Copyrighted Material

Blood of the Reaper Copyright © 2021 by Variant Publications

Book design and layout copyright © 2021 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

CONTENTS

Don’t Miss Out

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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Important Terms and Characters

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1

“The scenery is delightful, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I crept through a brace of evergreen trees. Well rested, strong and agile, I was in perfect fighting shape except for the fact I was missing an arm. “Quiet. You’ll scare the furry woodland creatures.”

“Impossible,” X said. “And you know this. We have conversed thousands of times in complete privacy despite the external circumstances.”

Maglan rabbits bolted in three directions, vanishing into the underbrush seconds later.

“Good job, X.”

“You were the one talking.”

“Because you’re chattering like we’re on a first date. What part of hunting don’t you understand?” I asked.

“I understand all elements of our current mission. You are the one taking his ever-loving sweet time when the beast is nowhere to be seen,” X said. “We are in desperate pursuit of whatever monster has been terrorizing the locals. Their own militia can’t be expected to handle such a dire threat.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, X.”

“It most certainly does. I have been practicing on Tom and Bug. Path is too difficult to read to be much help, of course.” X-37 displayed a list of sarcastic comments in my HUD.

I ignored them, choosing to survey the most beautiful wilderness in several star systems.

The landscape around my old estate was rugged and untamed. A mile to the west, there were rolling hills covered with a lush forest. I explored it frequently, careful not to tamper with the wildlife. Watching animals frolic enriched my existence. Stalking natural creatures without killing them was meditative. My modified Obsidian armor blended with the shadows.

Birds needed to fly. Foxes needed to hunt. And Reapers needed to infiltrate, torture, and assassinate anyone who threatened people they cared about.

“I’m not a Reaper anymore, X.”

“That is debatable, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “But your biometrics are quite restful. Recovery time from the amputation will be reduced if you can avoid drinking, smoking, and stressing yourself the hell out with existential bullshit. Whether you are a Reaper is completely beside the point. Action matters, not words.”

“I need a cigar.”

“You don’t, Reaper Cain. A thorough analysis of your biometrics clearly shows there is no actual need for nicotine or other stimulants in your system,” X-37 said.

“What does that analysis say about my need for an annoying LAI?”

“Ouch. That stung, Reaper Cain.”

I chuckled at my digital friend. Our connection was stronger than ever now that he had fully integrated with my nerve-ware. Three weeks searching for news on Elise had revealed little, but had afforded me some much needed downtime. I was restless and ready to go after her with or without a plan. X-37 and my friends thought I needed two or three months before I was in fighting shape.

That was bullshit, and they all knew it. Misery loved company, and I was always on her guest list.

When I argued, Tom said rushing to help Elise now would be rushing to failure and that she had an entire fleet of qualified people to help her. He was more protective of the kid than anyone, so his stance on the issue almost felt personal—like I didn’t deserve to help her.

Whatever.

“You have drawn the attention of the red-brown mammal my archives label as a fox, though this one is larger and colored differently—especially the black paws and tail tip.”

“Yeah, I see that. Zoom in on the cubs following her. One is missing a foreleg,” I said. “Do you think that’s a weird coincidence?”

“Scanning for relevance,” X-37 said. “None found.”

“Come on, X. I’m missing an arm. That cub is missing a leg. What do you think that means?”

“Legs are not arms, Reaper Cain.”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Impossible.”

I settled down for a long staring match, glad the animals hadn’t run away already. They crept nearer. And nearer. Until the mother sniffed my outstretched hand. No moment in my career yet had felt this surreal.

She looked at me, her thoughts unreadable, then backed away. The cubs didn’t come so close, but I thought they saw me. One moment they were there, and the next they had vanished into the forest to hunt.

Was I much different? Was I protecting my pack, or leading them over a cliff? Could the fox cub survive with three legs? Who was the asshole who took the leg or had it been that way from birth?

I thought about these things a lot for the next hour. Dozens of animals came and went from view, but none of them quite like the foxes. Maybe X-37 would store the images in a priority file, but I wasn’t going to ask for the favor. This moment, this feeling, was for me alone.

Closer to my estate, there were craters and blast marks and evidence of fire. I skirted the edge of the destruction. Much of it was old, from the initial invasion. But I also saw evidence that many battles had been fought here during the last decade.

Strangest of all was my home. Viewed from the hills above, only the bunker remained. It had been ten meters below ground before I took my life pod nap and wound up in Marsi fighting Obsidians. Now it was a concrete and steel block sitting at the bottom of a large hole. Grass, weeds, and wildflowers had grown in to give the place an almost magical appearance—a harsh fortress of modern technology in an ancient and natural place.

I put it behind me, not ready to return. The monster that had been killing livestock of the local villagers needed to be dealt with. Locals stayed away from me, but I owed them something. The loss of a cow or a sheep could mean the survival or death of a family. Life in this rural area was much different than that of Maglan City or Marsi.

Since killing was my business and I needed to test my one-armed, banged-up body, eliminating the creature made sense. Dozens of families could return to tending their herds, raising crops, and crafting items they needed to survive.

Life was better here, simpler. My gut instincts, and X-37, told me it wouldn’t last forever. The war for this planet wasn’t over even though it didn’t look like there was much worth fighting for now.

I understood the truth of this whenever I saw ships crossing the stratosphere high above or heard an armored car clawing its way through narrow, overgrown trails in search of something—probably me, the last one-armed Reaper.

The monster’s tracks were confusing, but I thought I detected a pattern. This thing walked on all fours when it was in stealth mode but preferred to stand on two legs like a man. The depth of the impressions assured me that it was tall and heavy. I also knew it had four massive claws on each foot and one on each of its hands.

I stopped and watched the shadows of moonlit branches. Stars blazed brightly, and there was only a slight breeze. I could hear creatures of the night—birds, small things, and insects—but not many. This was a quiet place despite the killer I was pursuing.

The creature usually carried away its victims but had left several guard dogs lying eviscerated near a henhouse in the village to the south of my estate. One man claimed to have been mauled by the thing, insisting it was a giant, more like a demon than any animal he knew of.

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I’d seen stranger things during my trek across the galaxy.

Could a one-armed Reaper handle this thing? I sure hoped so.

A Few hundred meters behind me, a bird whistled twice. The forest went silent, and so did I.

Crouching low and taking cover behind a thick tree trunk, I subvocalized to X-37 even though my stolen Obsidian helmet had excellent sound dampening properties. “What the hell kind of bird was that?”

“My analysis suggests that is the sound of a very diligent commando attempting to imitate a wild creature,” X-37 said.

“Uh-huh. Tell me it’s not Bug. He knows better than to toy with me. I need my alone time,” I said.

“Is that what we’re doing, Reaper Cain? My records indicate that you told Bug and the others you needed to do this alone to properly safeguard the civilian population in the area.”

“All true. But you know they never listen. Wear me out, is what they do every godsdamned day.” I crept away from the tree, moving along a dense cluster of underbrush but not entering it. I didn’t need to make that kind of noise. Several minutes later, I had crossed almost two meters of the forest to take a new position behind another big tree trunk.

The bird call came again, slightly closer now. The chattering sound of a squirrel or something equally artificial answered it.

“These better not be a bunch of Obsidian assholes,” I said.

“It is far more likely they are Jump Force Troopers from Oroth. Even the Obsidian regulars have helmet comms.”

“The JFT have that too.” I knew what X meant and wasn’t in the mood to argue. It wasn’t that their gear was substantially original, although the Obsidian gear was superior. The difference lay in the psychology of the operators. Obsidian clones and their regular soldiers had sticks up their butts. All grim and silent, like that made them tough or something.

“I’m heading toward them,” I said. “There’s a better position twenty meters below here, and the next defensible area isn’t for another hundred meters up the cliff.”

“I understand your misgivings. That way is a dead end without a serious climb,” X-37 said.

“I can climb.” My LAI couldn’t read minds but had probably predicted the reason I came this way. It wasn’t just the hunt for the creature. I needed to prove myself—not to my friends or the galaxy or whoever, but to me. I’d been climbing everything I could find with one arm. The careful use of ropes and other tools got the job done, even if I was slower than I had been in my prime.

