. Some were farther away, a celebration launched fireworks. Sirens blared, car horns honked, and people who had arrived after the incident babbled stories about whatever.

It was almost as overwhelming as having nerve-ware problems.

I followed the Reaper but couldn’t keep up.

“You are improving,” X-37 said from what seemed like a million miles away. “Your rate of movement has increased point zero zero three five percent since you left the diner.”

I grunted. “I’m glad you’re back. Sort of.”

“I am no longer detecting interference from the ROS. All of your current problems are caused by your neglected health and malfunctioning equipment,” X-37 said.

“You mean the cybernetic attachments I couldn’t get rid of if I wanted to?” I said as Byron’s van sped out of an alleyway and onto the main road.

19

“We’re fucked, X,” I said.

“Agreed,” the limited AI said too quickly.

The non-Reaper’s getaway vehicle was a copy of the one Michaels and Olathe had used before their untimely deaths. It slowed to a normal speed and merged with traffic.

I ran after it, pushing myself to go faster and fighting through waves of pain and sickness. Glancing back at the diner, I saw more and more cops arriving along with ambulance crews. Before long, half the force would be tied up on the complicated investigation and crowd control.

I wondered if that had been intentional. My rival could've taken Elise himself but had watched and waited as the two locals made a botch of the job. Local law-enforcement and other emergency services were already overloaded, but now they wouldn’t be able to respond to anything else, and I had doubts this clusterfuck was anywhere near complete.

Byron raced through a twelve-lane intersection, electric engine humming, gears shifting aggressively. There was no way I could catch it on foot or even keep it in sight for much longer. My lungs felt like they were on fire and my heart pounded so forcefully, I could feel it. Spots danced in my vision that had nothing to do with malfunctioning nerve-ware.

A trash truck twice the size of the van slammed into it, driving it against a traffic light. Debris flew into the air, the effect compounded by trash spilling from the truck. The sound of the racket was truly amazing, drawing the attention of anyone who hadn't seen it happen.

“All of these vehicle collisions are going to ruin their traffic safety statistics,” X-37 observed.

Laughing hurt. I gasped for air. “True. What a tragedy. Two of their best local assassins also died today. What’s the galaxy coming to?”

Briggs and Crank bailed out of the trash truck, guns blazing as they advanced on the strange Reaper’s van. Briggs and Crank were both precision shooters with a method to their madness. In seconds, the engine block was destroyed, and smoke rose from the cab.

A figure that I assumed to be Byron rolled out of the back, sheathed in KFA, Killing Frenzy Armor. HDK slugs from Briggs and Crank whizzed over his head and punched holes in the van as he ducked down and moved quickly.

The KFA gear looked state-of-the-art despite being designed long before I was sentenced to death row and all of the other Reapers were eliminated. Pressure sensitive spikes and razors flicked in and out of wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints, discouraging anyone from grabbing the wearer.

The sight was intimidating as fuck, even for someone like me. No one in their right—or wrong, for that matter—mind would want to face a metal death demon from hell that couldn’t wait to kill every living thing it could touch. The face mask was a metal skull with glowing eyes and a bright light emitter where a third eye might be. Rumors of this last piece of war-fighting technology implied it could do incredible things, far more than read the environment. It made my single enhanced optic look like a child’s toy.

Briggs and Crank visibly hesitated at the sight of the sleek armor and chain gun the stranger carried. The Union spec ops commandos were elite soldiers who had seen it all and done it twice.

Or so they thought until about two seconds ago. They had come to eliminate a damaged and out-of-date Reaper, and now faced one that had newly constructed, perfectly functioning gear that was state-of-the-art. Their clear advantage in this gun battle had just vanished.

I had trained in the KFA and the MMG, mass murder gun, but never used them. The mask was new, something I’d never actually seen in action.

The MMG had been a running joke in the Reaper Corps mission briefings. One of us would bring up using it, and our handlers would always kill the suggestion. They’d never wanted to use what they called the nuclear option. Simulated terrorist attacks aside, gunning down crowds of people wasn't included in the Reaper SOP.

Slugs ricocheted off the KFA, barely leaving a scratch. The amazing thing about the armor was the extreme efficiency of the design. Lightweight and nearly indestructible, it could be used on long missions. Simple, elegant, and made with the best materials available to the Union, the KFA made the wearer slug-proof for a time—even at close range. There were internal force dampers that reduced the force transfer of bullets that didn’t penetrate.

“Warning, Reaper Cain. The rogue Reaper has two belt-fed MMG auto-cannons,” X-37 said. “You will be pleased to know he can’t operate the ROS and the KFA at the same time.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous. No one needs a two belt MMG,” I said, looking for a hole to crawl into. This shit was about to go south real fast.

No one moved as we regarded each other and the scene took on a surreal edge, calm despite the carnage around us. Then everything happened at once. Briggs, Crank, and the strange Reaper opened fire at the same moment. I moved ninety degrees from the ensuing gun battle to avoid getting shot dead by accident.

HDK rounds peppered the Reaper, the van, and everything near it. Rounds ricocheted off vehicles and buildings, whistling in all directions. Clouds of debris flew into the air, showering the street in shards of glass, pieces of street signs, and dust from the concrete buildings nearby.

At one point, I even saw a pink bobblehead doll through the air, remarkably untouched but still flung sideways by the turbulence of the passing slug.

At the same time, the MMG annihilated the trash truck as Briggs and Crank rushed away from it in search of better cover.

A round took Briggs in the chest, hurling him backward and probably ruining his body armor if it didn’t kill him outright. Seconds later, Crank took another round on his helmet that caused him to do a back flip and land prone, unable or unwilling to move.

Police, likely from the diner a few blocks away, arrived next, adding to the chaos.

The Reaper, Byron Thane, or whoever the fuck was in the KFA, opened fire on the cops. I couldn’t see what happened next because I was too busy taking my own cover, but it didn’t look good for the inadequately armed law enforcement.

The shooting stopped then and I peeked out just in time to see a gas grenade go flying in the air in the direction of the cops.

It exploded, filling the intersection with smoke and tear inducing gas.

I was already running for the van, coughing from the expanding cloud of smoke that helped carry the chemical agents. I’d seen a short window of opportunity. The gunfire stopped after Briggs and Crank went down and wouldn’t resume until more police arrived in a few seconds.

Yanking open the only functioning door of the van, I saw Elise staring back at me. Wide-eyed and tied up, she was speechless for once.

“I won’t let him take you,” I promised, climbing in.

She shook her head violently, squirming against her bonds to warn me my word was about to be tested.

I knew it. Of course I wouldn’t get this lucky.

20

Impossibly strong hands grabbed the back of my coat, yanking me backward. I knew the KFA armor enhanced strength through the efficient use of tension and leverage points in the subnormal layers. It didn’t make a wearer superhuman. That came from the cybernetics limb replacements each of us had volunteered to accept.

I twisted free then dodged sideways, looking for a way to counterattack. The auto-shotguns were clamped next to the ammunition canister on his back to keep his hands free. If I stayed close to him, he probably wouldn't be able to use them on me.

The resurrected version of Byron Thane, if that was who this was, growled at me from inside the distinctive helmet mask that resembled the demon graffiti he used to draw on everything.

Years ago, he had started painting a skull across his visor with one-way paint he could see through. The terrifying visage was well known in the Reaper community. Our helmets had been fully interfaced with hundreds of micro cameras instead of looking through a face-shield.

Unable to continue the tradition with the mask, he’d painted something similar on his chest plate—a serrated ribcage instead of a skull.

Something wasn’t right. My gut told me this had been done specifically for me, because to anyone else, it would just look like scary battle art. Only another Reaper would know the significance of what this was—and I was the last Reaper. Or so I’d thought.

The paint was too fresh and the design a little too crisp. Byron Thane had been a sloppy artist, throwing his creativity on whatever “canvas” he chose with reckless abandon.

“I thought you were dead. How did you get off that rooftop?” I asked.

The three eyes flashed but he didn’t answer and instead tried to grab me, keeping his right hand back so he could draw one of his weapons or deliver a powerful thrust punch.

I parried the strike and moved out of his line of attack. Aiming a roundhouse kick at his knee, I stopped the last second, realizing I would miss because he was already moving in anticipation of the blow.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded as we circled each other.

His answer was a digitized voice that sounded a lot like the man I remembered. He’d chosen settings to make himself scarier, when I knew the helmet mask was capable of transmitting his voice with crystal clear clarity.

“You know me,” he growled ominously.

I backed up a step to give myself room. If I went much farther, I’d have no chance of reaching the van and trying to save Elise. She was banging around in there, probably trying to wiggle free of her restraints or throw herself bodily out of the cargo door.

The girl didn't know how to quit. Even when she had been alone on a moon-sized prison station surrounded by murderers and rapists, she’d resisted with courage and a powerful rage to rival any soldier.

The Reaper tensed for another attack, but I beat him to it, hitting him with words more powerful than his MMG.

“You shouldn’t have engaged that sniper,” I said.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

I knew he wasn’t the same man I’d trained with, but I also didn’t know the truth of him. I continued the lie, pretending he was the person he claimed to be. “We were a team, but you did your own thing. Got yourself killed,” I said.

“Do I look dead to you?” he blurted, the mask distorting his voice.

“We all knew you were the best marksman in the Corps, but you were standing and firing from the shoulder while the enemy sniper engaged you from a prone position with known range markers,” I elaborated.

Every detail I shared caused another pause. My conclusion about this stranger grew firmer the more we talked. I was also stalling, hoping for an opportunity to win. And that meant grabbing Elise and getting out of here with both of us alive.

I wasn’t sure how to make that happen. The police were surrounding us. Citizens were clearing away from the area. My situation wasn’t exactly improving, but since it couldn’t get any worse, I was keen to keep playing the game.

And I wanted to know who this asshole was. What was his problem? How did he know so much about me?

He rolled his shoulders, sidestepping once again to seek an advantage for his next attack.

I suddenly realized something about his arms.

“I could just blow you in half with this,” he said, gesturing at the MMG.

“You could,” I said, even more certain of what I had seen. Both of his arms were cybernetic, which explained why he’d been able to yank me out of the van so easily. If he had two arms full of hardware, I was betting he had added infrastructure to his spinal column and core to support the extra weight and torque the Reaper arms would exert.

“Put down your weapons, we have you surrounded,” a voice shouted over the intercom. “This is the Zag City Defense Force. Surrender immediately.”

“Don’t you remember anything from our training?” I asked. “Public shootouts never end well.”

The Reaper who was posing as Byron Thane cursed, then spun away, lunging into the van and hauling Elise out by her hair.

“You there, put the girl down!” the Defense Force commander ordered.

Elise, still bound hand and foot, twisted in his grip, screaming through the gag Olathe was biting into her face.

I rushed the Reaper from the side, hoping to catch him distracted, but he turned and kicked me in the gut, hurling me backward and driving the air from my lungs.

I rolled to a stop and struggled to my feet. “Fuck,” I grunted. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

The stranger laughed, backing away from my pathetic attempts to fight back. He hoisted Elise almost gingerly onto his shoulder, his mouth moving as he whispered something to her.

“Did he just apologize to her?” I asked.

“Yes. He was very polite. Almost chivalrous,” X-37 confirmed.

Briggs and Crank came to their feet, then moved forward as a team. The unit’s commander threatened to deploy more gas and call in air support.

Waves of pain and disorientation crippled me once the stranger Reaper sprinted away from me. The imposter had reactivated the ROS. At this range, my teeth vibrated from the powerful signal it sent out.

Byron Thane ran toward the weakest section of the police containment, breaking through easily. Briggs and Crank altered course, heading straight for me. I turned and surrendered to the Defense Force team.

Looking back at the Union commandoes, I gave Briggs and Crank the finger right before the cops handcuffed me. “Fuck off, Briggs.”

“Don’t antagonize them, sir,” the cop said.

“You’re right,” I said. “They can dish it out but can’t take it.”

21

Briggs stormed forward, assuming his best command presence. “Who’s in charge here?”

I wasn’t in a position to see the conversation, but I heard it despite a trio of cops shoving me into the back of a transport vehicle.

Briggs shouted, “That man’s a Union fugitive. You will surrender him to my custody immediately!”

“After we process him at the booking desk,” a voice drawled. “We have to secure this area first. Stop being a problem or you’ll find yourself in a cell next to him.”

My guards pressed me into a corner, not sure what to do about my cybernetic arm.

Briggs sounded closer to the back door of the police van now, arguing loudly as he made his move. “I’m an officer in the Union military!”

“Then you know it’s a different chain of command, sir!” another officer shouted back. “Stand aside and let us do our job. This is a lawful warning to step back! Do it now!”

The officers restraining me finally decided to cuff me to the wall by my non-augmented wrist and slammed the door in my face. The van pulled away seconds later, nearly throwing me off the narrow plastic bench.

“X, can you hear me?” I asked.

“Barely. The interference is decreasing, but you still need re-calibration of all Reaper systems. The ROS made things worse, I’m afraid. Even if you can permanently disable the device, you’ve sustained unexpected neural damage from this ordeal,” X-37 said.

I nodded, too tired and miserable to form words. My jacket pocket was empty. I’d either lost my cigar or one of the cops had taken what was left of it.

“I’m about done with this shitty day,” I muttered.

“There will be another tomorrow,” X-37 promised.

“Thanks for that little ray of sunshine, X. Real nice. You should go on the motivational speaking circuit,” I said, studying the small window between the prisoner compartment where I was confined and the driver’s area.

Their radio was cranked up to full volume. The driver and his partner were agitated, constantly diverting their attention between the dispatcher’s voice and the chaos around them.

All I could see were little snapshots of Zag City as we headed for the police station.

“Transport Forty-nine Bravo to Dispatch, request alternate route. This section is cluttered with disabled vehicles. If we continue on Gold Street, we’ll get hung up in the crime scene around Jimmy’s place,” the passenger of the van argued with their dispatcher.

I listened.

“There was a report of shots fired,” the dispatcher said. “Are we getting a duplicate call or is there still fighting out there?”

“It’s all over and done with, dispatch,” the passenger said. “One of the street cops told me he thought someone tried to kill Jimmy.”

The driver interjected, “Make sure they have a secure cell ready at the jail. This prisoner’s trouble.”

“Copy that,” the dispatcher said. “I hope Jimmy is okay. He’s good people. Standby. Got a priority call. Suspect pursuit in the area. There were shots fired. What the hell are you people doing out there?”

“What channel are they operating on?” the passenger asked.

“Tac 2. Tac 1 is being used for the car chase, gun battle/shooting incident,” the dispatcher advised.

“Switch over,” the driver said.

“On it.” The passenger leaned toward the controls and made adjustments.

I twisted against my restraints, gently at first, looking for the breaking point. If they’d put this cuff on my other hand, it would’ve been easy. As it was, they had still grossly underestimated me.

The commander had been rushing them, I thought. Or they just didn’t care about their jobs.

“All units, be advised, suspect is armed and dangerous. Firearms, knives, and confirmed reports of cybernetic arms,” another dispatcher said. “Be advised, suspect still has a hostage. Last seen wearing a metal skull mask.”

“Get us some help at 1st and Silver Street, we have officers down, critical injuries,” a police officer’s voice shouted into his radio.

“Hold on, we’re sending a medical transport,” the dispatcher said. Moments later, he was diverting other units to engage the fleeing suspect.

I was keenly interested to know how this would play out. There hadn’t been any deaths besides Michaels and Olathe that I’d heard, but if they thought they could take down the stranger by force, there was going to be some blood.

Whoever this guy was and despite all of his enhancements, he struck me as amateur. Sure he got the drop on me and two spec ops soldiers, but one thing they hammered into our heads was never to create a public spectacle unless it was a last resort. Just because he could shank two assassins on a public street didn't make him anything special. I've seen kills with more finesse in prison.