On a good day, I could free-climb almost well enough to compete. Of course, the contests I entered were always life-and-death. Second place was a permanent nap. My technique made X nervous. I had to release my grip, then snatch the next one before I fell and so on. So far, I hadn’t died.

“Perhaps you should head up the mountain and climb the cliff before you’re being shot at or pursued,” X-37 said.

I tapped a finger to thumb to indicate he wasn’t wrong, but I was done talking for now. I heard movement below, the distinct sound of someone trying to be quiet while moving through dense underbrush and not doing a bad job of it.

“That is far enough, Reaper Cain,” X said.

I gave my LAI the finger. He could see me with or without light, which made this type of nonverbal communication much easier. I didn’t have to give away my position or speak to let my nerve-ware know how I felt.

I scanned the area carefully, mostly to give X-37 data to work with, but also to allow my helmet visor to calibrate its functions. Times like this made me surprisingly nostalgic for my cyborg past, even if it wasn’t literally my past. They were the cyborg Halek Cain’s memories, but they were too convincing to be ignored. After Marsi, I accepted everything that my predecessor had done as part of my own history.

Because it was. Moping around trying to tell the difference was a good way to go crazy and be really unpopular at parties.

“There we are, X. Do you see him?” The moment I finished speaking, I detected the second figure.

“There are, in fact, two humanoid figures in military attire behind that boulder,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, I know. I saw them. Just… never mind,” I said.

“Unnecessary defensiveness detected.”

“When this is done, we’re going to go through a play-by-play analysis of my biometrics so I can prove you wrong.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. Whatever makes you feel better. I wasn’t criticizing your lack of attention to detail or mediocre situational awareness,” X-37 said.

Sometimes there wasn’t a language with enough profanity to interact with my LAI. I let this one go. “These aren’t Obsidians or JFT.”

“Agreed,” X said.

“The armor has been to hell and back. Looks like there’s some sort of ceramic sleeve between the joints, especially under the arms and around the pelvic girdle,” I said. “They painted it long after it was made. My guess is they’re on their second or third coat, each layer chipped off to make the uneven appearance more effective camouflage.”

“I agree with your assessment. The armor appears to be of high quality if well used,” X-37 said.

I watched the team for several minutes. They were patient, holding the position because they knew I was holding mine. That also meant they were sending other units around a wider perimeter to try and cut me off or flank me. I couldn’t stay here forever.

“I’m heading up the trail,” I said. “Review our previous hikes to this area and see if there’s a different way to leave this valley. I’ll climb if I have to, but I’m not ready for the big time if you know what I mean.”

“I am searching for alternate routes now, though I warn you your options will be limited,” X-37 said. “Testing your climbing skills while being pursued or shot at is not advisable.”

“I need to warn the others, X.”

“My analysis suggests they already have a team, a pair of snipers at the very least, watching the Jellybird.”

“Can you get them a message?”

“Already done. Bug says he’s on it,” X-37 said.

I focused on my own problem, then retreated up the trail toward the cliff. “I think I’ll take your advice and go up before this gets serious.”

“Very good, Reaper Cain.”

I took my time separating from the team tracking me, hoping they would proceed cautiously under the assumption I was still watching them. The beast was still out here as well. My little outing was feeling more and more like a mission—except I hadn’t planned or prepared for this and was alone.

Good job, Hal. Strong work.

The best way to climb was near a quiet waterfall. I’d been up this way before and knew the handholds. Not that this made it easy. I jumped to the first perch, seized it with my right hand, and hung there until I found both toe holds.

“Good job,” X said. “You only have the remaining ninety-eight percent of the climb to complete.”

“Can you not make me laugh, X?”

“Humor algorithm suspended for the duration of the climb.”

“Thanks.” I lunged for the next handhold, caught it, then moved my feet. There was only one other place I would need to swing my feet up, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d been roped in when I explored this area last week. With no time for safety, I was definitely risking a broken back.

An image of the commandos standing over my mangled body came a bit too clearly to my imagination. That was getting to be more and more of a problem as of late. Maybe I was reading too much or secretly avoiding the reality of my current situation with juiced up daydreams.

Lactic acid burned through my right shoulder by the time I reached the top. I wanted to puke or pass out.

“Perhaps you should climb just a little higher, Reaper Cain. Stopping right on the precipice makes a certain LAI with a vested interest in your welfare nervous.”

I let my legs hang over the edge and fished out a cigar, then opened my helmet and held it unlit in my teeth while I patted myself down for a lighter I wasn’t going to use. Firing up a fat one in the middle of the night was a good way to get sniped to death.

The commando team refused to stay in view for long, even for someone like me with excellent training, instincts, and technology. The helmet visor was good, and with X-37 double checking everything I looked at, few people could escape my notice if I was searching for them.

“They’re going to climb,” X-37 said. “Interesting choice. They must value contact over stealth. How can they be sure you won’t pick them off as they ascend?”

“They must have a sniper team we haven’t seen yet covering their movements. Or they’re just stupid.”

Mountaineering was a neglected skill with some soldiers. Few modern militaries valued planetary operations enough to conduct specialized training, not in the wild. Why learn to climb when you can rely on air drops or just nuke wilderness areas full of guerilla fighters? These guys were solid, probably an elite team.

“I’d like to see them try it with one hand,” I muttered.

“That would gratify your delicate ego, wouldn’t it, Reaper Cain.”

“Bite me, X. I was just saying.”

“Of course. Why would I think you are comparing yourself to men with two arms? You wouldn’t be bitter or just generally an unpleasant person,” X-37 said.

“Climbing up here with one arm is a big deal. Give me some credit, X.”

“I will place a positive citation in your file, Reaper Cain. I will not, however, allow you to feel sorry for yourself or mope. It is undignified.”

“They have good gear,” I said. “Came prepared. I respect that.”

“You should be moving.”

I nodded. “Yeah, X. You’re right about that.”

Slipping away from the top of the ledge was easy. The commandos would be climbing for another ten or twenty minutes at least, and their snipers were probably not above me now, which meant they wouldn’t have much of a view. So I ran without worrying about stealth.

Distance saves lives, especially when it is between you and an enemy. I watched for the creature but didn’t see any tracks or corpses of its victims. That mission would have to wait until I dealt with the commando team and got some answers.

Who was after me now?

2

I evened out my pace after a half mile, not wanting to get too far ahead of my pursuers. Losing track of them could be as dangerous as getting caught.

And my legs were tired.

“The forest has remained unusually quiet,” X-37 said.

“I noticed.” The realization didn’t reassure me. “I’ll hold my position here and see if it returns to normal.”

X-37 and I waited in companionable silence, if such a thing was possible between a Reaper and his LAI. Sometimes I treated him too much like a person. He had programming to stop that sort of thing. I was only human.

The forest remained quiet, like a battlefield before the action started.

“I’m heading up the trail. Should be able to see the commandos reach the top of the cliff,” I said.

X-37 didn’t comment.

I watched my environment as I moved, aware that I could have been wrong about the creature terrorizing the villages. My assumption had been that it roamed in the lower valley. I doubted the thing could climb, but did I really know? Predators often ranged over considerable distances. This meant it could have found another way to this altitude.

The commandos set up security near the top of the cliff, then waited for the snipers to come up. It took a while. They must have been well concealed. But this reaffirmed my conclusion: their snipers were good, and they were being deployed well.

“Make a note of the sniper threat,” I said. “Including evidence of a capable unit commander.”

“I have included that observation in our mission log,” X-37 said.

I turned away from my post despite the strong desire to keep an eye on my pursuers. The skin on the back of my neck tingled, and it wasn’t just sweat running down from my helmet this time. I’d been to this part of the forest before, but it didn’t feel like it.

This trip was like visiting an alien landscape, dark, thick with danger, and with no good way to leave.

Every ten or fifteen meters, I stopped. X-37 and I listened for things we couldn’t see.

I heard twigs breaking ahead of us, but they seemed far away, definitely not the soldiers. Silence followed. The sound began again but from a different direction.

“Could there be more than one of these things?” I asked.

“Possibly,” X-37 said. “My analysis suggests neither of these sound generators are large.”

“The beast I’m looking for is definitely big.” I moved farther away from the commando team.

Hiking up a steep trail, I gazed out over the valley. If I continued much farther, I would be entering a new valley, which meant unexplored territory. The idea didn’t thrill me.

“Are you heading over the pass?” X-37 asked. “This would be ideal for several reasons but has potential drawbacks.”

“You mean like the fact that I don’t know where the hell I’m going beyond this point?” I asked. “This hunter could be from the next valley, pushed out of its own area by an even bigger and meaner rival. We could find ourselves dealing with a pack of these things.”

“Excellent analysis, Reaper Cain. I find no fault in your logic. The choice to continue or to surrender to the commandos is entirely yours. I imagine you will rely on emotion, a decision matrix I find slightly more reliable than a coin toss.”

“You know I don’t surrender.”

“On the contrary, you have surrendered many times when it was advantageous to your goals, especially your primary objective of staying alive,” X-37 said. “Or your frequent need to infiltrate enemy held areas.”

“Fine. You’re right. From now on, I’ll surrender immediately and save everyone some pain and misery.”

X barely let me finish. “I find this an extreme and unrealistic response to my analysis. Are you being sarcastic?”

“You know you detected it.”

“Of course,” X-37 said. “I assume we will continue?”

I didn’t answer. Something bothered me about the darkness directly ahead. The trail almost looked like a chasm splitting the top of this hill. Branches and underbrush stuck out over the pass, casting shadows from the moon and stars above.

Cutting across the face of the slope to go around this pass was another way to get sniped into the afterlife. Might as well light up a cigar and sing a bawdy marching song. The total suck of crossing an open area didn’t mean I was excited about going blind into the haunted pass.

The longer I studied the danger area, the more complex it appeared. The animal path twisted upward, slightly to the left side of the pass. There were also tangles of underbrush and scraggly trees that could be maneuvered through, but not quietly, and not without getting scraped up.

My armor would protect me from damage, and if anyone could remain silent it was me, but the secondary route was less than ideal. What I needed to decide was which was worse, crawling through the tangle or cutting across the steep slopes of this mountainous area.

And there was a sinister aura about the place.

“I think there’s something in there, X.”

“Please stare fixedly at that location and don’t move while I collect the best possible data feed,” X-37 said. “High resolution imagery required.”

“I hate it when I have to do this. The minute I start focusing on one place, I feel like something’s creeping up in my blind spot.”

X-37 made several clicking sounds. “I have nearly completed my analysis. The shadows are dense. If something is hiding there, it chose the location well.”

I held my vision motionless for as long as I could, then moved away from this position and concealed myself in the shadows of a lightning blasted tree.

And there it was, a roughly humanoid shape standing near the top of the pass, its silhouette only visible because of the stars its massive form blocked out. I thought two of those dots of light could be its eyes, but that was probably my imagination. A shiver went up my spine. Were they eyes or stars or both? Was the thing linked to the unknowable power of the universe?

One thing was certain: it was bigger than a man. I had nearly missed it because its profile was as tangled and twisted as the bushes around it.

X-37 chastised me to not forget the commandos, but I ignored him. Special operation teams weren’t something I needed reminding about. This group, no matter who they were, operated on that level, and I had seen the best in action.

There would be a time and a place to deal with them or face what was coming. I didn’t think about losing, only about modifying my approach and buying time until I had the advantage. But that didn’t mean that the soldiers tracking me were as dangerous as this monster.

Maybe they were, and maybe they weren’t. But right then the unknown lay ahead, and it was infinitely more terrifying.

“All right, X, it’s game time. Show me those new and improved comms you’ve been bragging about.”

“Stand by.” A second passed. “Connection secure. Go for Bug.”

“Hey, Bug. You busy?”

“What if I was? You have like thirty-seven pallets of cheese crackers in the section of your bunker that wasn’t destroyed. I was just thinking about old times and getting ready to have a party,” he said, and the reference to our first meeting on Dreadmax made me smile despite my current situation. “Of course I’m not busy. You ditched me again.”

“Would you mind, if it isn’t too much trouble, heading toward the mountain pass? I could use some help with some unwelcome visitors,” I said.

“Well, that’s a problem too. The outer perimeter of your estate has a sniper infestation.”

I froze. “Did they take a shot?” The last thing I wanted was to have lost a friend when I wasn’t there to defend them.

“No. Path saw a reflection, and I checked it out with long-range optics. Got a good enough look to identify the intruder as a sniper, but he or she moved and I haven’t found them again,” Bug said. “Worse, Path saw more than I did, and from what he describes, their sniper is using light artillery instead of a rifle.”

“Ouch. I’m having a similar problem, sans the artillery piece but with a tactical team attached. The assholes follow me wherever I go.”

“Why don’t you talk to them and see if they’ll cut us some slack?” Bug said. “Maybe drop in with a six pack or a bottle of wine. Share some war stories. Grill some steaks. I’d even surrender some of these cheese crackers.”

“Too early for that. I don’t like to negotiate until I have the advantage. You know me.”

Bug made a nonverbal sound I couldn’t identify, not quite a chuckle. “Everybody knows you, Hal. Tom is rigging up an armored cart we can use to make a run for the Jellybird. But it takes time because we don’t have a lot of material inside the bunker to work with, not that we can guarantee it will stop a light artillery round.”

“Understood. I’ll check back with you in fifteen minutes if I can. If not, don’t wait up for me because I’m not coming home,” I said, then signed off.

“Let’s get a better look, X.” HDK D3D carbine held ready, I slipped forward a step, then another, and finally saw it towering above me.

The monster walked on two legs but looked like nothing I’d ever seen. “X, help me out.”

“Archival records suggest this could be a lion, except that its primary mode of conveyance is walking on two legs, or a bear except that it has the mane of a lion,” X-37 said.

“What about the horns?” I didn’t want to get gored by the sweeping bone spears.

“Neither lions nor bears have horns,” X-37 said.

“Thanks. That was helpful.” I sat for a moment, not having anything else to say and not sure where to go. The only good option was to shoot this thing while we were having a nocturnal staring contest.

The beast shifted from foot to foot, then squatted. Now that I had it placed, I didn’t lose it, not from this close. Something about its attention bothered me. I forced myself to remember that even though it looked like an animal, it could be intelligent.

Maglan had never been fully explored, and the dragon horses and Razors were evidence the Oroth forces had maliciously imported several dangerous species during their invasion. This thing could be the master of another planet for all I knew.

Yet, I had the advantage unless it had weapons I didn’t see or it could shoot those horns at me. The possibility was unnerving but unlikely.

Why wasn’t it attacking me?

“What am I missing, X?”

“I have nothing to add, Reaper Cain.”

When I backed up, it tracked my movement. I moved right, further up the slope. If this went bad, I wanted a chance to rush through the pass and escape both the creature and the commandos.

The giant shuffled sideways, huffing angrily and raising its forelimbs. I saw the single claw on each paw-like hand. X-37 started clicking, suggesting he was doing heat analysis of this poorly lit area, but I was way ahead of them.

Not far behind the creature were three cubs. They were a lot cuter than this thing and moved exclusively on four legs. None of them were missing limbs like the runt of the fox family. Spring was in full effect on Maglan. New creatures were everywhere.

“It seems to be protecting its offspring,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, I see the little rugrats. “

“Reaper Cain, that is not what they are, and you know it.”

I didn’t argue. Instead, I moved away cautiously, my hand raised in a peace offering, and slipped around this thing’s litter. It probably commanded the pass as a good way to hunt. Many creatures came this direction and probably wound up feeding this giant and its cubs.

“You might want to hide,” I said. “The men following me probably only know violence.”

From this angle, a sliver of moonlight touched its face, showing me sad eyes. Did it understand my warning?

I had no idea, but I couldn’t afford to stick around to find out—which meant that was exactly what I would do.

“Why have you stopped?” X-37 asked.

“I’ve got to do something,” I said, then made a short lunge at the creature.