Look what happened to Michaels and Olathe.

I worked the fingers of my left hand into the handcuff mechanism and exerted pressure, finding the balance between what my un-augmented wrist could withstand and the breaking point of the metal. It hurt like hell, but I was able to break the restraints.

Sitting there as though I was still chained to the wall, I waited for a reaction from my guards. The passenger looked back two or three times, but never for long. I showed him what he expected to see and he didn’t question my silence. The man had probably done hundreds of transports without an escape.

I scooted closer to the back door, paused, then repeated the process. The guard in the front passenger seat looked back through the window, saw how close I was to the door, and frowned.

“The door is locked, buddy. Don’t get any ideas,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

I looked down, not wanting to engage in conversation long enough for him to realize I was not only in the wrong place but that there was a set of broken handcuffs hanging from the wall near his window. The angle was bad, but if he shifted a few inches, he would see them.

The van hit a curb. The passenger yelled at the driver to watch what he was doing. I wedged the fingers of my Reaper hand into the seam of the double door and twisted. A jolt of energy surged through the cybernetic arm. My fingers punched through the lock, metal squealing like a dying violin.

I flinched in pain, wishing I’d never agreed to the arm. Or the Reapers. Or the mission to Dreadmax. Regret wasn’t my style, but I was tired and angry that I had failed Elise again.

The van came to a stop. Both men were leaning toward the radio, listening with rapt attention. Through the small barred window, I saw they were at a traffic light.

I nudged the door open and rolled out as quietly as possible. When the van started to pull away, I gently shut the door. “Bye,” I said sarcastically.

A homeless man pushing a shopping cart stared at me. He looked like I felt, broken down and old.

The other thing the transport officers hadn’t done well was pat me down. I fished a credit token out of my pocket and tossed it to the man. He held it up to his greasy beard, sniffing it with a nose that had been broken several times.

He pulled a Starbrand cigar out of a greasy pocket and offered it to me. “Got a gold band. Has to be real.”

“No thanks, it’s a fake,” I said.

He frowned indignantly, backing away from me like I had just offended him. “Well, fuck you. I don’t need your charity. That’s a damn good cigar. I never share my good ones like that.”

Knowing that I was too tired and miserable to smoke a cigar was a low point for me. “It’s a fake,” I repeated, unapologetic. “And I have shit to do.”

“Whatever, freak,” he said to my back.

The smell of cigar smoke drifted over me as I staggered into the shadows. With the clubs closing and the late night dinner crowd seated in various restaurants, the streets were quiet in this neighborhood. Maybe they would have a gun battle to liven things up.

Anything could happen in Zag City.

“X, can you help me find Frank’s place?” I asked.

“I can, Reaper Cain. He won’t be happy to see you,” X-37 warned.

I needed a place to rest and fix my arm. It twitched and spasmed. The last time it had malfunctioned, I’d been lucky. Ripping open a lock was a neat side effect of a power surge. Sooner or later, I was going to hurt myself or kill someone at random.

“You need to find a place to rest,” X-37 said. “Everything is controlled through your nerve-ware. Your fatigue is aggravating the hardware problems.”

I slipped down a side street and leaned against a wall, holding my mechanical arm with my natural arm. Squatting, I loosened an external panel and flipped up. Inside, there were controls that needed tools to be properly adjusted.

“Someone is following you,” X-37 warned.

I froze, aware that movement drew attention. It was ridiculous, but freezing like a rabbit was the best I could do in the current circumstance. If I kept allowing enemies to sneak up on me like this, I wouldn’t last much longer.

“Hello? Are you there?” a man asked.

He sounded familiar and the moment I saw his profile in the poor lighting, I realized who he was. It was Tom from the diner, the man who read technical manuals for fun.

“I see you and assume you see me. I’m not coming any closer until you tell me I should. Getting killed isn’t really what I had planned for my evening,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, standing up.

“Friends call me Tom. Elise told me about you. Seems like you’re having a rough time. I was trying to follow the men who took her and saw what happened to you.” He laughed shortly. “Still can't believe you just gave up to the cops.”

“It was a strategic decision,” I said dismissively.

“It makes sense now. Creative thinking isn’t really my strong point. I fix things, and from what I’ve seen, you need my help,” he said.

“It’s a little too coincidental that you show up right when I need you,” I said.

“Actually,” X-37 said, “I’ve been reviewing images from the diner and what he has said so far. I’m actually surprised it took him this long to approach you. My records indicate he spotted your arm the first time you went into the diner and probably knew something was wrong with it then.”

“How do I know you’re not the one causing my arm to malfunction?” I asked.

He shrugged and took a step closer. “I can’t see how I would do anything to your arm without some sort of control device. Do you mind if I step in from the street? If a cop sees me, they’d be likely to come investigate what I’m doing here this time of night. Might be different if I was dressed for the town, but all I got is this.” He pulled on his jumpsuit top near his name tag.

“Suit yourself, Tom. Do you have some tools?” I asked, eyeing a bag he kept slung over his shoulder.

“Just my work stuff. Real basic,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“If you really want to help me, let’s go back to your shop and see what we can do,” I said, hoping his fondness for Elise would translate into helping me save her.

“I don’t have a shop,” he said.

“You have an apartment or some type of domicile?” I asked, expecting him to say where it was.

He shook his head. “No, I mostly just stay at work or the diner then try to sleep someplace out of sight. I fix gear for some of the cops on my beat and they don’t hassle me too much.”

My assessment of the older man changed. He wasn’t as elderly as I had assumed. Living on the street had given him a harder edge. He was probably in his mid-fifties but just looked significantly older. When I really paid attention, I saw the signs of wear on his clothing and realized his tool bag probably had a change of clothes and maybe some basic grooming supplies.

“Let me take a look at what you have there,” he offered, nodding at my arm.

I thought about it for a second, then motioned for him to follow me toward a trash dumpster that we used as a makeshift bench. I stretched my arm across it, and he took a look, whistling softly.

“I won’t be able to do much. My expertise is in mechanical things, not computerized systems or a complicated nerve-ware nexus,” he said. “I think I can tighten up some things that have been banged around. Maybe solder this connection point here. How long has this been damaged?”

“Why are you helping me?” I asked, ignoring the inquiry.

“Can you answer my question first?”

“That happened before I came to Greendale,” I said, nodding at the section of my Reaper arm he was examining.

I waited for him to answer my question.

“Elise has helped me out several times. Makes me a bundle of food she pretends Jimmy doesn’t know about,” he said.

“Do you fix things for Jimmy?” I asked.

“Sure. All the time. He offered me a job, which I took for a while, but there wasn’t enough work. Mostly I was his janitor. Where I work now pays real money,” he said.

“If you have money, why don’t you have a place to live?” I asked.

“I’ve been saving up for something,” he said. “I’ve got some debt I have to repay, then I’m getting a ticket off Greendale, which ain’t cheap neither.”

For a mechanical engineering genius, he spoke slowly and often reverted to uneducated street language.

He worked quietly on my arm for several minutes and I was surprised to find immediate relief.

“How’s that?” he asked.

Tension I hadn’t realized was there slipped away from my shoulder where the arm attached. “Feels great,” I admitted.

“It won’t help with the power surges you seem to be experiencing. I saw you go down when those two assholes attacked Jimmy’s place. I know you were trying to stand up, but something was shocking the shit out of you,” he said. “What I fixed was something else. Your servos were seriously out of alignment. Very inefficient. The muscles in your shoulder and upper back and probably your chest were having to compensate.”

“You’re a doctor now? And a physical therapist?” I asked, instantly regretting my tone.

He laughed it off. “I read a lot.”

“You’re helping me because you want me to help Elise,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“That’s about it,” he said. “I’ve got mixed feelings about it, though. You’re probably going to take her away and I won’t like that much.”

“Maybe we can work something out,” I said. “But right now, I need to find a place to rest and give my neural interface a break. You don’t have an apartment and I’m not interested in sleeping under a park bench.”

If he took offense, he didn’t say anything. I had hoped that he had someplace I could sleep for a few hours instead of imposing on Frank and his family. But I needed to check on them anyway.

“Take care of yourself, Tom,” I said.

“Are you going to get her back from that monster who grabbed her?” Tom asked.

“Yep.”

“How are you going to do that?” he asked.

“Most of my plans involve killing a lot of people,” I said.

He went pale and backed away. “Just take care of her. Greendale isn’t a good place for her. You can’t understand how hard she works to stay independent. Mister Gold tried to make her part of his harem before she roughed up the men who came to take her.”

“You saw that happen and didn’t do anything?” I asked.

“I’m not a fighter. I was getting ready to tackle one of them, maybe buy her some time to run away, but she just kicked one in the balls and punched the other guy. Broke his fingers. Threatened to rip his face off like a Reaper,” Tom recalled.

“Interesting,” X-37 murmured.

I told him the location of the spaceport where the Jellybird was parked. “Look for me there. If I can help you, I will. You tell anyone about my ship, however, and I’ll pop your head off with this.”

I opened and closed my left fist.

His eyes went wide, then he laughed nervously. “Sure glad I tuned it up.”

He glanced at his feet nervously. He was still looking down when I slipped away.

* * *

I thought about Tom and the things he had said as I moved into Frank's neighborhood. He clearly had a rough life but seemed focused on what was essential. The man obviously cared for Elise, respected Jimmy, and desired to learn new things. I'd seen his type before, the perpetual problem solver.

There was a good chance he had received his training from the Union military, probably the Corps of Engineers on some minor planet. If I had things to do over, I might've found someone like him to look after Elise in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t a fighter, but he was smart and had his heart in the right place. At the very least, I could have helped Frank and Jimmy.

It didn't matter. Greendale was too hot. There was a contract out on Elise and the Union knew where she was. I had to take her someplace else.

Whether she wanted to go or not.

The lobby of Frank’s building was empty. I wondered where the attendant was, but decided it was simpler this way. The door was still wedged open so that anyone could have free rein of the building.

That didn't make me feel good, knowing Michaels and Olathe could have come here and killed them all.

I knew I should feel better now that the two assassins were dead. But I didn't. “X, I'm about done with the city and this planet.”

“Then perhaps you should expedite your trip to see Frank and get yourself put back together,” X-37 said.

22

X-37 was right. Frank was more than mad, he was downright furious. It wasn’t every day I saw a man trembling with righteous anger, actually shaking with the effort not to lash out. His inability to control his emotions made me uncomfortable and I wondered if he thought I was embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about Elise,” he said through gritted teeth. “But after hearing the threat you made to those men—who the news said were dead, by the way—and watching you turn downtown Zag City inside out, I can’t have you around my family. You promised to stay away.”

Frank’s voice trembled and I could hear the fear in it. Despite his fear he didn’t back down and his eyes glinted with anger as he faced me. The fact that he knew what I was, what I was capable of, and what he believed I had done today but still stood up to me earned him my respect.

I held up my hands in a gesture of peace.

“I just need an hour to put myself back together and some privacy,” I promised. “I wouldn't have come here if I had any other choice. And I didn’t do any of what you saw on the news. You know there’s a contract on Elise and it’s attracting a lot of attention.”

My words didn’t seem to have any effect on Frank and he didn’t move from the doorway. “Are you not hearing me? Get the fuck out of my building.” He jabbed an angry finger down the hall.

Behind him, his wife was just as angry. I had only paid fleeting attention to her before, noting that she was average height, with dark hair and eyes. She stood with her arms crossed and her jaw locked, but I felt a twinge of hope when her eyes seemed to soften at my sorry state.

“I told you not to get involved with this guy. But look at him. We can’t turn him out. That’ll draw more attention than just letting him do what he needs to do and leave.”

I didn’t say anything.

Frank glared at me as he thought it over. “Give me your word that as soon as you have Elise you’ll leave and never come back.”

“You have it,” I said, nodding curtly.

After a long moment he stood aside enough to let me inside.

What followed was an awkward exchange of time during which I sat across the living room from his kids, each of them watching me with wide eyes while Frank and his wife cooked food and argued in the kitchen.

After an uncomfortably silent dinner I slept in the video room in Frank's good chair and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

When I opened my eyes the next day, I didn’t exactly feel like a million credits, but definitely better.

Seeing Frank’s family in their tiny apartment had put things in perspective. He didn't have time to take care of Elise. He certainly didn’t have the ability to fight off contract killers and Union spec ops soldiers. Or rogue Reapers. We’d been friends a long time ago when we both thought hard work paid off and nothing mattered more than honor. Knowing I’d been responsible for putting them in danger affected me deeply and I left Frank's apartment building with unusual carelessness.

I ran through the events since I first saw Byron Thane. I was sure the stranger wasn't my old semi-rival. None of us had been forced to give up both arms.

In my battered state, with all of my internal gear in revolt, I wasn't making good decisions or thinking clearly. I invented a dozen scenarios where Thane survived and dragged himself to safety to rebuild himself and plot revenge.

Laughing crazily, I wasn't sure why I found any of this funny. I used a wall for balance, moving slowly and wishing I had let Tom show me a good bridge to sleep under.

The neon lights and fireworks of the Zag City entertainment district had annoyed me, but this neighborhood was far more intimidating. There was only one streetlight on the corner. It flickered and hummed loudly.

I heard voices arguing from a window but couldn't determine the direction. A trash truck accelerated and decelerated down alleyways. The sound of drunken laughter and bottles clinking drifted on the night air.

“Are you with me, X?” I asked.

“I am here, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, the connection strong, steady, and reassuring.

“I'm in a bind here, buddy,” I said.

X-37 chuckled, which I had almost forgotten he could do. “You haven't called me that since our early days. Your personality has shifted since then.”

“What do you know about personality?” I asked, sensing something dangerous I couldn't see.

“The rhythm and inflection of your voice tells me a great deal about your mood. Also, your word choice matters. I eventually realized there is a natural drift in the vocabulary that you utilize. It was very alarming at first.”

“What do you mean?” I was curious, but only half listening now.

“My algorithms were not adequate to handle the shift away from our early conversation style. I was not sure if you were the same person and had to consult with other limited AIs during an upgrade session at headquarters,” X-37 said.

I backed into a doorway, the alarm at what he was saying pushing aside anything I might encounter on this dark street. “What are you talking about, X? Reaper limited AIs can't talk to each other. This was made extremely clear during my training. And why is this the first time I’ve heard about the upgrading sessions at headquarters?”

“I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you,” X-37 said.

The phrase had the quality of a prerecorded message and I wasn't even sure if X-37 was aware he had said it. “Say again?”

“I was explaining that my upgrading sessions at headquarters assisted me with analyzing your personality biometrics,” X-37 said.

“Why didn't I know about these sessions before?” I asked, testing a theory.

There was a long silence followed by several clicks. “I'm sorry, Reaper Cain, did you ask a question?”

Loud voices approached and I didn’t respond. I pressed deeper into the doorway, hoping the shadows were enough to conceal me.

Bones and his two favorite henchmen led the way, better armed and more serious than the last time I saw them. They were searching for someone.

“Don't move,” X-37 said.

I wanted to laugh at the advice, and since they were passing my doorway by only a few meters, the chance of being caught if I made a sound was high.

Which of course made me want to laugh even more.

I'd had so many Reaper AI-induced headaches and body spasms at this point that I wasn't sure they ever went away entirely. My body ached from the fatigue of dealing with the pain. My stomach was in constant rebellion, trying to eat itself or empty itself, depending on which way the night breeze blew.

Bones and his crew were drinking something that smelled like rocket fuel. I felt bad for whoever they ran into. They were in a violent mood, ready to fight anyone, including each other. Crude bandages and a splint suggested they hadn’t received adequate medical attention after our last altercation.