It snarled and chased after me—holding one arm as though injured. The cubs followed along. I led it away from the main trail, then sprinted clear of its attention.

“Are you trying to keep that thing away from the commandos?” X-37 asked. “It would be far more efficient to allow them to kill each other.”

“Maybe next time. For now, the commandos are my problem. This thing has a family to feed.” I jumped a boulder, slid down a slope, and raced through a stream. “Can you send a message to the village elder? Explain how to keep their livestock safe from this thing?”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. Searching databases for precautionary methods,” X-37 said.

I cracked my shin on a rock. Even with armor, it hurt like hell.

“Watch where you’re going, Reaper Cain.”

“Unnecessary advice detected,” I grunted as I chose a new course. The creature had abandoned pursuit and turned back. I needed to get a better look at its territory and locate the commando team.

3

I could feel the creature watching me as I climbed higher. The cubs were obviously the source of the noise I’d heard earlier. The fluffy little monsters were clumsy and energetic. The mother snatched one up and scolded it, then put the terrified thing back on the ground.

None of these lessons took hold. The cubs were prone to scamper around in the moonlight. I watched from a distance until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Why are you going back, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked.

“This team is after me. They don’t need to slaughter the monster and its family,” I said. “And before you climb all over me, I get it. The thing has been savaging guard dogs and farm animals. I’m not sure how to stop that, but this isn’t right. Have you sent that message?”

“It is the middle of the night, Reaper Cain. No one has opened their electronic correspondence,” X said. “You really should complete this mission as planned. Eliminate the beast. Its children should be much less dangerous without her guidance.”

“X,” I said.

“Yes, Reaper Cain?”

“Stop.”

“Are you concerned that I am an emotionless machine only capable of real solutions to real problems? Well, I am a limited artificial intelligence,” X-37 said.

“Whatever. I’m doing this my way.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. If it soothes your irrational human mind, the plan I sent the village elders will minimize the risk of nocturnal slaughter of farm animals by ninety-seven percent—assuming they follow my directions.”

“Gee, X, it’s almost like you care.”

“I don’t, Reaper Cain. We have covered this point before.”

My LAI didn’t bother me after that. He kept his suggestions to my HUD display, which was actually useful and minimally distracting. I didn’t go far, but once I found a boulder to use as a combination observation point and defensive fortification, I put the rifle down next to me and lay prone. Getting set up as Maglan’s only one-armed sniper took two or three steps for what used to be one fluid movement.

“Looks like the tables are turned now,” I said, watching the team through my scope.

“I advise against overconfidence, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

The team moved around the creatures, but I saw that one had raised a grenade launcher and aimed it toward a small cave I now believed was their lair.

I cracked my visor and let out a piercing whistle, then repeated the high-pitched call until I got a reaction.

The commando team froze. Several of them melted behind trees and bushes. Some remained visible but not because they wanted to be seen. My excellent position was the first good thing that had happened to me all night. For the time being at least, I had a slight advantage, observing most of their positions.

Their leader moved forward. He maintained good cover despite not knowing exactly where I had whistled from. The second whistle was deceptive. It had given them a good but not perfect idea of my location.

Dangerous, but it got their attention.

“Leave the creature alone,” I said.

“Now we will see if these individuals speak Galactic common or any other language you understand,” X-37 replied.

“You’re not wrong.” I waited and got no response until the leader had redeployed his team to slightly better positions.

“What’s it to you?” he shouted.

I waited until the breeze picked up, hoping it would obscure my voice even if only slightly. “There is no unauthorized hunting here. And that beast has a litter of cubs. What kind of man takes a mother from her babies?”

“I don’t care about animals,” the leader said. “Why don’t you come out where I can see you and we can talk?”

“I’m good,” I said.

He said something in a low voice and made a hand gesture.

“He is most likely sending units to flank you, Reaper Cain.”

“That will take him a hot minute in this terrain,” I replied.

“You move well, friend,” the man said. “But don’t kid yourself. My team has never failed to make contact with a target, and we have a clear advantage in numbers and equipment. You’re as good as caught.”

He was talking just to talk, keeping me occupied while his people worked. I understood the game and was gambling the information I gleaned from his ruse would be worth it. Small clues, like the fact that I didn’t recognize his accent, or his gear, meant something. And he did speak Galactic common, sort of, which was useful.

“Leave the horned lion-bear alone. She’s hungry and wounded,” I said.

“A lot like you are, Reaper,” the commando leader said.

Who the hell was this guy?

“I have a proposition for you, Reaper,” the man said.

I understood what he was doing, moving back and forth while he talked, drawing my attention to cover what his sneaky as hell team was doing.

“I don’t advise engaging in negotiations, Reaper Cain. He is redeploying his tactical units for advantage.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, X.”

“I won’t, Reaper Cain, since it seems you have grasped the intent of my communication.”

“You’re the best, X. Don’t ever change.”

“Facetiousness and sarcasm detected. I would be offended if it were in my programming.”

The commandos tightened the perimeter. My time here was limited. I planned an escape route but didn’t take it yet.

“Why not at least talk?” the team leader asked.

I played another hunch. “I’m not interested in anything Scheid has to say.”

“We don’t work for him.” The disdain in the stranger’s voice was easy to recognize.

“Interesting,” X-37 said.

“Is that honesty I hear?” I asked my LAI.

“My analysis is inconclusive. There are too many unknowns about this individual and his team.”

“Are you going to answer?” the man asked.

I wasn’t, not yet, but he didn’t need to know that.

After sliding off the rock, I landed silently on both feet and moved away. Abandoning the position was a lot easier than taking it. At times, I barely thought about the fact that I only had one arm. For some reason, it was easier at night. I was a creature of the forest, just like the beast. This was my life now. Why compare myself to other people? Most of them thought I was an animal or a monster.

The next time I stopped, I saw two pairs of soldiers descend upon the boulder I had been hiding behind. They searched the area around it, then reported to their team leader using a mixture of helmet comms and hand signals—or that’s what it looked like from my vantage point.

“X, can you hear them? Tap into their communications?”

“I have been working on that and only just now discovered their frequency. They are using a rather primitive form of radio comms, but it is encrypted surprisingly well.”

I waited, listened, and moved again to stay one step ahead of them.

“Why did you risk yourself to save the beast?” X-37 asked.

“Why do you want to know, X? We’ve been synced long enough for you to factor in my human inconsistencies.”

“True. I am merely collecting additional data on your personality,” X-37 said. “You do have a problematic pattern of behavior.”

“I’m not sure I like the way you say that.” I crouched low and moved along the top of the ridge, looking for more territory to maneuver. Descending into the next valley wasn’t my first choice, and I couldn’t go back through territory they controlled. There was a possibility they had additional units supporting them, holding fortified positions with full combat platoons or even a company. The last thing I needed was to walk into that trap.

“You must admit, Reaper Cain, that you stop to rescue every wayward kitten or runaway that you come across.”

“Not even close, X. When was the last time I was happy about picking up a stray?”

“You are never happy, Reaper Cain, but you always do it. Elise is the first example. The odds were against survival in so many ways, yet you not only saved her, you recovered the slip drive coil so that the political refugees and their families could survive the collapse of Dreadmax.”

“Careful, X. You’re making me sound like a nice guy.” I stopped and searched for the commando team I had lost sight of.

“You are never nice, Reaper Cain.”

In the distance, the creature roared. There hadn’t been gunfire, so maybe there was another reason for its sudden outcry. I almost thought it was warning me of the soldiers’ movements.

Acting on instinct, I changed my position again even though I thought I was in a good place. The commandos eventually scoured the area, but I was safely tucked away between a pile of rocks on the side of a cliff. The creature roared again, even farther away now.

“Probably coincidence,” I muttered.

“The most concerning part about this encounter is that they have teams watching your estate,” X-37 said. “We are dealing with an unknown. I suspect you are not the only target.”

“What are you talking about, X?” I had an idea but wanted to hear it from him.

“If they are monitoring two positions, that we know of, they most likely want to confirm the location of you and your friends. That suggests they want to capture everyone simultaneously,” X-37 said.

“That checks out.”

X-37 waited as I put distance between me and my pursuers.

“Contact Bug and keep an open line,” I said.

“I am unable to make contact. This is significant because our comms have been improved since my full integration into your nerve-ware,” X-37 said. “We seem to have taken several steps back since the arrival of the commandos.”

I checked my armor to make sure batteries were adequately charged. At night, they tended to run down without solar input. “Power looks good. You shouldn’t be having an issue.”

“The commandos must have a ship they are using to interfere with our connection,” X-37 said. “Proceed with caution, Reaper Cain.”

“When have I done anything reckless?”

4

Reaching my estate took most of the night. I didn’t rush the process. Impatience would get me killed. Escaping the JFT and Obsidians in Marsi had been constant running and gunning, stealing vehicles and gear, and playing catch-up. I’d survived because I was lucky and too mean to quit.

Now wasn’t the time or place for those tactics, not with the sun rising and shadows retreating across the land.

The mystery commandos were new, but that didn’t mean I should rush to failure. This was my turf, though I hadn’t been here for a while. Sights, sounds, smells, and even the feel of the ground under my feet was familiar—like I’d been here only yesterday. I owed that to my predecessor and our integrated memories.

I stopped, listened, and heard the beast in the distance. Animal cries sent a chill up my spine. The giant was dangerous and a real problem to farmers in the area. There had to be a solution I didn’t understand that didn’t involve slaughtering creatures. Images of the monstrous beast and her cubs wouldn’t leave my head.

A river twisted toward my estate, around it, and past it, then descended in a series of waterfalls a half mile farther into the valley. There had been fields of tobacco and other crops around my house, but I hadn’t been able to attend to them and what hadn’t been bombed had been neglected for a decade.

“This is a good spot,” I said, then watched until I saw the team emerge from the pass. “We will have less chance to maintain the high ground after this point.”

The commandos crossed an open field in teams of two, covering each other like professional soldiers, then slipped into a grove of trees I’d planted in neat rows a long time ago.

“I have added an additional layer of analysis regarding their gear,” X-37 said. “There are many similarities to Union equipment and also to the JFT and Obsidians. But these are commonalities necessary to bipedal humanoids with similar technology. Both functionality and style are different from anyone we have encountered prior.”

“Could they be from Oroth?” I asked.

“Possibly,” X-37 said. “I have little data on that part of the galaxy, but I assume if that were the case, they would be outfitted in stolen JFT gear, or something similar. I know rebels exist, but I was led to believe the Oroth Council ruled with a heavy hand and would not allow any serious resistance. The most likely scenario is that they are from a nearby vassal state, a system also under Oroth control, but are better able to resist using unconventional warfare.”

I observed the commandos until each of them were concealed in the trees and moving toward my position. With no way to estimate their speed, I assumed they were making the best possible time for professional soldiers on foot.

“Let’s go, X.”

“I can say with confidence they moved beyond the creature and its cubs, based on the howls in the distance,” X-37 said.

“Good. Keep thinking of ways to stop the beast from hunting near the farms and villages in the future. Right now, the commandos are my only concern. Try to contact Bug or the others again.”

“None of them have responded,” X said.

“Are the links working?”

“Unknown. They should be, but I lack tools to assess their end of the comms network. We won’t know until they do in fact respond or we contact them in person.”

I ran along a trail invisible from a distance. The edge of a hill blocked the view from one side, a grove of trees on the other. Why was I so concerned about the beast in the hills?

Because it was a simpler version of me?

Maybe.

I was definitely a wounded creature—a killer trying to look after a few people I cared about. There was a line the animal couldn’t be allowed to cross, but this was a big planet with not a lot of people left. There should be room for everything and everyone.

“This is the wrong direction to your estate,” X-37 said.

“I’m looking for the snipers. Doesn’t do me much good to go home and take a light artillery round in my back.” I hadn’t used the tactic but knew it. Weapons like Bug had described existed between rifles and field pieces. They fired flat like a rifle but hit hard enough to turn an armored car inside out—or rip through several human targets without slowing down.

“It will be big, X. I can’t think of many locations in the area where I would set one up.” A breeze brushed my face. “So that leaves only a few places to check.”

“Move slowly, Reaper Cain. Don’t get caught,” X-37 said.

More useful information appeared in my HUD—temperature, wind direction, hours left in the day. Sneaking up on a sniper during the day was tedious work, even slower than what I’d done to slip away from the ridge last night.

I was proud of myself—hadn’t smoked a single cigar or ran except when the way was absolutely clear. One might call that patience and maturity.

This wouldn’t be over for hours, maybe days. There wouldn’t be time to sleep or eat more than the handful of snacks left in my kit. I pushed thoughts of hunger and discomfort out of my head.

A pair of soldiers flinched when I finally moved close, but they didn’t see me. Waiting until they focused on my ugly block house in the crater, I made my final approach on their hiding place.

The weapon poked through several bushes. Moving it more than a few centimeters would take work, which was by design. The observer had a shorter rifle ready, but both men were lying prone with grass, leaves, and twigs attached to their armor.

“My analysis suggests they lack advanced stealth technology,” X-37 said. “Their reliance on natural camouflage is refreshing.”

“Most field units do, but I take your point.” Everything I learned about these commandos was new. Were they better or worse than the Jump Force Troopers or the Obsidians? My most recent enemies were dangerous, but each in their own way.

Something about this group was… more complete. I tried to explain my observation to X, voice low in my helmet despite the sound cancellation properties.

“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘complete,’” X-37 said.

“They’re a tighter group, maybe even family, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.” He made barely audible clicking sounds I associated with data processing. These weren’t necessary but had always been part of my LAI. “Nepotism virtually guarantees workplace dynasties instead of meritocracies. Most military units discourage the close association of family members.”

“Usually, X, but not always. Not something they did openly in the Union, but it happened. Any decent unit begins to feel like family after a time. This is more like that,” I said. “Their leader repositioned them before trying to talk to me. Good tactics for any combat unit, but the way he did it was different—like he gave a shit.”

“You are most likely filtering your own preconceived definitions through unknown social, political, and training systems,” X-37 said.

“You’re not wrong.” I was barely listening now. “I’m close. Once I take out that gun, Bug and the others can escape.”

“Unless this team has already shot them, thus explaining their failure to answer comms,” X-37 said.

“You had to make it ugly.”

“Stop, Reaper Cain. There is a second team coming up from below. They were covering this pair. You were very nearly discovered.”

“Thanks, X.” I slowly backed into a tree that had been hollowed out by lightning. My Obsidian armor disappeared into the deep shadows.

The team joined the snipers. Before long, the leader of the group arrived with the squad that had been hunting me. He put out guards, rotated his snipers, and took his helmet off. Few of the men or women shared skin tone or hair styles, yet there was something about them. Easy toughness, a wink at a joke, sharing food or a gun magazine.

Those not on guard duty or the sniper cannon smiled and talked as they ate, laughing but not loudly. Fist bumps and easy companionship marked them all as the best of friends. I couldn’t quite hear what they said from my hiding place. I was downwind.

“Can you push through the trunk and leave on the other side?” X-37 asked.

“I don’t think so, X.” The simple scene captivated me. It reminded me of my early days as a soldier. “They don’t see me yet.”

“But they will,” X-37 said. “The leader appears competent. He will order another search of the area as a matter of course.”

“That will suck if I’m still here.”

“How are you planning to leave?”

“No idea, but I’m working on it.”

The leader made certain each soldier had eaten, seen to gear, and put on his or her helmet. Two at a time were given naps while squad leaders reviewed their mission objectives. I couldn’t hear because they did this with their visors closed for maximum security. X-37 probed their radio encryption but hadn’t broken in yet.

“I’m waiting until the lead snipers rack out before I make my move.”

“Excellent plan, Reaper Cain. This will give you several seconds before their best marksmen are fully awake and alert,” X-37 said.

“That’s your estimate,” I argued.

“Correct. Ignore it at your peril.”

A patrol went to scout around my estate. Another pair moved closer to the Jellybird to switch out troops with surface-to-air missiles.

“I was wondering why she hadn’t taken off,” I said.