They stopped just out of view and went disturbingly quiet. I thought they were popping some stim tabs or maybe shooting up with needles. It was hard to be certain just by the sound. All I knew was that they weren't laughing and joking and bragging about all the people they were gonna beat up and women they're going to get with.

“And remember, you stinking fuck holes, we see that freak, we rush in hard. No mercy,” Bones jeered drunkenly.

His crew cheered.

When they were about one hundred meters beyond my position and carrying on like a bunch of drunken and doped-up assholes, I slipped quietly from my hiding place and went the other direction.

“I don't like the way this feels,” I muttered to X-37.

“Tactical retreat is a perfectly valid option in many circumstances,” X-37 said. “Shall I refrain from calling you a gutless punk for not committing suicide?”

“I could still take them. It wouldn’t be a suicide mission,” I asserted, despising my defensive tone even as the words left my mouth.

“My analysis suggests it would be a mistake to test that theory,” X-37 said.

Breaking contact with an enemy was something taught during basic infantry training. Bones and his crew moved further away, never looking back. Despite their fierceness, they'd never do well against soldiers. I couldn't tell if they watched their flanks, but they did nothing to protect their rearguard.

I moved slowly, careful not to draw their attention. A dog barked when I passed but slunk away when I looked at it. The single streetlight on the corner flickered. I disappeared into the shadows.

It took me nearly an hour to work my way back to the spaceport. The place was even more austere than I remembered. There weren't guards, service crews, or civilians loitering near the gate.

X-37 opened it for me.

“How is it that the Union doesn't monitor this spaceport?” I asked.

“Someone has paid substantial bribes to make this a smugglers’ hub,” X-37 answered. “Our encounters with Bones and those like him misrepresent the sophistication of the criminal element on Greendale. The assassins’ guild is a better representation, but not the total picture.”

“Well, I learn something every day,” I said with a bit more sarcasm than was strictly necessary.

“Zag City is as complex as any place in the Union or the Deadlands. We could spend a lifetime here and only learn a fraction of what it has to offer,” X-37 lectured.

“Where are you pulling your data from, X, a travel brochure?” I asked, moving across the tarmac to my ship. The ramp lowered and I boarded, feeling a sense of relief I hadn't experienced for a long time.

In general, Reapers didn't have their own ships. They needed to travel light and be able to drop everything for the sake of a mission.

But I wasn't a Reaper anymore. I was something else, a rogue or outlaw perhaps. But even those definitions seemed inaccurate. What I was, was a man with a score to settle and all of the tools I needed to do it violently.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” Jelly said brightly. “How was your trip to the city?”

“Do you want to answer that, X?” I asked, working my way to the locker room to strip out of my dirty clothing and take a shower. I rummaged through my pockets but didn't find what I was looking for. Then I remembered the cops had taken my cigars.

That was a shame, because I was starting to grow attached to the cheap Gronic Fats. I doubted they were sold off-world and I didn't plan to return to that gloomy place.

As much as I wanted to take a long, luxurious shower, I went through the basics like I was getting called to drill by an angry sergeant. I dressed, thankful that I had no more attacks from my Reaper hardware. “I've got a question, X,” I said.

“I can't wait to answer it,” X-37 said.

“Can you block the ROS with Jelly’s help?”

X-37 sounded pleased when he gave me the answer. “Yes, we certainly can. With our combined power and the shielding of the ship, I can block the ROS.”

I relaxed and went to the bridge. The hallways were narrow, the ceiling short, and it was already feeling like home. The door to the bridge opened. I entered and lowered myself carefully into the pilot seat.

“Okay, Jelly, I’ve got a job for you,” I said.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked.

“I'd like you to check with spaceports and see if Elise or this unknown Reaper have left the planet,” I said.

“My design allows me better manipulation of ship logs and travel manifests,” Jelly said. “Tracking individuals is more of a job for X-37.”

“Work together,” I suggested. “I'll do what I can on my workstation just in case your combined computing power overlooks something a little human random guessing might put together.”

Some time passed. I shifted in my seat, already tightening up from my recent efforts. The workout I had performed before going to Zag City was also hitting me.

“Are you ready for an update, Captain?” Jelly asked.

“Hit me,” I said.

“Captain?” Jelly seemed confused and a bit alarmed.

“He means give him the answer,” X-37 provided.

“We believe we have confirmed that Elise has not left Greendale. However, for us to conclusively predict and foil any future attempts would take all of our combined processing power.”

“Do what you can,” I said.

“You may have to live without us for a time, Captain,” Jelly said. “It's a big job and Greendale has a surprising level of black-market access to the Gal-net. That, in combination with the ROS you encountered, makes it difficult for us to interact with you in real time when you're on the planet, even on the ship to a certain extent.”

“Fine. I could use some personal space anyway,” I said, not really meaning it. Now that I was faced with the prospect of going it alone, I wished X and Jelly could be my constant companions.

23

“I have a further recommendation, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“I’m sure you do.” I rummaged through my locker until I found my backup repair kit, checked to be sure I still had Glandarian silicon beads, and tucked the slim case into my new-to-me jacket.

I strode toward the deployment ramp, wishing I had armor like the mysterious Reaper. All I had at this point was the handgun Frank had given me. It was a large caliber weapon, .45 inches, one of the more archaic measurement systems nobody really understood, and held seven rounds—eight if I added one in the chamber after racking up the first time and flipping on the safety.

“What’s your recommendation, and don't tell me to get some sleep,” I said.

“Please disregard, then,” X-37 said.

The jacket only reached my mid thighs, leaving less options for weapons concealment. It also had a stale odor from being in storage. I didn't know who the prior owner had been, but we had the same love of cigars.

I fished in the pockets and was pleased to find a prize in the front. The tobacco inside the dark brown paper was dry, crumbly, and falling apart. Rolling it between my palms compacted it a bit. I examined my work and shrugged. The paper smoked too much—actually throwing sparks for a second—when I finally lit it, but it was something.

Without a proper holster, I had limited options for carrying the .45. The weapon was a bit flashy, the chrome slide covered in scrollwork. Pearl inlays decorated the grips.

It was a show gun, a family heirloom most likely. But it had its good points. There was a distinct grip that fit well with my hand and the sights were beefed up to make it easier to acquire a target in a close fight. The trigger had also been worked on and felt smooth.

I tucked it through my belt, then slid it to my back. Before I left the ship, I practiced sweeping open the jacket and drawing it a few times.

For this type of weapon, I preferred to use my right hand. Sensitivity was greater with my organic parts and I wanted to make every shot count if I had to fight.

Was I prepared to face a strange Reaper wearing KFA?

Not even close, but I'd make it work.

“Do you have updates on Elise or her captor?” I said aloud, sitting on a bench despite wanting to rush back into the city and begin searching.

“We are still monitoring police radios and media releases,” X-37 said. “It seems they have no leads. Their public information office is also promising a thorough investigation and inevitable apprehension of the suspect, but my analysis suggests this is just meant to appease the public.”

“What about the Union?” I asked.

“They have one lightly armed transport freighter in the system,” Jelly said. “X-37 has informed me that this is a standard operating procedure for special missions. I've done a larger analysis of the system, however, and found no military support craft should they fall victim to pirates or renegades. We've agreed that this means their mission is more secretive than normal.”

“Could be useful information when we leave the system,” I acknowledged.

“As for locating Elise, we have no further clues except for one. There is a dead zone near section 32 of the First Intergalactic Spaceport Corporation. The FISC handles all industrial transportation. While not the ideal departure point from Greendale, it is possible that someone tried to avoid Union scrutiny and attempted to stowaway on one of the larger vessels.”

“If I were Briggs, the FISC hub would probably be my base of operations on Greendale,” I said. “Have you identified the unidentified soldier?”

“Based on compressed photo archives from your own Reaper nerve-ware, that is Byron Thane—believed to have been killed in action five years ago,” X-37 said.

I hadn't expected there to be an identification database for the Reapers. Until recently, I thought my nerve-ware was the sole remaining record that existed. Identification matrixes, however, had been very important to the Reaper Corps. A significant amount of my data storage was taken up by compressed mugshots.

“That confirms what I saw, but is there other evidence?” I asked.

“It will take several weeks for a detailed analysis, but my initial opinion of the way this individual moves and operates is that this is not Byron Thane. He could be a close relation, most likely a son, or a clone,” X-37 explained.

“Reapers don't have kids. The background checks were extensive and I never met any member of the RC who thought bringing more kids into this galaxy was a good idea,” I said.

“That suggests a clone is more likely, despite no known cloning facility in operation,” X-37 said.

“I'm heading to the FISC. Keep me updated,” I said, then left the Jellybird.

* * *

Fighting through the galaxy as the last surviving Reaper with the entire Union and most of humanity out to get me wasn't all exciting close quarter combat and gun battles. Most of it was tedious legwork, like keeping surveillance on an industrial launch pad and hoping for a lead. If this didn't work, I was going to have to start over and that meant violating my promise to Frank and his family.

My position was good but not perfect. I'd chosen to remain at street level to avoid being silhouetted against the city lights. Like the residential area Frank lived in, this part of Zag City had the minimum amount of illumination. If I went across the rooftops, I could be seen silhouetted against the sparkling downtown in the distance.

I was getting used to the big city nights, even if I could never participate in the festivities. Partying had never been my style. I didn't miss it. For now, I was content to watch other people live normal lives if that was what they were doing, drinking and drugging themselves to death while in search of high-risk sexual partners.

Maintaining the high ground did have advantages in many situations. Before long, I felt someone watching me and understood my nemesis had also chosen that option. Though I wasn't sure how he could carry Elise and navigate the upper levels of the city, which would sometimes require him to jump from building to building.

“Perhaps you should have overcome your fear of heights, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

A memory of crossing one of the maintenance trenches on Dreadmax caused me to shudder. “I'm not afraid of heights, I'm just smart.”

“Was that sarcasm or denial?” X-37 asked.

“Whatever,” I said, distracted. I could feel eyes on me and cast a casual glance around looking for whoever was watching me. I'd known the mysterious Reaper, especially if he was Byron Thane, would take the high ground because Byron knew of my aversion to high places. So I'd been watching for just such a tactic.

Surprising me, even in this environment, should've been impossible. “What's the chance this guy has switched out his KFA for one of the stealth armor prototypes?”

I saw the blur of his silhouette on a fire escape above me as the words left my mouth.

“It's about time you saw me,” the Reaper said, his voice more natural but still muffled by his gear. “I was told you always did have your head in the clouds, Cain.”

“Where is Elise?” I asked.

“She's okay,” the man said. “I wouldn’t do anything to her.”

I noticed something about his voice, the rhythm of his words. Talking about the young woman made him uncomfortable.

“Why shouldn't I have engaged that sniper? I was always the best marksman in the Reaper Corps,” he said.

His voice was low and probing with an intensity that suggested he really wanted to know my opinion. That wasn't like the Byron Thane I remembered. The man had been the most arrogant person I knew and that was saying a lot.

A thought occurred to me. X-37 and Jelly believed the imposter could be an illegitimate son posing to be the father or a clone, but I had a different theory. Elise’s father, Doctor Hastings, had been conducting Lex-tech experiments.

Byron Thane might've been healed and had his second arm replaced by combining Reaper technology and Lex-tech. There were several gaps in the theory, but I didn't know the research and discovery timeline or what they had found before the girl went missing.

“I told you why. It was an obvious trap. The sniper had likely been there for days, with perfect shots lined up for every contingency. You were reacting out of instinct and only drew fire,” I said, watching him carefully.

The stealth cloak made it tricky to evaluate his nonverbal language. The pauses between questions were informative. Whoever this imposter was, he was thinking deeply and was troubled by what he was discovering.

“Where is the girl?” I asked. “You know they'll never pay the bounty, right? The minute you turn her over, they will kill you or throw you in prison.”

“You're lying, but don't worry. I’ve decided not to give her to the Union,” he said. “I heard Fratley Oxanos pays well and is reasonably trustworthy, so far as it goes with his kind.”

“I heard he’s an asshole,” I said.

“He is, but he pays well,” the stranger said. “Better yet, Oxanos says he just needs information from her. I can keep her for myself when he’s done, if she’s still alive.”

His words caused my Reaper nerve-ware to tingle.

“That doesn't work for me,” I said.

“I don't care if it works for you!” he growled at me almost petulantly. With visible effort, he calmed himself, the blurred outline of his image shifting from foot to foot where he squatted on the ledge above me. “You don't want to fight me. I've got fully functioning gear and better armor. I've been training the entire time you were in prison. Come after me, and you'll die. This is your only warning.”

With that, he was gone.

“It would've been useful for you to inquire where he was keeping Elise hidden,” X-37 said.

“Piss off, X,” I muttered, then carefully left the area. “He thinks he has the upper hand.”

“I see,” X-37 said. “He probably assumes that because he is un-injured, possesses better armor and weapons, and knows everything about you while you know nothing about him, it gives him the advantage.”

“Sometimes I hate you, X,” I said.

“You've said this many times, but I don't believe you,” X-37 said.

24

I attempted to follow the Thane imposter, knowing my chances for success were slim. He had the advantage of elevation and technology.

“Can you help me out?” I asked X-37.

“I've already provided a three-dimensional map of this area including building schematics in wire frame form,” X-37 said. “The images will have to bleed into your regular vision to acquire enough screen space, as it were.”

Nearly transparent images of streets and buildings filled my vision. It wasn't my favorite technique that X-37 used, but it would do for now. I could see through the display.

“That'll work, X. Now mark it with streetlights, neon billboards, or other light sources,” I said.

Several dots appeared on the image of the scene. I moved through a narrow street, predicting where I thought a Reaper traveling the rooftops would need to move. If I was lucky, I’d be able to see the blur of his stealth armor against the bright lights. It wouldn’t be a true silhouette, but it would be visible for someone who knew what to look for—and I did.

“There we go,” I said, edging forward to watch my prey climbing down from a balcony. Once he dropped below the light, I lost track of him but was able to estimate his progress from the speed I had observed. When he reached the bottom of the fire escape, he hopped to the ground and was revealed by a light on a service door.

But only for a second. Tracking a Reaper this way was dangerous and required all of my attention.

“I'm actually impressed,” X-37 said. “This is a novel and interesting tactic. Should I make a note of it for future reference?”

“I'll remember,” I promised, creeping closer to the Thane imposter.

He moved cautiously, but without fear. We entered a dark area that was like a maze. Occasionally, random illumination disoriented me. In one alley, I was moving toward a street when a car turned on the main thoroughfare, briefly flooding the street with light and then plunging it back into total darkness. On another occasion, someone opened a window, creating a light beam above.

Thane had chosen a devious route, and it seemed he had predicted my own strategy of using lights to foil the use of stealth armor. That wasn't something the real Thane would have imagined. Whoever I was following was a worthy adversary with a better imagination than the raw killing machine I had trained with.

Thoughts of illegal cloning and enhanced cognitive and physical features ran through my mind like a daydream. Clones weren't a thing. I didn't know much about the Lex-tech project, but I was reasonably certain even that couldn't produce clones.

“X, can you recalibrate my optical enhancements to defeat the stealth armor?” I asked.

“This is possible,” X-37 answered. “But I advise against it. The process would take too long and could aggravate some of the problems you have been experiencing with your Reaper gear.”

“That's what I thought you'd say.” I abandoned the search for my nemesis, knowing that he had turned a weakness into a dangerous advantage. Discretion really was the best part of valor. The only real surprise was that he hadn't struck while I was vulnerable.

Maybe he was losing his edge.

“Shall I advise Jelly we are returning?” X-37 asked.