“My analysis suggests that she could survive an escape from the surface-to-air missile on the perimeter but would have no place to go—unless you have her pick you up,” X-37 said. “There is a forty-one percent chance you could sweep in and recover your friends without fatal injuries or critical damage to Jelly once you are on board.”

“Keep that on my list of options.” I leaned toward the edge of my hiding place. “Can’t risk calling her now. We lose Jelly, we lose any advantage we might gain with the team back together. And they have their own ship somewhere close.”

“Very good, Reaper Cain. You can be taught. The surface-to-air missiles are dangerous, but the real threat must be a hidden warship.”

“It’s time,” I said as one of the lead snipers and a medic lay down with their visors blackened—not as good for me as both of the top shots racking out at the same time, but I’d take it.

“Entering escape and evasion mode,” X-37 said. This was new, something that increased his efficiency several percent. Most of the time we worked in general operation mode, which was flexible in all situations. During the final stages of my nerve-ware integration with his software, we learned new tricks.

I ducked out of the hollow tree, stayed low, and slipped around the back of the trunk. Seconds stretched out. Two more strides and I’d be clear, able to hustle down an animal trail without alerting the guards. That wouldn’t last, but if they let me get that far, I had them beat.

“Halt!” a woman shouted.

“The armor doesn’t differentiate between male and female soldiers,” X said.

“Thanks for the tip, X. Super relevant right now,” I grumbled.

“That’s him!” She came after me with several of her comrades on her heels.

I sprinted for the trail, leaping a fallen tree trunk, splashing through a stream, and pounding my way up a steep slope. Slugs peppered the leaf-covered ground as I hopped over the ridge, then I rolled, came to my feet, and charged across a clearing.

Commandos spread into three distinct groups. One behind me and one on each flank. If I looked back, I knew I would see another pair of snipers setting up while still leaving the primary team pinning Bug and the others inside the bunker.

I dove into the first river deep enough to swim and stroked downstream for all I was worth. Flotation baffles kept the armor just below the surface. There wasn’t a self-contained breathing apparatus in the gear, but the suit held several minutes of usable oxygen.

“No one has followed you into the water. They must detect a flaw in your tactic,” X-37 said. “You’re making good time but they are flanking both sides of the river—if my deductions on their prior movements are correct.”

A rock thumped my shoulder as the current picked up.

“You are also moving toward a waterfall of unknown size and power,” X said.

“You see that?”

“I predict it using currently available information combined with data from our previous exploration of the region. Please remove yourself from this water. The ability to see and hear your environment would improve my analysis.”

“Sure, X.” Each cluster of rocks came faster. I hit one so hard it rang my bell, then I started playing a defensive game—more floating and deflecting rocks and less swimming.

“I suggest adjusting the buoyancy of this armor before going over the edge, should you fail to extract yourself from the torrent,” X-37 said.

A branch scraped across my visor. Rocks hit me like they were moving instead of vice versa. The currents turned me head over heels several times.

I seized the next tree root and heaved myself into the crook of a rock. The current pulled at my legs. My helmet and armor purged water, blasting air from one-way vents. The explosive sound drew the attention of my pursuers, who quickly surrounded me on both sides of the merciless island.

The leader put one foot on a fallen tree and leaned on it. “Halek Cain, is that you?”

“Yeah. What’s your name?” I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

“Justin Augustus Garrison. My troops call me Jag,” he said.

“Get lost, Jag. Attacking a Reaper is bad for your health.” My hand slipped. A few more centimeters, and I’d be back in the water and going over the side.

“I’m not here to kill you or your people, Reaper Halek,” the leader said.

“You sure as hell fooled me. What are my chances of surviving this waterfall, X?”

“Decent. It’s more than large enough to kill anyone without protective gear. I say sixty percent survivable in your case,” X-37 said.

“You’re screwing with me, X.”

“Perhaps a little. We both know what you’re going to do.”

“Hey, Jag,” I shouted.

“What, Halek?”

“See you at the bottom.” I launched myself over the edge of the waterfall.

5

Hitting the bottom of the waterfall had to be one of my more epic moments. An obstruction bumped me out from the cliff, aiming me at the center of the pool. Normally, I would take that as a good sign if that area wasn’t filled with large rocks. After tucking into a ball, I hit relatively calm water like a face-first cannonball.

Under the surface, I aimed my hand in front of my head and cruised smoothly past a pair of boulders that could have ended my career. The flotation baffles in my armor lifted me toward the surface. I considered venting air but decided against it. In theory, I could walk across the bottom of the water for up to five minutes. Not knowing the terrain down there was a problem, so I skipped it.

My backstroke was decent, even in Obsidian armor. I took in my environment, searching for the commandos or any other danger. I hadn’t been in this valley for days.

“Congratulations, Reaper Cain. You survived,” X-37 said.

I crawled out of the water and looked for a hiding place. There was a trail on each side of the waterfall leading to this surprisingly peaceful area. The forest came right up to the water, and the animals were already returning to their usual pastimes after my obnoxious entry into their domain.

“What now, Reaper Cain? Your failed attempt to neutralize the primary sniper team put you right back where you started. If you try to reach Bug and the others at your estate, there will most likely be deadly consequences,” X-37 said.

I expelled the water out from my armor and hiked into the trees. “I don’t know, X, Jag sounded like a reasonable guy.”

“I’m waiting on more input to decide whether or not you are being sarcastic,” X-37 said.

“Doesn’t matter.” I climbed over a fallen tree, edged up between the tangle of branches until I could see back the direction I came from, and searched for pursuit. So far I was in the clear, but I didn’t think that would last. “He says he’s not here to kill me, which I doubt. Oldest trick in the book. But I’d like to know what my options are.”

“I would send him an inquiry, but they are not allowing any communication between our technology and theirs. There may be compatibility issues, or a low-tech security option I haven’t seen yet. Such methods can be effective.”

I slid down from my perch, picked one of two animal trails, and moved quickly away from the water. They could find me, but it would take time. I wanted to choose our next meeting place. Ideally, I would have my friends with me in the Jellybird as we orbited the planet and watched them poking around the forest, but I didn’t think that would happen.

“Enemy patrol detected,” X-37 said.

“I see the sneaky bastards,” I muttered. “They’re playing it safe. Smart. They have the numbers and understand teamwork, apparently.”

“Do I detect resentment, Reaper Cain?”

“Of course, X. I just want something to be easy. Is that too much to ask? Why can’t my enemies just send a bunch of incompetent clowns after me?” I spotted a hill with a steep front and a solid escape trail off the back of it.

“Do you wish me to answer that question?”

“Sure, X. But do it in your new silent language so I don’t have to listen to it.”

“Don’t take out your hostility on me, Reaper Cain. I’m not the one who nearly got caught multiple times since we began this expedition,” X-37 said.

“Don’t ever change, X. What would I do without this witty banter to stimulate my imagination?”

“You would be bored and take it out on an innocent bystander, providing you could locate one.”

This back-and-forth with my LAI was our tradition, trash talking each other and not wanting it any other way. Twisted as it seemed, a little bit of confrontation calmed me down. Nature had built me that way, or maybe life experience had mutated my coping mechanisms.

I reached the hill, scouted it, and decided it was the best place I was going to find. Waiting was hard, but eventually the commandos approached, surrounding as much of it as they could. I controlled the high ground and was ready to start shooting the moment they closed off my escape, which they didn’t.

Sure, slipping away would be sketchy just like the rest of this cat and mouse game, but I had evaded the best in the galaxy.

“That’s close enough, Jag,” I called out.

“You know that position isn’t as good as you think it is,” he answered.

“I work with what I’ve got, don’t you?”

“Good point,” he said. “I told you we’re not here to kill you. You’re dangerous, so I take precautions because that’s what I do. Just talk to my boss, and then we can go on to the next job.”

“Why didn’t you say so,” I said. “Send him, or please, please, please, her, up and we’ll have a chat.”

“He’s not here, Halek. I have to take you to his ship.”

“There are problems with this proposal,” X-37 warned.

“I know, X.” The man’s offer was appealing for several reasons, despite the danger. It implied I might learn something and even, let’s be incredibly hopeful, make an ally to help me fight the JFT and the Obsidians.