“I really thought I was the last Reaper,” I said, moving farther away from the dark maze my nemesis had chosen to hide within. A tingle went up my spine that wasn't a malfunction. It was hard to explain. Sometimes I just knew I was at a turning point, that something important was happening.

“Would you like my analysis?” X-37 asked.

I nodded, moving behind a parked vehicle and then checking my back trail to make sure I wasn't being pursued.

“This person cannot possibly be Byron Thane. I took the time to decompress several files in my archive. I'm able to watch video in a condensed format that is unavailable to you. In essence, that is my memory. Data points among data points. There is no possible way that Byron Thane survived the sniper duel. And if he had, no one was sent back to him for extraction. In a hostile environment such as that particular mission, it would be a death sentence.”

“I'm with you so far,” I said.

“Our top-secret clearance before being dishonorably discharged from the Union was at a very high level. The information I am working with is old, but by extrapolating those data points, I must conclude there is no clone program. And if there was, it would not be able to produce a warrior of Reaper quality,” X-37 said.

“So we're dealing with a bastard, a child that was missed during the background checks?” I asked.

“Possible, but very unlikely.” X-37 made a clicking sound. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I generally associated it with him processing a large amount of any information. “The real problem, however, is that if he had a son posing as him, he would not have access to the equipment or the training to be the person we are dealing with now.”

“That's basically what I was thinking, but thanks for the detailed lecture,” I said, moving into a more crowded area of the city, blending with the night crowd.

“Let's shift gears,” I said. “Instead of worrying about who or what he is, let's just find him and Elise. Most importantly, let's just find Elise and get the hell off this planet,” I said.

“Where would you like to begin?” X-37 said.

“I've been thinking,” I said, wondering if I was about to make a huge mistake. “There's only one place he could be hiding. With the Union and all of the other bounties on him, he must've made a deal with the assassins’ guild on Greendale.”

“Infiltrating their headquarters will be extremely difficult,” X-37 said.

“You're absolutely right, X. And it won't really be an infiltration, but a raid. I'm going to need help.” The idea of contacting Briggs and Crank did not excite me. It was nearly as risky as confronting the Reaper.

But desperate measures called for desperate times and all that.

“What are you planning?” X-37 asked.

“I think the Union owes me a favor,” I said.

“Even without the details, I feel I should recommend against this course of action,” X-37 said.

I laughed, not sure why, but it felt good. “Where do you think they landed? If they are following spec ops standard procedure, they won't rely on the public spaceports unless they have to. Especially after that debacle on Layton 5.”

“I assume they would be using one of the industrial spaceports that is technically only for material deployment, the FISC most likely,” X-37 said. “My check of available flight logs suggests it's a well-known fact that travelers from various organizations also move passengers this way.”

“You're talking about smugglers. Is there a slave trade on this planet?” I asked.

X-37 made several clicks, fully processing his information, knowing I didn’t want a fast answer on this one. “I do not believe so, or if this is happening it is no greater than other planets. Human trafficking continues to be a problem throughout the galaxy. In this case, however, it just seems to be people who don't want to be associated with the Union.”

“Ironic,” I said. The most elite members of the Union military used the services of people who hated the Union the most with the greatest intensity. I was never able to decide if this was brilliant or suicidal. “Give me some maps and try to narrow it down. In an ideal scenario, you would show me the exact room in the exact building in the exact facility they are basing their operations out of. But I’d also like to know if there are going to be surprises. How many Union spec ops soldiers are on the planet?”

“I'll do my best, Reaper Cain,” X-37 promised.

* * *

I edged around the loading ramp, keeping to the shadows. The security lights for the industrial quarter were powerful, extremely bright with harsh edges. If I was caught in the open, this would reveal me completely. But where there were shadows, they were deep and dark.

What I needed to worry about, however, was their infrared scanners or other advanced optics. X-37 had been unable to provide me an up-to-date list of their technology. Most of what I understood about their current level of operation was speculation from what I knew from my days working with them.

So I went slow. I paused a lot. I tried to see them before they saw me. The optics in my Reaper eye were good, even if what they had now was more advanced. I didn't like to rely on the technology too much, fearing it would spark another blinding headache.

The thing about infiltration and counter-infiltration tactics was that the human element could cause success or failure. Even with all of my training and experience, I would sometimes see an image on my infrared band that wasn't moving. Then I had to decide if it was what it looked like or just some unexplained heat or cold source.

Having great technology didn't solve every problem. And it was never easy. At times, having advanced optics was almost a nuisance.

What I had to do was use this understanding against my opponent.

So I moved slower than a normal human would, especially if I thought there was any chance someone could be watching my progress. I paused at tactical locations to see and hear and smell everything I could.

And then I found Sergeant Crank standing guard. He was near the front of a warehouse that I assumed concealed their shuttle. It took me twenty minutes to sneak up behind him, at which time I gently pressed the barrel of my .45 to the temple of his helmet.

Spec ops helmets were good, but a contact shot from a .45 caliber handgun would transfer a lot of force in a very short period of time. Especially since spec ops wore less robust armor than a regular soldier.

The idea was to be too fast and good to stand there and slug it out with the enemy.

“Good morning, Crank,” I whispered

“You motherfucker,” he grumbled under his breath without flinching.

We waited in non-companionable silence for a few minutes until Briggs came to check on him.

“He got the drop on me, boss,” Crank said.

Briggs flinched, drawing his sidearm. A second later, he relaxed, realizing this wasn't a hostage scenario he could win without sacrificing the hostage.

“I see that,” he said, holstering his pistol with a sigh.

“I have a proposition for you,” I said. “If your primary mission is what I think it is, you really don't have any choice but to accept my offer.”

He worked his jaw, but he said nothing.

“I had an interesting conversation with Callus,” I began.

“Before you murdered him,” Briggs interrupted.

I shrugged slightly, pressing the barrel of my .45 harder against the side of Crank’s helmet. “I'm a glass is half-full kind of guy. It was a win-win.”

“What the hell are you talking about, win-win?” Briggs growled.

“I needed to live and he needed to die. It really was inevitable,” I said with a dispassionate shrug. He thought he knew what everything was, so I played along, knowing it would set him off balance.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You’re after Elise. I can't let you have her, but I can't let Byron Thane have her either,” I said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Crank asked, shifting his weight.

I squeezed his neck tighter with my enhanced left arm and reminded him I had a gun to his head. “You thought I was the only Reaper on Greendale? Who the hell did you think that was who took Elise?”

“Our analysis says that's your confederate, an apprentice or some sort of collaborator,” Briggs said.

“And you believed that shit?” I asked. “Help me stop Thane. Then we can fight it out for Elise.”

Crank laughed, but Briggs went pale. I thought the spec ops commander had a better gauge of my abilities and a more thorough understanding of what I was prepared to do to win.

“You really think it's Thane, a confirmed KIA Reaper?” Briggs asked.

“I saw him up close,” I said. “He's got her locked up in the assassins’ guild hideout. I can't get her out of there on my own.”

“Are you sure that’s where he has her?” Briggs asked.

“It's one of my better hunches,” I promised.

25

“You're a disgrace, Cain,” Briggs said. “No matter what happens here, you're going to pay for all the lives lost on Dreadmax.”

“Lives? Are you talking about Union troops or the tens of thousands of prisoners that were in Union custody who you didn't bother to evacuate despite having plenty of ships standing by?” I asked.

“You expected us to take ten thousand convicted murderers and insane cannibals and put them on our ships?” Briggs looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “That's asinine, even for you.”

“Your failure to plan isn’t my problem. You could have brought some of your famous prison ships and dealt with that situation. How long did you know it was going to happen?” I asked pointedly.

Briggs didn't answer.

“I know more about the dark side of the Union than you do,” I said.

His features looked pinched, as though this disturbed him.

I could see he wanted to respond but didn't have the words. “They're not after Elise for her well-being,” I said.

He interrupted me. “Everyone has to make sacrifices for the common good.”

“You think what they did to me was bad?” I said, holding up my cybernetic left arm as exhibit A. “They're going to take her apart and put her back together, and that's if they're being nice. You return her to the Union, and you might as well torture her yourself.”

Crank yanked away from me. Instead of resisting, I pushed him toward Briggs and stepped back, aiming my weapon at them. “Watch yourself, Crank. We can't have a rematch if you’re dead,”

Crank spat on the ground. I pretended to ignore him. His boss was more dangerous.

I saw something in Briggs I hadn't expected. He was actually thinking about what I’d said.

“Let's put a stop to Byron Thane II and find Elise. After that, we'll figure something out,” I said.

“Unlike you, Cain, I have to follow rules. I have to bring you in dead or alive,” Briggs said, but his words lacked conviction and I could tell he was coming around to my idea.

“You could take me in, or you could successfully complete your mission,” I said.

“You're such an asshole,” Crank grumbled.

“I have information you need. It might even prove that your handlers are playing you false,” I said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Briggs demanded.

“I think they sent you to scare her out of her routine so their Reaper could capture or kill her,” I said, testing them. If the Union had a new Reaper program and Briggs knew it, I would see the truth in his eyes.

“Fuck you, Cain,” Briggs said. “The Union is done with Reapers. They proved too dangerous and unreliable. Dying breed. Just another discontinued model they shut down as obsolete.”

“What do you think, X?” I asked.

“He does not believe there is a new Reaper program,” X-37 said. “I am inclined to believe he is correct. Evidence suggests the Union regretted the Reaper program.”

“So where did the Thane imposter come from?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Briggs said. “But I can tell you we will put him down the first chance we get.”

“I would take that as a warning of how they will treat you once they have what they came for,” X-37 said.

Crank was watching me, probably guessing what X had just said.

“What are you looking at, Crank?” I asked, using a tone meant to provoke him.

“Don’t push your luck, asshole,” Crank said, stepping forward.

Briggs signaled him to be silent, advancing so that we were almost conversing as equals.

I lowered my gun slightly and pulled it into a tight low-ready position. I could fire it without raising the barrel and still hit him, then aim at Crank to take him out. They knew my skills and weren't stupid.

“Fine, let's work together. Best-case scenario, we recover the girl and take you into custody without anyone else getting killed,” Briggs decided.

“I have one condition,” I said, knowing this scheme was risky. Maybe it would be better to just walk away. If Elise was handed off to the Union or Oxanos, why make things worse? Why not move on to a fight I could win?

“I can’t promise much,” Briggs said.

“Talk to her before you take her,” I said, just to cover my bases. I had no intention of losing to these jerkoffs. “See if you still want to work for the Union after that.”

Crank snorted.

Briggs nodded slowly. “I’ll listen to her story. It won’t change anything.”

I slipped the .45 into my belt.

“What do you know about the assassins' guild?” Briggs asked.

“I've been inside their headquarters,” I explained. “Met with Gold, the man who controls the guild on Greendale. But he's more than his title implies. I think he's got a finger in a lot of criminal enterprises, and most likely in government as well. His headquarters is heavily guarded and fortified. There's one room that, if Elise is inside of it, we won't be able to breach. It has a blast door that’d make a battleship proud.”

“I can handle that,” Crank said, sounding less petulant and more competent this time.

“Sergeant Crank is the best breacher in the Union,” Briggs said. “Show us their hideout. We'll start surveillance and work up a plan.”

26

“One last thing,” I said. “Where is the rest of your team?”

He didn't answer.

We both knew he wouldn't be here without at least a squad to back him up. There wasn't a mission secret enough to violate that standard operating procedure. If I confirmed that it was only Briggs and Crank, then this was something completely different, a personal vendetta done off the books. They might even be AWOL.

The question was, did this make things better or worse? How desperate would these two bad-asses be if pushed into a corner? What incentive would cause them to go renegade when they had everything they could want in the Union military?

I almost hoped they were part of a larger strike force.

Briggs didn't seem like the type of man who would betray the people he saw as his rightful masters. Crank lacked the imagination to go rogue. So that brought me back to my original conclusion. He had a team tucked away somewhere and they were all Union lackeys.

“We both know you have a squad,” I said. “Keeping them in reserve is smart. Especially if you have them positioned for a coup de grace. But now is the time to call them in. We are assaulting a fortified building with well-armed and highly motivated guards.”

“You're saying that because you can't do this alone. You need our help,” Briggs said. “If you had your way, you would've already stolen the girl and disappeared.“

“All true,” I said, holding up one finger for him to stand by while I talked to someone else. “Start working on the location of their squad mates, X,” I said.

Briggs went pale. Crank made a sound of disgust and muttered swear words under his breath. They reacted differently to my being a Reaper. Crank was more dangerous in the short term. I hadn't forgot our sparring session before Dreadmax. He'd come at me with everything he had. I'd smashed him and damaged his ego. A lot of men would carry a grudge after that.

Briggs was the real danger, however.

He'd hunt me long after this was over for reasons I couldn't explain.

“Do you want to win or play games?” I asked.

Briggs turned away abruptly, consulting someone on his bone-mic radio. “Do you still have eyes on our position?” he asked.

I didn't hear everything he said, but I smiled. It was good to be right.

“Can you tap into their conversation?” I asked X-37.

“Unfortunately, no,” X-37 said. “They're using sixteen-digit encryption.”

“Can you determine if they are relying on line of sight or using remote surveillance?” I asked.

A few strides away, Crank glared at me. “Stop talking to your AI.”

“Limited AI,” I said reflexively, echoing all the times X-37 had chastised me on this point.

“Whatever,” Crank said.

“I believe the support team is very close,” X-37 said. “But not stationary. Possibly in a fast ground vehicle or dropship.”

I slipped around a parked vehicle to a better position, hoping to avoid any embarrassing sniper incident. I thought I was making progress with Commander Briggs, but that didn't mean he wouldn't order my death.

“While you're waiting, Reaper Cain, I've done some analysis on the work Tom the mechanic did on your arm,” X-37 said.

“Discover anything worthwhile?”

“Certainly, Reaper Cain. Tom's re-calibration of your micro servos have improved efficiency of your arm three percent. I am exceedingly curious to know where he learned his trade,” X-37 said. “It may not solve your most recent problems, but a small amount of relief should reduce the load on your neural network, and by proximity, your nerve-ware.”

Briggs finished his covert conversation and stepped back. “I'm bringing in the team. Don't get any ideas. I will consider your opinions and evaluate your observations of the assassins' guild headquarters, but these are my people. Keep your hands off of them. My team, my plan.”

“No problem,” I said. “What’s their ETA? I don’t have all night.”

“My ground element—“

“You mean your sniper team,” I interrupted.

“My ground element will hold an overwatch position until the freighter lands. We will meet them on the tarmac. There is a hangar where we can plan the mission,” Briggs said.

Crank led the way to the landing pad, casually pulling aside a section of fence to gain access to the facility. The place was a step up from the smugglers’ spaceport where I kept the Jellybird, but not by much. Apparently, the FISC planners had wanted to keep their overhead down. There wasn't a security guard or even a fake security sensor array.

“How do they keep people out of this place, X?” I asked.

“They have a very strong company charter,” X-37 said.

“What the hell does that mean?” It felt like the right answer. I assumed the main problem was commercial competitors and that they were better handled with contracts in court proceedings. It was a mystery for another day why common criminals didn't break in and rob the place.

The more I saw, the more I realized there was nothing someone could steal without a huge infrastructure and distribution network of their own. It was a great place for the Union to put down spies because there were no customs agents or other regulatory systems.

Briggs motioned for me to go next. I kept an eye on him and his partner. Ambushing me at this point would be pointless—unless there was more to the situation than I realized. In my experience, every situation had a hidden layer—a chance for everything to go horribly wrong.

I didn't think I was paranoid, just prepared to kill everyone I met.

Was that wrong? I didn't think so.

Once we were all inside the perimeter, we moved quietly across the tarmac and waited. A nondescript freighter made a tediously slow descent and touched down. The rest of Briggs's team filed down the ramp.