“Talk to me,” Jag said. “When you go quiet, I assume you’ve slipped away again.”

“I’ll meet your boss, but not with your team surrounding me,” I said. “I’m not a prisoner.”

“You could be,” he said.

“And you could be short four or five members of your team first,” I said. “Not worth it, if you give two shits about them.”

I thought he did. The risk was calculated. His team was one of the best I’d ever seen, and I hoped that meant he was a good commander—that he cared about his troops and took care of them. If that were the case, he wouldn’t want to sacrifice them needlessly.

“I’m a reasonable man,” he said. “Give me a list of demands, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Step one, give me comms with my friends. I don’t see why you get to talk to your team, but I’m all by myself.”

I expected a sarcastic response or a straight refusal. What I got instead was an ashen look on his face. Maybe that was a reflection from his visor, an angle of the light I wasn’t aware of. But I didn’t think so, because his stance changed as well.

Jag had been confident, almost on the offensive. My words had struck a bullseye.

“That’s not possible,” he said.

“Are you sure, because that’s my number one demand. Figure something out, or I’m a ghost.”

He conferred with his second in command, then faced up the hill. “We’ll allow your communications when you allow ours.”

“What the hell is he talking about, X?”

“Apparently, he believes you have the ability to interfere with his primitive but highly encrypted radio frequencies,” X-37 said.

“That was rhetorical, X.”

“I’m not well-equipped for rhetorical questions, Reaper Cain.”

I focused on Jag. My LAI would have to wait. “I guess we have something in common.”

Jag spread his hands. “I suspect we do.”

“Are you going to tell me about your communications problem, and mine?” I asked.

He shook his head, the movement distinct but minimal. This guy wasn’t a fan of drama. “Don’t worry about it. When comms go down, it’s a bad sign. I’d hoped this world was outside the danger zone.”

“Explain that,” I said.

His answer didn’t come quickly. “Maybe when I trust you better. There are worse things in the galaxy than Obsidians or even the Oroth Council.”

“Ominous,” I said, weighing the information. I hadn’t expected to get much at this stage. X and I both knew our recent communication problems were part of something larger. We had been operating with the best gear and the best calibration since my return to Maglan. Now, it was like we were banging rocks together in hopes of making fire.

“Give me your pledge of good behavior, and I will allow you to keep your weapons. Consider my team an honor guard as we escort you to our employer,” Jag said.

“I like it, except for the part where I’m surrounded by your team. You and me. That’s the deal,” I said. “I’m sure your team can come running to the rescue if we have a disagreement.”

“True. So why not just save everyone time. Let’s travel as a unit. Safer,” he said.

“Not a fan of that plan. What would you do in my place?”

“You’ll be the death of me, Halek.” He conferred with his leaders. They looked unhappy, arguing with their hands. He stayed calm as his second in command started pacing back and forth and eventually punched the palm of his hand with his fist.

“I don’t know who that person is,” X-37 said. “But I doubt he trusts you in the slightest.”

“Must be a smart commando.” I checked my little kingdom on top of the hill to make sure no one had encroached upon my territory. The blocking teams were in place, but I still thought I could get away if I had to. It would be messy, and I doubted I would be on good terms with Jag the next time we spoke. He didn’t look like someone who wanted his soldiers reaped.

Jag came to the foot of the hill. “You and me. But I have a team a half kilon ahead and a half kilon behind.”

“That works,” I said. The term ‘kilon’ felt familiar but reminded me I was dealing with a new civilization with their own culture, science, and measurement systems. Like other worlds I’d discovered, we shared foundational concepts, including language. The how and why of this recurring phenomenon wasn’t something I understood. It was what it was. “Clear out your people, and I’ll come down.”

He gave orders. “They’re moving out, and I’ll come up.”

“Suit yourself,” I said.

* * *

We hiked in silence for nearly an hour, evaluating each other and looking for his team. He probably knew right where they were and was just acting out of habit. I scanned everything I could, feeding data to X-37 to analyze. So far, his people were following the agreement. None of them were closer than promised.

“I need to know who you work for,” I said as we strode up an animal trail.

“Can’t do that. He won’t pay me if he thinks I tipped over the teakettle,” he said.

“I’m a good actor. Part of my job.”

“He assured me he will know if I leak his identity,” Jag said. “I assume that means you have some kind of history. I think he’s harmless, if that makes you feel any better.”

“No one I have a history with is harmless. Don’t you know anything about Reapers?”

He smiled wryly. “Didn’t until this mission. He told me a bunch of stories, which I didn’t believe. Watching you move, I see you’re formidable—despite missing an arm. So maybe some of his yak droppings are not too imaginary.”

“I have a theory about this individual’s identity,” X-37 said.

“Me too, X.”

Jag looked at me but said nothing.

“It’s complicated.” The last thing I wanted was to explain my LAI to a total stranger. We hadn’t killed each other, but that didn’t mean we were friends.

“He warned me that you talked to yourself,” he said. “I’ll lead for a time. This path is narrow.”

We twisted our way up and over into the next valley. I didn’t need additional clues once I saw what was parked in the clearing. The Lady Faith had been destroyed, and this ship was sleeker, something I wasn’t sure had been possible. The Lady Faith II looked ready for speed. Her larger engines promised to dust any ship challenging her to a race.

James Henshaw, the ocular engineer I’d first met on Roxo III, had been her captain and owner. This scenario fit his style perfectly. Lots of secrets, no reason to trust him, and him putting me in a situation that would probably get people killed.

“Fight any death matches lately?” I asked Jag.

“Strange question.” He didn’t look back or change his stride. A few minutes later, we reached a meadow that ran right up to the edge of a cliff and gave us an excellent view of the scenery. Henshaw had selected the only valley more attractive than the one I lived in. It was far less practical in terms of farmable fields or roads, but that wouldn’t matter to him. This was a set piece to display his new ship.

“It might be someone else,” X-37 said, not exactly reading my mind but easily predicting my thoughts. “James Henshaw is a notorious gambler and could have lost it in a card game or some other chance encounter.”

Jag pointed at the ship. “He’s probably inside or down by the hot spring. I told him to stay in the ship, but he insisted that my team could keep him safe. For all the stories he told about you, the man believes you wouldn’t hurt him. Thinks you might even risk your life to save his. That true?”

“Who are you talking about?” I asked just to be difficult.

He let the question go and led the way down into the valley. X-37 updated his topographical maps. I watched Jag and looked for further clues about who he was and where he was from. His team kept their distance, honoring our agreement perfectly. They even veered away from the ship so that when I approached, it would only be with Jag and not all of us meeting up there at the same time.

“Can you call him?” I asked as we made our final approach. “I’d like to meet him outside,” I said.

“Why?” Jag asked.

“Reasons.”

He shrugged and faced the ship, activating his radio I assumed. “He’s not answering. But, like I said, our radios have been crap since we got here. The men think I’m just putting them through more hand signal drills.”

“But you’re not the type of leader who would do that, mix things up and test them,” I said.

He laughed. “You got me. That is something I would do. Every day is a test. I’ll go knock on the door if you want to wait here.”

“I do,” I said. “I appreciate your team honoring the deal.”

“Of course.” He approached the Lady, appeared to try his radio again, and finally banged one armored fist on the door.

6

James Henshaw strode down the ramp in a flurry of color. He wore a waistcoat of red, pink, and white silk. His voluminous black pants swooshed with each stride. The only thing I recognized from his previous attire was sturdy sandals. His hair was a bit wild, full of braids and extensions. He had glowing piercings that reminded me of Path. I would’ve never met the sword saint if not for this man, but that was a long time ago.

“You can’t just slam your knuckles against the exterior of my ship! I was told your people were barbarians, but this behavior is just uncivilized,” he said. “Don’t you tell me it can take it. I know it’s a starship. I was taking a nap. And that was incredibly rude. Why didn’t you use the radio?”

They exchanged words I couldn’t hear. Henshaw grew nervous.

“Fine. I suppose that can’t be helped.” He walked toward me, arms spread wide. “Halek Cain, how good to see you.”