There were five men and one woman. Two of the men made up the heavy weapons team, one was the primary gunner and a second was a back-up and ammo mule. I wasn't sure what the woman sergeant’s job was, but suspected she was cross-trained as a rifleman and medic.

They looked me over but didn't speak. It was obvious they had encrypted radio comms I didn't have access to. Yet.

“I don't see your sniper team,” I said.

“You’ll never see my sniper or his partner,” Briggs said.

“Never’s a long time.” I respected snipers. Of all the types of enemies I could face, they were the most dangerous. Memories of what happened to Byron Thane proved my point.

Briggs ordered his team to set up a table inside the hangar. The building was simple, a large open space in the middle with two levels around the edges that contained workshops, offices, and windows to view the outside areas.

Crank pulled the door down and slid a crossbar through the latch.

“David, Holmes, set up security. No one in or out,” Briggs said.

The two soldiers went to opposite corners and stationed themselves on upper levels near windows with a commanding view of the tarmac and the access road to the building.

Briggs faced me, leaning on the table as though ready to get down to business. “Corporal David and Lance Corporal Holmes are good men. Your Reaper friend won't be able to get by us if that's what you're worried about.”

“He doesn't have a reason to attack us here,” I said. “So I'm not worried about it.”

“Good,” Briggs said, waving his team closer to the table. He moved a collection of tools around to represent buildings, intersections, and vehicles. “Gunnery Sergeant Samantha Bane is my second in command, an order from her can be considered an order for me. If I go down, she's in charge regardless of rank.”

“Zero fucks given,” I said, causing Crank to swear.

X-37 whispered in my ear, “This is actually very relevant information. I had assumed Sergeant Crank was his second.”

I didn't want to respond verbally, but I had assumed differently. Crank wasn't leadership material, he was a heavy—a bone breaker and enforcer, someone who could force open doors with various tools.

“You can drop the act here,” Briggs said. “We're professionals. If I tell my team to work with you despite your past, then they will.”

I looked over each member of his squad. “I believe you.”

For a second, I thought the man would throw my ‘zero fucks given’ comment back at me. He restrained himself and continued the briefing.

He lined up a series of wrenches to indicate his personnel. “Bane, Crank, Orlando, Jonji, Galen, David, and Holmes. Orlando and Jonji are my heavy gun team. Orlando carries the squad automatic weapon.”

“And I'm his ammo bitch,” Jonji said.

No one laughed, but I liked the guy already. If he was intimidated by my Reaper hardware, it didn't show.

“What about your sniper team, who are they?”

“You can call them sniper one and sniper two,” Briggs said. “Now we construct what you know about the assassins’ guild headquarters so we can plan this mission.”

“Are you also trained as a medic?” I asked Gunnery Sergeant Samantha Bane.

She narrowed her gaze. “How did you know that? My file is as secret as everyone else's on this unit. Your limited Reaper AI shouldn't be able to touch it.”

“Just a guess,” I said. “Your tactical first-aid kit is better positioned for quick use on your gear. Take Crank, for example. I'm sure he can reach his medical gear, but I'd bet money it's been a while since he actually did.”

“I told you to keep your hands off my team,” Briggs said. “Let's get started.”

I nodded, then stepped forward and scanned the planning board we treated more carefully. X-37 copied it and placed a wireframe version in my HUD where he manipulated elements such as personnel movements and expected defenses.

While Briggs and his team were pushing around tools and machine parts as map icons, I was getting detailed variations on the scene in three dimensions with annotated timelines we could expect.

X-37 and I kept it on the down low, with me talking to the limited AI as little as possible.

Briggs touched his ear, then adjusted the receiver box on his armor. “Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker. Okay, go.”

“I've got one pedestrian approaching from the south. Looks civilian. No weapon seen. Unknown intent. Subject looks to be in his 50s or 60s and dressed like a factory worker. I'm no fashion expert, but I'd say that jumpsuit he's wearing is his only outfit,” said the voice of Corporal Holmes.

“Anyone you know?” Briggs asked me.

“Can he send video?”

Briggs removed a panel from his armor and put it on the table. He touched the screen and a grainy image popped into view.

Tom walked hurriedly toward the industrial quarter. If I didn't know better, I'd almost assume he was a maintenance man for FISC.

“Well?”

My instinct was to offer complete denial and feign ignorance, but I had to admit there was a chance Briggs’ sniper team had seen more of my movements than I realized. Getting caught in a lie when I needed these people to trust me wouldn't be helpful.

“I've seen him a few times. I think he's a homeless machinist or something,” I admitted like it didn't matter.

“What's he doing here?” Briggs asked.

I shrugged. “Going to work? Union taxes ain't free. Someone's got to pay your salary.”

“Bane, Crank, check him out while our Reaper finishes explaining the layout of the target building,” Briggs said.

I complied, watching this scene unfold through video surveillance of Corporal Holmes. Gunny Bane and Sergeant Crank intercepted Tom, rousted him for information after a search for weapons, and sent him on his way.

I moved one of the wrenches closer to the box that represented the building we would be assaulting. “The approach shouldn't be a problem. We can have an overwatch here and here, covering the opposing corners. I'd like to take everyone inside but keeping a perimeter could be important if they tried to move the principal.”

“David and Holmes will handle that. They’re my most junior operators and they're good at that sort of thing,” Briggs said without sounding arrogant or condescending when he assigned them in their minor role. “I'll fill them in after the briefing.”

27

I allowed Briggs and his team to clear the area without my help. X-37 kept track of their movements and how long it took them to secure the zone around the entrance to the assassins' guild headquarters.

“Fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds,” X-37 said.

“Not bad for an entire city block,” I said, keeping my eye on Briggs and Crank, who had a position slightly offset from my own.

“Agreed,” X-37 said. “However, he did not clear the interior of many of the buildings.”

“Shouldn't be a problem,” I said. “The issue is going to be getting inside, then finding Elise.”

“Commander Briggs has an excellent team of commandos. I find their records disturbingly hard to penetrate, but direct observational data suggests they know what they're doing. Your real problem, in addition to those you've listed, will be Reaper Thane.”

“You're not wrong,” I muttered, my eyes focused on the narrow building between two larger buildings.

“When have I ever been wrong?” X-37 asked.

“We're going to play that game?” I was distracted with an idea that seemed almost too obvious.

“It is not a game,” X-37 said. “I have, in fact, never been wrong, only misinformed. Had sufficient data been supplied during the rare instances I made a mistake, I would have functioned adequately.”

“That's basically the same excuse I use,” I told him.

“Truthfully?” X-37 asked. “I will add that to my data collection for future analysis.”

“It wasn't actually a compliment,” I said. “How thick are the walls between our target building and its neighbors?”

“Excellent question, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Your perception of the exterior of our target is false. The two neighboring buildings are part of the assassins’ guild fortress. The narrow ‘building front’ is merely a façade.”

“Well, things just got a lot easier,” I said, motioning Briggs to approach for a conference.

“Not necessarily,” X-37 said. “While they may be accessed through one of the neighboring buildings, there will be heavy resistance. Those buildings have large open spaces with mechanical stairways and deep balconies. The effect is aesthetically pleasing; however, it is also purpose built as a battlefield.”

“Keep talking,” I said to X-37 while holding up a hand for Briggs to hold on a moment.

He waited on the knife edge of patience and annoyance.

“Much of what I am sending you on your HUD is an extrapolation of what I believe the interior to look like. I was able, for example, to locate work receipts from the original construction site. The manifest suggests there is a series of mechanical stairways, or escalators, and also some fountains. But I cannot tell you their exact position,” X-37 said.

“What do you think about the neighboring buildings?” I asked Briggs.

He looked across the wide boulevard at our target. “I think there's a decent chance they're owned by the assassins' guild. Can your Reaper AI determine how thick the walls are between the structures?”

“Limited AI,” I corrected.

“Of course. I stand corrected,” Briggs said sarcastically.

“That entire city block is owned or controlled by the assassins’ guild. The foyers of the neighboring buildings seem to have been designed with aesthetics and defense in mind.” I studied the outcroppings and street-facing sections of the larger buildings. “From what X tells me, the flanking buildings have overlapping fields of fire on the front door I was taken through initially. It's not a public entrance, but anyone seeking a contract will eventually learn where it is and approach this way. Which means it has to be defensible.”

Briggs waited, not interrupting me. I saw this as a mark of a good leader. He was still an asshole in my book, but it could be worse.

“If we try to go in the same way I went the first time, we will probably be mowed down by gun turrets,” I said.

“I don't see anything like that,” Briggs said.

I pointed toward glass walls angled toward the smaller building between them. The owners of the smaller, older building had refused to be redeveloped, forcing the new structures to grow around them.

“They’re behind those walls, probably disguised as some sort of decorative feature. When they open fire, the blown-out glass will cut anybody making an assault on the guild to pieces,” I said.

Briggs nodded. “It's obvious once you look at it the right way.”

“There isn't a good alternative, given our time limitations. You can still use our plan with a few small adjustments. Order your team to advance on the east building, enter as though they are regular citizens, but stay ready to fight because there won't be much finesse in this assault.”

“I'll make some adjustments to the plan,” Briggs agreed, then rejoined Crank near their observation post. They stood near a park bench pretending to smoke, which I thought was the first amateur thing they’d done. It was clear neither of them knew one end of a cigarette from the other.

Some time passed.

“I would really like to hear their communications,” I said to X-37.

“It's not my fault that Commander Briggs refused this option. Given sufficient time, and with the right systems, we could break their encryption.”

“Looks like the mission is a go,” I said, watching Briggs nod at his team members converging on the east building front door.

They wore trench coats and other types of civilian clothes designed to conceal their weapons and armor. It wasn't a ruse that would hold for a long time, but we only needed a minute to begin the assault.

I stepped off the curb and walked toward the east building.

The Union spec ops team slowly converged, not walking together exactly, but close enough they could transform into a fighting unit in seconds.

Crank went through the front door, followed by the others. He immediately veered off. Much of this foyer was glass, allowing a partial view from the street. The morning sun turned much of the building into an orange mirror, but when I got close, I could see what was happening.

The interior walls, I guessed, were concrete-reinforced steel made to look like cheap office building walls.

I saw three escalators twisting up to the second level, where there was a balcony type concourse. I also spotted an elevator bank with two well-armed guards. They wore tactical armor and carried short rifles, which was apparently acceptable to the patrons of the complex.

“I wonder how many of the bystanders know they are working in the hub of the Zag City criminal underground,” I said, suddenly curious.

“I would guess less than ten percent,” X-37 said.

“This is going to be messy as fuck,” I predicted, walking in after Briggs's team, but before the snipers who had come in from their posts with close-quarters weapons instead of long rifles. I still didn't know their names, but they looked serious and experienced.

X-37 realized where I was looking and explained, “Commander Briggs left junior members of the team on the perimeter. The sniper's primary mission is long-range target acquisition and neutralization, but I suspect their long experience with this unit has also given them substantial room-clearing skills. I think Briggs made a good decision by including them in the assault.”

I agreed but didn't say anything. I'd only taken one glance at the men but marked them as people I didn't want to tangle with unless necessary.

We spread out into a wedge formation, moving through the lobby without much subtlety. The heavily armed guards at the elevator immediately perked up, stepping back inside bunkers and opening gun ports. Several doors opened on the second level and security teams filed out much faster than I had expected.

“Here goes nothing,” I said.

Crank led the charge up the leftmost escalator, eliminating the need to protect that flank. He swept his weapon up, brushing back his long coat. For a coldhearted brute, he showed surprising restraint.

An alarm sounded, warning everyone there was a terrorist incident in progress. Many of the bystanders threw themselves to the ground and covered their heads. Others stood confused. Some ran for the front doors.

The rest of the team charged up the escalator behind Crank. Orlando and Jonji assembled the squad automatic weapon near a fountain and started laying down suppressive fire on the balcony.

I sprinted up the rightmost escalator, gaining the second-floor concourse long before the Union soldiers finished the first part of this assault.

Doors slammed shut. Warnings announced that the escalators and elevators were shutting down for security reasons. A voice declared that this was not a drill. It then went on to explain that police teams were on the way.

A pair of guards in business suits tried to stop me. I pulled my .45 and dropped them with head shots from thirty meters, which was at least five meters outside normal combat effectiveness of a handgun.

Another man stepped out of a door closer to my position. I kicked him hard enough that he flew back into the room he'd come out of. I hesitated a second too long and the door closed, the lock snapping shut loudly on some sort of magnetic switch.

“I didn't want to go that way anyway,” I muttered.

Glass exploded. Alarms blared. Security doors slammed shut. The elevator guards opened fire to their gun ports, but they'd already lost the angle when Briggs took his team to the second level. It was the only good thing that had happened in our favor.

I'd expected this to be one hell of a fight, but this was like going up against seasoned ship Marines defending against boarders.

“I wish I'd made Briggs give me some body armor and an HDK,” I said as I moved along the wall, seeking a better position of cover. The only thing that was keeping me alive was that most of the fire was directed at the spec ops team, who appeared to be the main threat in the situation.

They didn't really know me.

“He would've refused,” X-37 said.

His voice always sounded off when I was in the middle of a fight. He didn't get winded or change his rate of speech when things got complicated. It helped me stay calm and detached, but could be distracting.

Briggs and his team assaulted the elevator nexus on the second level. I watched, slightly annoyed with their choice. We were trying to get into the elevator or go to a different level. The entire reason for being in this building was to get to the center building and gain access to the interior of the assassins’ guild complex.

I made my way to Crank and snatched one of his breaching charges from his vest. He looked at me strangely while he was reloading, probably suspecting he'd been robbed but not having time to check his inventory.

“Just stay behind me, Reaper. I'm wearing armor. You're not,” he said.

I didn't want to link up with him, but he headed into a room and it was bad form to leave a teammate hanging. Following close behind him, I immediately turned right and cleared everything in my sector. We met in the middle.

“Clear,” he said.

“Nothing seen,” I answered, feeling nostalgia for my time before Dark Ops in the Reaper Corps.

We moved on, encountering some resistance, but driving most of the guards back rather than killing them. There was bloodshed, but less than I expected after the initial assault.

Briggs pulled the teams back together when he could and abandoned his attempt to take control of the elevator and stairways.

“That was a feint, in case you were wondering,” he told me as we fell in beside each other.

“Sure,” I said. “It got us this far.”

We made our way to several hallways before I realized we had moved from one building to the next. “We are inside their headquarters.”

Briggs looked at me, simultaneously signaling Crank and one of the other soldiers forward to deal with the next intersection. “How do you know? More Reaper AI stuff?”

“Limited AI,” I corrected again. “And it's the emergency lighting. I remember that from my visit.”

He nodded and adjusted his team’s movements, still refusing to allow me into the radio comms.

“You realize they are keeping their comms away from you because they plan to betray you in the future,” X-37 said.

“Thanks for the pep talk. I couldn't figure that out myself. But maybe it's just standard operating procedure not to let an enemy agent on your secured network,” I said, keeping my voice low to avoid drawing attention from my temporary teammates.

The next section was clearly defensive. I thought we were underground now, with several stairways and ladders required to get to their current location.

The hallway we had to traverse was wide and inclined to a broad double door that looked blast-proof. There were several landings on the incline without much in the way of decoration. I counted three escalators going up and three escalators going down, but they were all turned off.

“Team, move,” Briggs said. “Let's double-time. I don't like this. Spread out into fire teams. Bounding overwatch.”

Crank bounded first, not taking a partner. Up until now, he'd been attached to Briggs. They'd been searching for me while the rest of the team remained hidden. I assumed this was because the two men could identify me more easily than the others. Our time together on the Dreadmax mission had been memorable to say the least.

The team was halfway to the double doors when the gun ports snapped open.

“Orlando, suppressive fire!” Briggs ordered.

Orlando and Jonji set up the squad automatic weapon on one of the escalator railings and opened fire, spraying the gun ports with bullets. Jonji fed the ammunition belt into the weapon, reaching back for the next belt without having to look for it. His backpack seemed to be growing lighter with each encounter.

The spec ops team rushed the big center doors, bounding over each other and shooting at the gun ports, hoping for a lucky shot, but knowing this was a bad spot to be in.

David went down. Holmes helped him up. They staggered to a wall that put them at a better angle to avoid being shot but kept them from proceeding forward.

Gunny Bane and Corporal Galen moved to the other side of the multiple staircases. Ricocheting bullets screamed in random directions, proving the walls were reinforced and bulletproof. Shell casings spilled down the stairs like a miniature brass avalanche.

“They’re concentrating fire on the SAW!” Crank warned from his higher vantage point. He was pinned down but had a good view of the action.

Jonji took a bullet through his left arm, his armor absorbing some of the force but failing to stop it from penetrating. The impact flipped him sideways and he tumbled into the open. The stairwells around the escalators were surprisingly good cover, but once he was out on one of the landings, his chance of survival evaporated.

I dove at him, grabbing his armor with my Reaper hand and dragging myself toward cover with my natural right hand.

X-37 suggested I move to cover with no change in his voice. It was times like these when I thought my only friend was a computer program with no soul.

Like I had one after all the things I'd done.

Working quickly, I pulled a tourniquet from his med pack. Seconds later, I tightened the strap and clamped the lever down to hold the life-saving device in place.

Gunny Bane stared at me from her own position, unable to cross the open area to reach us.

“He’ll be okay but will need some attention soon. The tourniquet can’t stay on forever,” I shouted.

She nodded as though she understood. A moment of silence came after an intensive exchange of gunfire.

“That was risky,” she said. “You didn't have to take that kind of risk. You’re not even part of our unit.”

I didn't answer.

Another exchange of gunfire provided an opportunity to move and I took it, noticing that Bane replaced me at Jonji’s side.

“Good news,” X-37 said. “I have hacked into their comms.”

I reached one of the access doors and knelt beside it, pressing my body as flat as I could to avoid exposing myself to further attacks. Meanwhile, I listened in.

“I don't care if he saved Jonji; we still can't trust him,” Briggs said to no one I could hear.

Whoever he was talking to either chose not to answer or was unable to answer.

“We can't keep this up,” Gunny Bane said, her voice hard. From what I could see of her, she was sheltering Jonji with her body armor while she adjusted the tourniquet and spoke on her radio. “We only have so much ammunition.”

“I'm at the main blast doors,” Crank said. He didn't sound tired or concerned about the violence around him. It was a side of the man I didn't know well. “I don't have the breaching charges needed to force the door. I'm missing one somehow. But I can blow the control panel and that may get us in.”

“Do you see Cain?” Briggs asked.

“No,” Crank said. “I'm telling you we can trust him for now.”

That surprised me. I wouldn’t have guessed Crank would support me even for a second. Maybe he'd seen my desperate rescue of Jonji. Or maybe he just understood I wasn't about to sneak off during a fight.

“Thanks for hacking their comms, X,” I said. “Can I also communicate with them?”

“Yes, but I would advise caution. Being able to listen in covertly may provide a tactical advantage for you in the future,” X-37 advised.

“Understood. I think it's worth the risk.” I moved to the next access door without drawing fire. It was a good sign. The Union spec ops team was low on ammunition, but maybe the guards were as well. They were exceedingly well prepared but probably never thought they'd actually have to do their jobs.

“Cain for Briggs, how copy?” I said.

A few seconds of silence followed.

“You're not authorized to use this channel,” Briggs said.

“Technically, I'm not authorized to be alive, but I'm a glass is half full kind of guy,” I said. “I have Crank’s missing breaching charge. If you can cover me, I can make it to his position and help him blow the door.”

“You stole explosives from a Union soldier?” Briggs demanded.

“I was looking for cigars,” I said, imagining that he suddenly realized who had taken his stash during our first meeting. “Don't worry about it. Crank and I can get through and continue the mission. That should be enough of a distraction that you and the rest of the team could follow afterward.“

Briggs growled something I didn't understand. “I'm not crazy about it, but I agree with your assessment. I'll direct the team to lay down heavy suppressive fire. That will be your cue to move.”

“Thanks,” I snapped, preparing myself to sprint for the main doors.

“You're a real son-of-a-bitch, Cain,” he said. “Did you rob Jonji when you saved him? I told you to keep your hands off my team.”

“I had to do something to keep you honest,” I said. “If I hadn't taken those breaching charges, you would've left me here without a second thought.”

“We'll talk about this later,” he said. “Let's get this done. I'm sick of this place.”

Moments later, Briggs and the rest of the team created a massive diversion. I rushed across the remaining distance to Crank’s location.

28

I handed over the breaching charge to Sergeant Crank. He glared at me, taking the pre-wired bundle without looking at it.

“You're welcome,” I said.

He snorted and went to work. Moments later, he had three explosive packages expertly placed to not only blow the control panel, but force a gap in the door that could be expanded with a mechanical tool.

We stepped back, ignoring the gunfight until he set off the charges with a remote detonator. Stepping through the smoke, I saw his work had been done to near perfection. My image of the man changed.

Until now I thought he was just a hotheaded bully who liked to choke people out on the jujitsu mat. Now I understood he was more complex, as most people were when you got to know them. Crank knew his job and was proud of his work.

Maybe that was why he hated Reapers. He had probably been taught we were a bunch of murderous rogues who needed to be put down like rabid dogs. To someone like Crank, all that mattered was his training. He believed what he was told and executed his missions with bravery and tenacity.

I still didn't like him.

“We need to hold here and wait for the team,” Crank said. “Standard procedure, or have you forgotten?”

“No time for that,” I said.

“If we go now, we would just be rushing to failure. Better to rally the team,” he said.

“True, but I'm still going right now. You can come with me or you can stay, your choice,” I said.

“You need to stay,” he said, implying that he might restrain me if he could.

We both knew how that would end.

“I'm going after Elise,” I said.

“Then get the fuck going,” he snarled, then turned back to the fight that was still raging in the hallway.

I heard him taking shots, covering Briggs and the others as they bounded forward dragging their wounded teammates.

It wasn't long before I found a familiar hallway. I made my way to the library-like cathedral where Mr. Gold ran his criminal enterprise.

He probably could've locked me out and kept his best guards to fight me off, but I sensed he wanted a conversation. There were only three people in the room when I entered: Gold, Thane, and Elise.

“I apologize for my lack of hospitality, but it seems most of my people are repelling invaders at the gate,” Gold said without standing up from the huge chair that he had pushed back slightly from his desk. On his left, Elise sat patiently. Near her, Thane stood silently. He still had his mask on. He held a gun that would make Orlando and Jonji’s squad automatic weapon look tame.

I focused on Gold, assuming he was in charge of this interview. What I didn't understand was Elise. She hadn't been this timid, even with the compliance control drugs Michaels and Olathe had used on her.

“I'd offer you refreshments, but your friends in the Union are becoming quite a nuisance,” Gold said. “They'll never make it this far, you know that.”

“Then what's the rush?” I asked, moving closer to the desk and removing two cigars from a tray.

“I don't take chances. That's why I'm running the place,” Gold said.

There still wasn't a reaction from Thane. He watched my every move but said nothing. Elise closed her eyes. I wasn't sure if she was sleeping, passed out, or suffering from some sort of chemical restraint.

“You really should call back your guards,” I said. It wasn't the smartest thing for me to do but would give Briggs and his crew a chance to survive. With luck, they might even help me. I nodded toward Thane. “I hope you're not expecting him to help you.”

“He's more on my side than he is on yours,” Gold said. “Would you like to know why?”

I had a theory but wanted to hear him say it. “I'm listening.”

“Because I can protect the girl. I think your Reaper friend has a crush on her,” Gold said.

Thane shifted and I thought I saw him clench his fists angrily. He never looked away from me, however.

“No one stands against the Union,” I said.

“Except Reapers who are supposed to be dead,” Gold said.

“He might have you there, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

My vision flickered, causing me to wonder why I hadn't had any hardware or nerve-ware attacks during the assault on the assassins' guild headquarters. Thane stood a few strides away, yet I was functioning nearly as well as before I came to Greendale.

X-37 had told me he couldn't activate the ROS device while engaging me in close combat, which made sense in this room, but what about in the hallway or on the stairs?

“What are you doing, Thane?” I asked.

“Playing the long game,” he said.

“Don't talk to him,” Gold interrupted. It was the first time I'd heard him raise his voice and it sounded strange.

I stepped closer to the crime lord, turning my back partially on Thane. Every instinct warned me not to do this. It was like standing with your back to a firing squad.

“What do you want from me, Gold? No one needs two Reapers. If you hadn't stacked the deck against me, I might've taken this one out for you, if that's what you need. But I'm standing here with a half-empty pistol and no armor. He's got all the advantages,” I said.

“You think you're smart,” Gold said. “But you don't understand leverage and assets and how to manage the Union. All I have to do is hide what they want most, and then negotiate. And negotiate. And negotiate some more. And only give them what is to my advantage to give them.”

“Yeah, I'm not sure you are working with the same Union I'm talking about,” I said. “The team breaking down your door now might not get the job done, but there's a lot more where that came from.”

“You’re just a vigilante,” Gold said. “I know what you did on Boyer 5. Now you're here and think you could pull off the same thing. Well, you're going to respect me and do what I say. Just like your Reaper friend. How did he get two mechanical arms when you just got one?”

I ignored his question. “You can't control him.”

“But I can,” he said, then pressed a button. Elise screamed and tumbled out of the chair, weeping in pain.

“I said don't hurt her!” Thane lunged forward, punching Gold out of his chair.

“I'm not sure Mr. Gold's actions had the desired effect,” X-37 said.

“Agreed,” I said.

Gold scrambled backward, holding his bloodied lip. He watched Thane with wild eyes but constantly jerked his attention toward me, because he had probably just realized I was the more rational mass murderer.

“Don't talk to your Reaper AI,” he demanded, struggling to his feet but continuing to back away.

“Limited AI,” X-37 and I said at the same time.

I had a feeling there was a safe room or something he wanted to get to.

Thane seemed to have forgotten me or didn't care I was here. He grabbed Mr. Gold and lifted him off his feet, slamming him against the wall. “I told you not to hurt her. You promised she would go with me and that you would get answers from Cain.”

Four AG guards in heavy armor appeared through a door that had previously been a section of tasteless wall paneling. They aimed HDK rifles with extended magazines at Thane.

“Put him down, now!” the leader shouted.

Thane shifted so that he held Gold between himself and the guards. He grabbed Elise by her hair and dragged her closer to him. She tried to get up, but another shock drove her back to the ground.

Gold breathed heavily, his pride starting to show through. “You're just a kid, Thane. Can't even control your hormones.” He laughed. “You're sweet on her. Which is cute. But it won't be cute when you take her to Fratley. He'll sell her, but not to you.”

Thane grabbed both sides of Gold's head and screamed as he twisted his head around backward. “You're a liar! You're a liar like everyone else!”

I dove toward Elise before the guards opened fire. X-37 was shouting at me. Thane was beating Gold’s corpse. The assassins’ guild guards were advancing, firing until their magazines ran dry and reloading on the move. The sound of their weapons echoed from the high ceiling.

Falling over another person seemed like a simple maneuver, but was surprisingly difficult. Elise twisted and turned, but I noticed something.

She wasn't squealing and crying in pain as she had been when Gold zapped her. It was more like she was trying to break free of my weight.

“Can you get off me!” she hissed between her teeth. “You’re ruining everything.”

“I'm saving your life,” I said.

Thane leapt over us, extending a blade from each of his augmented Reaper fists. Blood spurted across the room as he stabbed the first two guards where their throat plates were weakest.

“You're not rescuing me, you're ruining my escape. Do you have any idea what it was like to get dragged all over the city by that idiot,” she said, then attempted to knee me in the groin.

I heard shouts from the doorway, then saw stun grenades bouncing near us. I rolled off Elise and held up my left arm to protect my eyes. At the same time, I opened my mouth and leaned forward to prevent the overpressure of the explosions from damaging my lungs. These were probably less lethal, but knowing the Union, they were also probably overcharged.

I heard Briggs and Crank yelling orders. I saw more assassins’ guild guards entering from one of their secret doorways.

Elise scrambled toward a floor grate, clearly too confused to execute her escape plan because the grate had solid bolts holding it in place. A heartbeat later, she pushed the entire mechanism aside and dropped into the ventilation system like she'd planned this or something.

I came to my feet but stayed low to avoid getting my face shot off. “X-37, you're fired.”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” X-37 said.

“You should've seen this coming,” I said as I ran, dove, and rolled out of the middle of the gun battle.

“As a limited AI, I did calculate 17,235 possible scenario endings. Would you like me to begin at the beginning or help you with what you're facing now?” X-37 said.

I would've told him to fuck off if I had the time and thought it would do any good.

“I feel it is a good time for me to point out that you are too big to follow Elise,” X-37 said.

I slipped into one of the doorways and drew my .45. I had four rounds left.

“Thanks,” I said. “I figured that out already.”

“I’m hit!” Bane shouted.

Crank rushed toward her, clutching as several bullets hit him. His momentum carried him to the place she was taking cover, but he was clearly hurt badly.

Several things occurred to me in only a few seconds. I wasn't sure what Gunny Bane had been doing, but her medical kit was gone.

I leaned out, fired a round at one of the guards, then darted to Crank’s side.

“Use my tourniquet on her,” Crank demanded.

It was a stupid time and place to argue, so I did what he said, possibly condemning him to death.

It didn't take long to render aid. I'd hoped one of them had some quick clotting powder or patches I could use on Crank, but didn't find any in either of their medical pouches.

“See if you can figure out where Elise will come out of that vent, X,” I said.

Not far from us, there were several downed guards and at least one other Union soldier. I wasn’t sure who it was. I low-crawled to each body until I found an unused medical kit, an HDK carbine, and a cheap lighter, then returned to Bane and Crank.

“I can’t sit here and put this on you, but between the two of you, you should be able to figure it out,” I said.

Crank gazed at me strangely.

“I have to go after Elise,” I said. “Good luck.”

His expression was worried and confused, more emotional than I’d ever seen one of Brigg’s troops. “Why would you help us? We would have died.”

“You’ll still die.” I stared at the thick-necked ruffian. “Don’t overthink it. I’ve saved lots of people I didn’t really like that much. You’re not special.”

He laughed gruffly. “Yeah. That’s no shit. Thanks, Cain. I’ve got your back after this. We’ve bled together.”

“Yeah, great. See you later,” I said, heading for one of the small side doors the guards liked so much.

“I’m coming with you,” Crank said. “I owe you.”

“What about her?” I asked, checking the tourniquet on the gunnery sergeant.

She gave me the middle finger with her good hand.

“Mission first,” Crank said.

“Fine. Don’t get in my way.”

He presented his fist for me to bump. “We’ve bled together. That means something in spec ops, or have you forgotten?”

I bumped his fist with my metal hand, careful not to extend the blade into his knuckles. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Technically, you’re not bleeding,” X-37 said.

“Details,” I responded, leaving the scene behind me. “Tell me something important like where Thane went.”

“It was very confusing when everyone started shooting,” X said.

“Tell me about it.” I fished in my pocket for one of the cigars I’d taken from Gold’s desk.

They were both fakes. “Cheap bastard.”

29

“What’s the holdup?” I asked. “How complicated can the ventilation system be?”

X-37 beeped. “Do you want me to answer that question?”

“No. Just give me an answer to this: where is she going in that vent?” I said.

Crank followed closer than I liked. “Why don’t we just head for the exit? She’s got to go outside sooner or later.”

He wasn’t that stupid. Something about his eagerness rubbed me the wrong way. I really wished he’d stayed behind to help Bane. If she were here, that might be different. Or Jonji or even Briggs.

Crank had an ax to grind. His sudden goodwill creeped me out.

“There are a lot of exits,” I said dryly.

“But she’s a kid. I bet she heads for the main entrance. It’s a place for us to start at least.”

“Well, that’s an interesting theory, Sergeant Crank,” I said, turning to face him in the middle of a small room under some exposed ventilation ducts. “But she’s a lot smarter than either of us and probably has a plan.”

“You don’t have to be a dick, just because we’re friends now,” he said, fists clenched.

“Are we friends, Crank?” I asked, expecting him to punch me.

His expression softened. “Sorry. That wasn’t cool. Old habits are hard to break. Let’s go find the girl. It’s for her own good.”

“I don’t like his tone,” X-37 said. “Something is wrong.”

I backed Crank up a step. “Who the hell are you?”

“You saved my life, and Gunny’s life. We’ve been through some shit together. I see it now. We have to watch each other’s back, settle our differences later,” he said.

“On the mat maybe, like when we first met?” I asked.

He blushed, shrugging awkwardly. “I was a jerk back then. We trained for the Dreadmax mission and you stole it from us. All Grady talked about was what a badass you were. Sorry, sir.”

“Dishonesty detected,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, acknowledging both Crank and X-37. “Don’t get sentimental on me. Do your job.”

Crank’s old personality reasserted itself. “Where to now, sir?”

“We follow the ventilation system as much as we can and look for clues. Try to learn where she is going, if she has confederates, an escape vehicle, a safe hold. Access to money. Weapons. All the things a person on the run needs,” I said.

“I’ll take point so you can think about that stuff,” Crank said. “I know my strengths and weaknesses.”

Pain flashed through my head and static pumped my vision full of disorienting signals. I ignored the misery, refusing to let Crank see my weakness.

“I think Thane Junior, or whoever, is on the move,” I said.

Crank hesitated. “Maybe you should lead. I’ll follow and watch our six.”

“You do have Reaper tech,” X-37 pointed out. “To be honest, I wish we’d left him behind or picked up one of the other soldiers.”

“Can’t argue with you, X. Now give me a minute,” I said, moving toward a door at the end of a service hallway.

“Are you suffering an ROS attack?” X-37 asked.

“Maybe. Something is different.” I shook my head to clear my vision.

“You are aware that Reaper Thane did not activate the ROS while you were assaulting Gold’s stronghold,” X-37 said. His analytical voice took the edge off the looming ROS incident. “Your nemesis is quite clever, actually. He pitted all of his enemies together but miscalculated when he found himself too deep in the assassins’ guild stronghold. You thought you were rescuing Elise, but you were actually facilitating Thane’s escape.”

“Then why did he come here in the first place?” Pain amplified the frustration in my voice.

“To deal with the Union, and you. His enemies are dead or in disarray. The only flaw in his plan is that he didn’t anticipate Elise’s escape plan,” X-37 said.

“Wrong,” I said.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. How could I forget the most critical element of his failure,” X-37 said, his voice conspiratorial now. “His worst mistake was that he didn’t kill you.”

I missed the days when I felt like talking shit to X, but I was wrecked right now and needed to kill some shit and find a place to recover.

Crank’s footsteps were too close. I looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t bunch up. Didn’t they teach you how to maintain tactical spacing in spec ops?”

“There isn’t a lot of room to work with,” he said, slowing down as I continued toward the heavy door.

“Warning,” X-37 said.

Crank rushed me, probably attempting to be stealthy and almost getting away with it because the pounding in my head was loud as a bass drum. What felt like lactic acid filled my body, which really slowed me down.

The blade of his combat knife was a foot long. He lunged for my throat, slicing a shallow groove through the skin of my jaw as I simultaneously pulled back and twisted away.

My Reaper blade snapped out from the top of my left fist, nearly striking his throat.

He punched, kicked, and then slashed with the knife in a rapid combination that might have taken a full second.

I retreated closer to the door, watching his style, making sure I remembered his preferred combinations and timing. We’d only fought during that one session before the Dreadmax mission. He was good and more than capable of surprising me.

Which would get me killed if it happened.

He drew his pistol.

I lunged, no longer able to control the pace. He had a lot more bullets than I did. A gun fight would go to the guy with the most ammunition and better armor.

Slapping the gun down with my normal hand, I stabbed with my Reaper blade, slicing through his ear when he juked sideways.

I followed the lunging stab with an elbow strike, still using my left arm. Instead of pulling my arm back after the stab, I just rushed forward while bending my arm. The effect was zero loss of momentum or time as my elbow and forearm smashed him in the face. In effect, the lunging stab had aimed and my elbow strike had been the real attack.

He staggered, aiming his pistol randomly.

The great thing about the blade thrust to elbow strike combination was that it naturally cocked my left arm for a follow-up slash. Unfolding my arm a microsecond after I elbowed him, I slashed the blade across his face. Blood sprayed across the hallway. One of his eyes bounced off the wall.

I never kept driving my attacks forward. Pain exploded in my brain like fireworks. Static turned my vision black and white. X-37 screamed warnings that I could barely hear, even if I wanted to listen.

Crank threw himself backward, sacrificing his footing as he fell on his back. Bleeding, missing an eye, he aimed between his feet and fired.

Instinct saved me from dying, but not from getting hit. The bullet slashed across my face, bisecting the bottom half of the scar under my left eye.

I pushed off the wall, converting my desperate dodge into a final attack. My foot came down hard on his pelvis.

Crank emptied his pistol, striking my augmented arm several times. It twitched and jerked.

I fell on my adversary, seizing him by the throat with my right hand, then leaning my weight into the attack. We struggled. He attempted to dislodge me, but it was hard to do with a broken hip and his oxygen being cut off.

The feel of his throat made me sick. I hadn’t killed a man with my bare hands since getting the Reaper gear.

That probably meant something. X-37 nattered at me to focus on the fight. My conscience screamed and cursed from a place I couldn’t see or hear well.

“Your adversary is now deceased, completely devoid of respiration or a pulse. I suggest you get moving,” X-37 said, sounding strange. “You should have anticipated his betrayal.”

“I always anticipate betrayal, X,” I said. “The timing was bad. I’m under-equipped and constantly assaulted by the ROS device.”

“Reaper Thane cannot be far from your current location,” X-37 said.

“Why can’t you give me good news just one fucking time?” I asked.

“You still have one of Gold’s cigars in your front pocket. It was undamaged by gun fire. And while we’re on the subject of health and wellness, it would be a good idea to treat your injuries.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list.” I rummaged through Crank’s gear, taking his pistol and several magazines. His HDK Dominator was out of ammunition, so I left it. His medical pouch was empty. What he had, however, was water.

I ripped the hydration system off him and rinsed the nasty graze wounds from his bullets. The tear across my face burned more than the rest. Washing it out didn’t exactly feel fantastic.

By the time I was done cleaning wounds and drinking, the water was gone, so I chucked the pack onto Crank’s corpse.

“You were a real dick, Sergeant Crank. It probably wasn’t entirely your fault, but I’m not going to miss you,” I said, then walked away.

“Remorse is illogical. If you are going to feel bad about killing a person, then you shouldn’t kill them,” X-37 said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

30

By the time I left the assassins’ guild building, I was in bad shape. It took some work weaving my way through the massive police response. The boys in blue weren’t about to go in, despite evidence the worst of the fighting was over, but they were geared up for war and had at least three teams organizing for what came next.

“You there, stop. I need to check you,” an officer said.

“I’m wounded. Need to get to a hospital,” I said without lowering my coat collar or slowing down.

He followed, giving me orders to stop, but it was clear he was having second thoughts. The scene was chaotic and I was doing my best to look like another victim.

“I pissed myself, officer. Can you help me?” I asked, barely looking at him as I held on to a light post for balance.

“Uh, just get to an ambulance or go to a hospital by private vehicle. We’ve got a lot of people here hurt worse than you,” he said.

“Okay, okay. Oh damn, I think I’m going to shit myself! Why won’t you help me?” I demanded.

The officer ordered me to leave and retreated to the command center.

“That was undignified,” X-37 said.

“What I need from you is less judgment and more fixing my busted-ass Reaper shit,” I said, staggering forward and leaning to one side like a drunk. “This shit really fucking hurts and my optics are jacked up.”

“I will do what I can,” X-37 said. “Find shelter and stay out of sight.”

I nodded, took a calming breath, and pressed onward.

“Cain, is that you?” a familiar voice asked. “It’s Tom. Do you have Elise?”

“No, Tom. I don’t have shit. Maybe some new scars. How’s your day? Sleep under any good bridges?” I asked, sounding like a dick even to myself.

“It’s okay,” he said, drawing me into an alley as several cop cars and an ambulance rushed toward the assassins’ guild building. “We weren’t supposed to meet here anyway. I just hoped you had her so I would know she’s safe.”

“Who the hell are you, Tom?” My arm twitched. The sad part about the situation was that I’d grown so accustomed to my arm and other gear being on the fritz that I barely noticed.

“I used to be a ship engineer, junior grade, but that was a long time ago before I made a lot of bad decisions. I’ve been trying to make amends since then.”

“Who is Elise to you?” I asked.

“A friend. She helped me out of some rough spots. Convinced me I still have a chance to do something good,” he said. “Not many people look at me like I’m a real person. At the factory, I’m Worker 6133, the guy who never calls in sick and does solid work. Everywhere else, I’m the homeless working man with two jumpsuits and a tool kit to his name.”

“Fascinating. Where’s Elise right now?”

“We saved up and chartered a ship. That’s another reason I can’t afford rent. Getting off this planet isn’t cheap,” he said.

“Take me to the ship,” I said.

He nodded. “Let me look at your gear first.”

I leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit down. Once I stopped moving, I’d never get started again.

“I can’t access much of your operating system, but some things are mechanically universal with Union technology. I can put this in stand-by mode and rig a sling. It might give your body a chance to rest.”

“That is an excellent idea,” X-37 said.

“Do it,” I said. “And thanks, Tom.”

He nodded awkwardly and fixed me up best he could.

“Take me to the ship you chartered,” I said.

We’d gone about five blocks when a shadow stepped from a doorway.

“Are you okay, Tom?” Elise asked.

“He’s fine. Don’t you want to ask how I’m doing?”

“I don’t care about you,” she said. “Or have you forgotten the day you left me here?”

“I came back,” I said.

“Probably because you had to. Or someone paid you. Are you going to sell me to the Union now that the bounty is a hundred thousand credits?” she asked.

I groaned inwardly. Her attitude hadn’t changed a bit.

“We should go,” Tom said. “The ship won’t wait for us. We paid in advance and they have other passengers and cargo.”

“What’s the name of the ship?” I asked just in case they tried to ditch me and I had to catch up with them.

“It’s the Renegade Star. Captained by one of the sleazier characters in the business,” Tom said.

“I talked to him,” Elise said. “He’s not bad.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

“We’re not taking you,” Elise said.

Tom intervened. “I’m sure Mr. Cain can gain passage to the ship. And it might be good to have a Reaper looking out for us.”

“No way. We’re done here. Leave him and let’s go,” Elise said.

“He rescued you from Dreadmax,” Tom said in a slightly lower voice.

“Then left me here.” Her voice cracked. “Everyone abandons me eventually.”

“I came back. Let’s get this done. The Union is still after us, Thane isn’t far off, and now we’ve pissed off the entire criminal underground of Greendale,” I said.

“Please, Elise. If you don’t want to forgive him, at least do it for me. We will need him sooner or later,” Tom said.

She stormed down the street without answering.

“I think that’s a yes,” Tom said.

* * *

“Thanks for nothing, Cain,” Elise said, watching the landing pad where the Renegade Star was parked.

Union soldiers guarded the area, checking everyone booking passage off the planet. Briggs and the remnants of his team moved among them, giving orders to the regular troops.

They had also made amends with the Greendale law enforcement organizations. A dozen regular cops helped the spaceport security officers and Union soldiers. An assault team stood near their armored car.

“This is less than ideal,” X-37 informed me.

Elise argued with Tom in a low voice she probably assumed I couldn’t hear well enough to understand. Most of her tirade was a repeat of earlier arguments. I listened but didn’t listen.

“What do you see, X?” I asked quietly.

“Commander Briggs staring at us?” X-37 said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. Why isn’t he sounding the alarm?” I asked.

“Unknown, Reaper Cain.” X-37’s voice faded but was stronger than it had been for much of my time on the planet.

“The only good thing about this scene is that Thane isn’t nearby to punish me with the ROS device,” I said.

“That would also be my assessment. We should destroy the ROS at our first opportunity,” X-37 said.

“Agreed.” I held eye contact with Briggs, doubting he could see me as well as I could see him. Even with the random static in my optics, I had better range than the naked eye.

He probably saw my general shape, while I could see him well enough to read his confusing as hell body language.

“The only solid fact I have is that he hasn’t sounded the alarm. That could mean he is waiting until he has us surrounded, but if that were the case, he would pretend not to see me,” I said.

“You saved the lives of several members of his team at great risk to your own life. He must know that. Perhaps he is grateful,” X-37 offered.

“Yeah, I’m sure he wants to buy me a steak dinner and introduce me to his sister,” I muttered.

“Regardless, Reaper Cain, the fact remains that he has not sounded the alarm. The only rational explanation is that he has doubts about his mission,” X-37 said.

“Don’t you have the Jellybird?” Elise asked.

“Now you want my help?” I asked.

She clenched her teeth, clearly holding back some choice words.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I heard the Renegade Star is a bucket of bolts anyway.”

“On the contrary,” X-37 chirped in my ear. “The ship has a near legendary reputation.”

“Whatever,” I said, leading the way back to the smugglers’ landing field where the Jellybird was parked.

* * *

We approached the nearly abandoned spaceport, stopping well short of the chain-link fence and the security gate that could be opened with a passcode. There was nothing fancy about the place. A casual observer might wonder if it was even active. The Jellybird was the only ship parked on a landing strip that could accommodate seven other vehicles.

Harsh lights shone from poles at each corner of the small facility. There was an eerie silence that allowed me to hear the hum of the electric boxes for the lights.

“Jelly, do you read me?” I asked, and got no response. “X, can you reach her?”

“I am unable to make contact,” X-37 said.

Holding up a hand for Elise and Tom to stop, I pointed back into the neighborhood that surrounded the spaceport. “Find someplace to hide. Thane is here. There’s going to be trouble.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked.

“There’s no place else that makes sense,” Elise said. “This son-of-a-bitch you brought down on us knows how limited our options are.”

“I didn’t bring him,” I said. “He came for you, kid. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m no more a kid than you’re a model citizen,” she said.

“Do you want to fight a Reaper?” I asked.

She shook her head. Tom took her by the arm, and they slipped away.

I approached the gate, not sure how I was going to deal with Thane. He had armor, weapons, and a tactical advantage. This was an ambush, and he would see me before I saw him.

There were only two things that might work in my favor. He couldn’t use the Reaper off switch when we were close together, so I was looking forward to momentary relief from all the nerve-ware bullshit that had been plaguing me.

That was all defensive, and probably inconsequential.

My real weapon was information. This wasn’t Byron Thane. X-37 and I had kicked around a lot of theories, but my knowledge of human psychology and experience dealing with… the final moments of a target’s life had taught me a lot.

Everyone wanted answers. They wanted to know why they were here and what they were supposed to be doing.

“X, see if you can make contact with this supposed Reaper on our channel,” I said.

“I can see you, Cain,” a voice said. “Which means I can kill you. So keep that in mind.”

“Why didn’t you contact me before this? Your LAI and my LAI could have hosted a group chat and avoided all this bloodshed and stupidity,” I said, looking for places my enemy might be hunkered down while I edged closer to my ship.

“It’s not as simple as that and you know it,” Thane said. “Even if I trusted you, you would’ve led the Union straight to me or sold me to someone like Gold or Fratley.”

“You took the contract on Elise. You’re going to sell her to the Union,” I said. “Maybe I’m dense, but that seems like a pretty good way for the Union to find you.”

“Stop being a dumbass,” he said. “You know I was using a third-party broker. Gold set everything up and then it got complicated.”

“Why not reach out to me? If we’re both running from the Union, then we should be natural allies,” I said, almost to the Jellybird.

“That’s close enough. I’m not letting you get on that ship. One more step, and I’m sending you an HDK round via Reaper express mail,” he said.

I stopped, turning in a circle to look for his sniper hide but not seeing it.

“Tell me about my father,” Thane said.

“So that’s it,” I said. “You’re a bastard they somehow missed during his security check.”

“They knew about me. He was so much better than the rest of the Reapers that they made allowances. He brokered a deal and had me raised in secret. I wasn’t supposed to get Reaper gear for myself, but he cheated. Which pissed off the Union,” he said.

“He wasn’t that much better than the rest of us,” I muttered.

Thane laughed loud enough that I heard him without the radio link. He was near the control tower, second level, I thought.

“He was, Cain. But if it makes you feel better, he talked about you a lot. Said your moral code would bring you down. I don’t think he respected any of the other Reapers,” Thane said.

“So what’s your question? What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Is he really dead?” Thane Junior asked.

“Yeah, he’s dead as they come,” I said in a low voice. We’d hadn’t been friends and I really hated this kid Reaper, but the moment retained a sense of gravity. Byron Thane had been better than me. We’d both known it and that was why we were always competing for the best kill, craziest mission, funniest story.

And best cigars.

Byron Thane made cigar smoking an art, like they had been invented just for him.

Byron Thane Junior stepped out of his hiding place, striding toward me.

“I think this is going to get awkward,” X-37 said.

X-27, Thane’s LAI, laughed, and I realized there was something wrong with it. Probably it was a copy of the original and had inherent artifacts from the duplication procedure. Basically, X-27 was insane and serving a young man with a murderous vendetta and a lot of questions.

“What is that thing saying?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” X-37 said. “It may be a code between him and his host.”

“We should have a code,” I said as my enemy drew nearer.

“Of course,” X-37 said. “I’ll begin work on it immediately if you survive this encounter.”

Thane tossed aside his HDK, then did the same with his pistols. He left a trail of knives and other deadly implements all the way across the tarmac.

“Very dramatic,” I said dryly.

“I should remind you that he is physically stronger, younger, faster, and has two arm blades while you only have one,” X-37 said.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said.

“If you have a plan, now would be the time to tell me so that I might assist,” X-37 said.

“I have two rounds left in the gun Frank gave me,” I said.

“I was wondering why you hung on to it,” X-37 said. “Besides the obvious fact it’s a beautiful weapon.”

Thane stopped two strides away from me, extending both of his arm blades. I held up my own arm blade in a mock salute.

“You know that age and experience always trumps youthful vigor,” I said.

“You think you can draw that shitty old gun fast enough to take me down with, what, one or two bullets that you have left?” Thane asked.

“He has seen through your rather lame plan,” X-37 warned.

I pulled the .45 and fired, sidestepping, turning, and running for the Jellybird the instant after I pulled the trigger. The slide was still rocking back into place when I made my move.

“Jelly! Drop the fucking ramp!” I shouted.

“What seems to be the problem, Captain?” Jelly asked as though she’d only now realized I was at the spaceport.

Thane attacked with both blades.

I abandoned my attempt to get on the ship, rolling away and creating distance to defend against Thane’s assault.

“That was your plan?” X-37 asked incredulously.

I had two plans, actually, but no time to explain to X-37.

Thane tackled me to the ground and mounted me like a mixed martial arts fighter with his legs on each side of my torso, pinning my hips and legs while he attacked my upper body with his blades.

I deflected one with my left arm, but his left blade went straight through my shoulder, pinning me to the ground.

“You should’ve saved him!” Thane screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as his eyes twisted behind the blue light of his Reaper mask.

I wiggled the cigar knife out of my pocket with my right hand.

“You were both Reapers. They set him up. Even if you hated him, even if you were jealous, you should have known they would come for you next.” He spat the words, tears running from behind the mask.

“It’s not too late. We could beat the Union if we work together,” I said, barely able to speak through the pain.

“Warning,” X-37 said. “You require immediate medical attention.”

“You can go to hell,” Thane said. “That’s the only reason I’m here. I already knew you betrayed him. And now that you’ve admitted it, it’s time for you to die. I can handle the Union myself. You’d only slow me down.”

I tried to twist free but couldn’t move him. “I don’t want to hurt you, just saying.”

“Warning,” X-37 repeated mechanically. “You require immediate medical attention.”

Thane laughed maniacally. “You really are an arrogant son of a bitch.” He twisted his double left blade, sending fresh waves of pain through my entire body. Then he quit laughing and drew back his right arm for the killing blow.

I slashed upward with the cigar knife, catching him under the edge of his Reaper mask, slicing his jugular. The five-millimeter blade was more than enough to end his life.

His blood washed over me. His body convulsed even as I shoved him sideways and twisted out from under his weight. It barely hurt when the Reaper blade slid free of my shoulder.

Gasping for air, I staggered away from the young Reaper’s death throes, trying to stop my own wound from bleeding out.

Elise and Tom came running.

“That was your plan, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked. “We need to talk.”

I fell flat on my face and embraced true darkness. Somewhere, I heard Tom talking about taking Thane’s gear.

* * *

It was strange to have people on the Jellybird again. Elise knew her way around. She hadn’t spoken about her father, or about Dreadmax, or to me any more than necessary about anything at all.

X thought she would come around.

Tom was a surprisingly good companion. We sat on the bridge watching the walls of the slip tunnel, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey.

We had made a couple of stops after leaving the Greendale system—for essential supplies and whatnot.

I tried not to think about Byron Thane or my past. It was nice to be free of the ROS, which I destroyed and then jettisoned the pieces into space soon after my showdown with the young Reaper.

Tom began an intensive study of my augmented arm and had already made several simple repairs that provided a surprising amount of relief.

There were still problems with my Reaper gear, but having the basics tuned up took stress off the biological parts of me and allowed me to sleep better.

I rested, ate healthy, and trained just hard enough to stay sharp. It was a strange place to be—almost happy and feeling physically well.

“Shall I remove the smoking restriction from the bridge?” X-37 said over the speaker so Tom could participate in the conversation.

“Make it by invite only. I don’t think this will be a regular thing, just for special occasions,” I said to X-37.

“Very good, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said approvingly.

“We need to talk,” Tom said. “The Union won’t stop hunting Elise. Did she explain her relationship to the Lex project?”

I nodded. “Do you know what that is?”

“Only what she told me. Her father used it to keep her alive, and then basically gave her up to the Union for testing. I wonder if he had a choice, but haven’t brought that possibility up with her. She’s a long ways from forgiving him for abandoning her,” Tom said.

“She’s young and stubborn,” I said, then tried to blow a smoke ring.

“We need to get you squared away. Make improvements if we can,” Tom said.

“Everyone wants to make me a weapon,” I said casually, not really offended by the idea. It was what it was. Who was I to try and change things?

“As much as I hate to say it, we need to head for Roxo III. There is a technician there who can work on my eye, and maybe even handle my nerve-ware,” I said.

Tom shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve heard stories about that place.”

“It’s a shit hole. One of the most dangerous places I’ve ever been, but the fact that I’ve been there and survived improves our odds,” I said.

“You’re not telling me everything,” Tom said. “I get the feeling you have a more personal reason for hating the Union. I know they set you up for murder, Elise told me that. But I’m no kid. I can see when someone is struggling.”

“I have my problems with the Union,” I said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

* * *

Amazon won’t always tell you about the next release. To stay updated on this series, be sure to sign up for our spam-free email list at jnchaney.com.

Cain, Elise, and X-37 return in BLADE OF THE REAPER, available now on Amazon.

RENEGADE STAR UNIVERSE

The Renegade Star Universe

Click the titles below to reach the book’s Amazon page

The Renegade Star Series

They say the Earth is just a myth. Something to tell your children when you put them to sleep, the lost homeworld of humanity. Everyone knows it isn't real, though. It can't be.

But when Captain Jace Hughes encounters a nun with a mysterious piece of cargo and a bold secret, he soon discovers that everything he thought he knew about Earth is wrong. So very, very wrong.

Climb aboard The Renegade Star and assemble a crew, follow the clues, uncover the truth, and most importantly, try to stay alive.

The Last Reaper Series

When a high value scientist is taken hostage inside the galaxy's most dangerous prison, Halek Cain is the only man for the job.

The last remaining survivor of the Reaper program, Hal is an unstoppable force of fuel and madness. A veteran amputee-turned-cyborg, he has a history of violence and a talent for killing that is unmatched by any soldier.

With the promise of freedom as his only incentive, he’ll stop at nothing to earn back his life from the people who made him, imprisoned him, and were too afraid to let him die.

The Orion Colony Series

Humanity’s Exodus is about to begin.

When half of mankind revolts and demands more opportunity, those at the top decide on a compromise: they will build the first colony ships and allow those who are willing to discover new worlds to leave and start over.

Twelve ships are built, the first of which is called Orion. Many are eager to go, but only one hundred thousand are chosen for each vessel. Far from Earth, a new life awaits, and it promises the prosperity they’ve always wanted.

But still, resistance stirs, eager to sabotage this new expansion effort, threatening the promise of a new life. As Orion moves through the void of space, towards a distant world, its passengers must fight for survival in an unprecedented conflict.

Win or lose, their future will be forever changed.

The Fifth Column Series

After a soldier is left for dead, Eva Delgado's life begins to unravel.

The truth of what happened remains a mystery, and the government will stop at nothing to keep it buried.

Together with the unit's medic, Eva finds herself branded a terrorist and enemy of the State, hunted by two opposing governments.

When the pair uncover a plot that could have ramifications for the whole galaxy, they know they have to act, but it will take all of their training, cunning and just a bit of luck to do what no one else has achieved.

But what do you do when every secret begets another? And how far will you go to find the truth?

Nameless (Abigail’s Story)

Abigail and Clementine were just a couple of orphans looking for a home.

But when the two girls witness something terrible, they have no choice but to leave their orphanage and go into hiding. The only person willing to take them in is a man named Mulberry, but his home isn't the safest place for two innocent children.

Abigail and Clementine quickly discover that their new caretaker is the head of a guild of assassins, and the two are thrown into a whole new world of danger. To survive, they'll need to adapt, focus, and learn how to survive in a world of killers.

The Constable (Alphonse’s Story)

My name is Alphonse Malloy, and I see everything.

From a simple glance, I know your hobbies, what you ate for breakfast, how well you slept, and whether or not your wife is secretly seeing the high school biology teacher when you're not around.

I can't explain how or why I get these feelings, only that I know they're true.

All the little secrets you're too afraid to tell.

Sometimes, that means helping people. Other times, it means staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

I wish I could tell you I was using this ability for good.

I wish I could tell you a lot of things.

* * *

The Constable Returns

Alphonse Malloy may just be the smartest man alive.

A year has passed since Alphonse joined the Constables, but his work is only just beginning. In order to graduate and achieve full Constable status, Alphonse will need to complete one final mission.

When new information about an old enemy arises, Al and his mentor Dorian must head deep into the Deadlands in search of answers.

But in a galaxy of secrets, the truth is often more elusive than it seems.

As the search continues, Alphonse's talents will be pushed to their absolute limit, and he'll need everything he's learned to make it out of this one alive.

Warrior Queen (Lucia’s Story)

On a lost world, far removed from Earth, a group of humans struggle to survive.

Two thousand years after their ancestors lost control of a hidden genetics research facility, the descendants of mankind have been reduced to a tribe of two hundred survivors. They fight, kill, and die in an endless cycle, all in the hope that things will get better.

Lucia is one of these colonists and the daughter of the tribe's leader, the Director. Together with several other candidates, she must soon undergo a trial to decide her father's replacement. The winner will shape the future of the entire colony.

But the trial is dangerous, meant to test each candidate's wits and strengths to see who is truly worthy. To claim victory, Lucia will need to venture out into the tunnels near the city to search for lost artifacts known as Cores--small but powerful devices capable of harnessing endless energy.

But there are monsters here, waiting in the dark, and they are always hungry. Beware the Boneclaw, Lucia's father use to tell her, for it lives only to kill and to feed.

Lucia must do whatever it takes, learn as much as she can, and fight with every ounce of strength if she hopes to make it through the day.

Forget winning the trial. The real challenge is staying alive.

Resonant Son Series

30 floors of nightmare fueled action. An ex-cop with nothing left to lose.

After losing his job and family, Flint Reed finds himself in the middle of a terrorist attack. With nothing but his wits and experience as a former Union police officer, he must do everything he can to stay alive.

As he soon discovers, however, there are also hostages, and no one is coming to save them.

All hope falls to Flint.

But as he fights to navigate the building, the real answers begin to unravel. What are the terrorists really after, and why are they so intent on getting into the vault?

Experience the beginning of the Resonant Son series. If you're a fan of Die Hard, Renegade Star, or the Last Reaper, you'll love this epic scifi thrill ride.

Galactic Law Series

Lethal force is authorized.

In the wild space of the Deadlands, Taurus Station is where miners and tourists come to play, and the ravager gangs follow close behind. Out here, far from the civilized world, the Law has a name.

Gage Walker is the son of hard-nosed asteroid miners. Brash, rough, and crude, he's one of the few deputies working the station.

Still a rookie, Walker is tasked with the security of a mining magnate's daughter, an easy job that quickly takes a turn for the worst.

The ravager gangs want her, and it falls to Walker to find out why.

In a chase across Taurus Station, Deputy Walker must prove he's fit to wear the badge and issue his own form of justice...one body at a time.

Deadland Drifter Series

When a dental appointment goes sideways, former Union Operative Jack Burner wakes to find himself drugged, and imprisoned.

And he's given a choice: assassinate an Admiral... or allow himself to be killed.

With no other option, Jack reluctantly accepts the mission, only to find himself being trailed by a mysterious blonde woman... and she may or may not want him dead.

As if dealing with a terrorist group wasn't enough.

With the fate of the Admiral and thousands of lives on hanging in the balance, Jack stands in the middle of an event that could ignite a war on the edge of the Deadlands and Union Space.

Despite his exceptional abilities, training, and tenancy, even Jack has little to no chance of preventing this particular powder keg from exploding.

He's going to need a miracle.

Join the conversation and get updates on new and upcoming releases in the Facebook group called “JN Chaney’s Renegade Readers.” This is a hotspot where readers come together and share their lives and interests, discuss the series, and speak directly to J.N. Chaney and his co-authors.

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He also post updates, official art, and other awesome stuff on his website and you can also follow him on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

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Scott Moon

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.

He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

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Scott Moon has been writing fantasy, science fiction, and urban fantasy since he was a kid. When not reading, writing, or spending time with his awesome family, he enjoys playing the guitar or learning Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. He loves dogs and plans to have a ranch full of them when he makes it big. One will be a Rottweiler named Frodo. He is also a co-host of the popular Keystroke Medium show. You can find him online at http://www.scottmoonwriter.com