I held up my right palm to stop him from coming closer. He stared at me like I was a mutant—or a one-armed freak. The man probably expected the cyborg or a clone with two natural arms. My amputee status confused him, apparently—no mechanical arm to confirm my cyborg reputation and lacking the natural limbs of an HC clone.

I didn’t think it would take long for him to discover I was something unique, but the effect was less satisfying than I guessed it would be. Would he believe I was the biological original of all other Halek Cain’s before me?

“Henshaw, good to see you and the Lady. Did you rebuild her?” I asked.

“A complete rebuild, using new and improved materials you wouldn’t believe. Sometime, if you can scrounge up that old mechanic Tom, I’d love to go over it with him. You’re looking well,” he said.

I stared at him, wishing I had a way to wave with my imaginary left arm—or give him a Reaper arm middle finger. He got the idea, I thought, and had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“I see that you have suffered an amputation,” he said. “I’m not surprised that you are still in the field, hunting monsters and causing trouble. I followed some of your recent adventures until our connection became weak.”

“And you didn’t notice I only had one arm?” Suddenly, I wasn’t in the mood to play with this guy.

“The camera view was from a considerable distance, and I had a hard time believing you climbed that cliff with only one arm. Any reasonable observer would’ve come to the same conclusion I did. But let’s move on. You should know better than anyone that your condition isn’t permanent.”

“Are you going to build me a new arm?”

“I might do exactly that, but one thing at a time, Hal.” He motioned toward his ship. “Come inside, have a drink, let’s figure out how we can help each other.”

“No thanks. Last time you brought me onto a ship, I wound up fighting a death match against a master sword saint. Why did you send this team after me? Their services can’t have come cheap,” I said.

“Of course not. You know me. Only the best talent will do. As for why, do you really expect me to tromp around in the woods?” he asked. “That seems like a needless—not to mention horribly uncomfortable—risk.”

“Could’ve just come to the house. Maybe sent a message when your comms were still working.” I waited for X-37 to put suggestions on my HUD, but all he left was a symbol to indicate I should keep going. “Do you owe Jag and his team money?”

“We have a contract. I’ll pay, don’t worry. And can you keep your voice down? That’s extremely rude to erode the confidence of my business partners with that type of talk,” he said. “I have money and other things of value, including skills which you, apparently, are going to need more than anyone in the near future. I’m trying to help Elise. She doesn’t know I’m here, but finding you is the first step toward my redemption.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said. “She’s mad at you, and you think giving me a ride to her war against the United Sovereignty of Oroth in the Zakion system will put you back on her good list.”

“I might have taken a few calculated risks that didn’t pay off,” Henshaw admitted. “General Hastings told me to get out of her sight until I could be part of the solution and not part of the problem.”

“General Hastings,” I said.

“Pardon? Oh, right. You wouldn’t call her by her title. No one calls her Elise. She’s not a kid anymore,” Henshaw said.

“How are you paying these commandos. They don’t look cheap,” I said. “We had an interesting trip through the forest.”

“Back to that again? I told you we have an arrangement. They are good,” he said, mostly dodging my questions, which was pure James Henshaw.

“I’m going to cut you a break, Jimmy. Since we were old friends and all. But I’m not in the mood for shenanigans. We’re going to sit down and have a serious talk about the Oroth Council and their Jump Force Troopers, the Obsidians, and Scheid.”

He kept his mouth shut and avoided eye contact.

“I bet you know a lot more about Scheid than anyone else I could interrogate,” I said. “You fell out of favor with the Union because of your scientific choices. And so did he.”

“We are entirely different people! He’s a monster, totally obsessed with clones and DNA manipulation. I just do cybernetics, which you need,” he said.

“I’m watching you, Jimmy. Mess with me, and you might survive it. You put Elise or any of my friends in danger, and you’ll wish we’d never met.”

“You wound me, Hal,” Henshaw said. “Sometimes I do the right thing for the intrinsic value in doing good. I’m a gambler, not a psychopath.”

“Uh-huh.” I tried to cross my arms but transitioned into grabbing my left shoulder with my right hand. Massaging the pain there or just holding the damaged side of my body had become a habit since the amputation. I felt better protected with my arm covering my center, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Let me help you help Elise,” he said.

“That is exactly what you’re going to do. And when you double cross me, I’ll put my size twelve Reaper boot right where the sun doesn’t shine,” I said.

“When have I done something like that?”

“Be careful, Jimmy.”

“Right, of course. You haven’t forgotten the duel. That was completely necessary, I assure you. How else could I have shaken my debts on Roxo III and continued on to assist you and your friends?”

“You see, you’re already revising events. Let’s focus on something a little more current,” I said.

“Like what, Hal?”

“First, you’re going to come clean, then give me a blow-by-blow history of the Oroth War and why they attacked Maglan in the first place. Don’t leave out details about Doctor David Scheid, how he got to Oroth from Union space, and why he’s so hot to butcher me and my friends.”

“You are as relentless as ever,” he said.

I fired up my cigar and gave the ocular engineer my complete attention.

“There has always been strife in the Oroth Sector,” he began. “The system itself is home to the most advanced civilizations and planets rich in resources. For thousands of years, they traded with neighboring systems in the sector until they just took over. My limited, and frankly not very interesting, research suggests it was largely a practical and financial convenience at first, but it quickly became an empire, although I wouldn’t call it that. They become extremely defensive when you criticize their government.”

“I bet,” I said, then blew a decent smoke ring.

“Julius Augustus Garrison and his people are a good example of one of the neighboring systems not entirely comfortable with the arrangement,” Henshaw said. “They’re not fighting a war, per se. This is more of a financial arrangement for them. They don’t tell me about their long-term plans, and I don’t ask, honestly.”

“They’re lucky to have a patron like you,” I said. “How does Scheid fit into this?”

“You’re jumping ahead, but I can summarize. This is all so extremely tedious. The Oroth Council was created to deal with some sort of external threat from beyond the sector—deadly swarms, mindless aliens, and all that nonsense—but quickly became tangled in local politics and civil war. Scheid is the same way. He claims that he is taking charge for the greater good, that he will be the one to save everybody in the end. You’ve heard the same old tired fearmongering story dictators always use,” Henshaw said.

I thought about Jag’s reaction when communications went down. He had said there were worse things than the Oroth Council or the Obsidians. The man didn’t look like he feared much, but news of poor communications had drained the color from his face. He had been assuming I was blocking comms, just like I assumed about him. But reality was worse.

“There must be some truth to the threat,” I said.

Henshaw shrugged. “All I know is that this situation will be much improved when I demonstrate my good intentions to Elise.”

“And that’s what you want me for?”

“Well, yes,” he said. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that plan.”

“It’s a great plan, Jimmy. Let’s head back to my place and talk about it,” I said. “If it’s okay with your sniper team?”

“Oh, of course. We should reconvene where I can refuel and recharge the Lady. We can fly.”

Jag called in his team, held a thirty-minute debriefing with them, and boarded. Watching them raised more questions than it answered. The most important was, did I really want any of these men or women as my enemies?

I approached Jag, weighing the man’s actions, before he boarded the Lady. Respect could be a dangerous thing. The last thing a Reaper like me needed was to like my enemy.

“What’s on your mind, Halek?” he asked.

“Comms.”

His jaw tightened.

“What did you mean?” I asked.

“About worse things in the galaxy?”

“Yeah. What’s keeping you up at night, Julius Augustus Garrison?”

My use of his full name caught him off guard, lightening the mood slightly. Maybe it even made him trust me a half percentile more than when we started. “I don’t know where you’re from, but I bet we have similar stories. Dark things from the deep void coming to destroy our worlds. Hungry things. Ghost stories and creatures in the night.”

“Every culture has something like that,” I said.

“These are more than stories. I need to get back to my men. Good luck, Halek.”

“Thanks.” I smoked a new cigar as he boarded. “I could take that guy in a fight.”

“My analysis of your chances remains inconclusive,” X-37 said. “My recommendation is to avoid testing that theory.”

“Whose side are you on, X?”

“Yours, Reaper Cain.”

The Oroth Council, General Scheid and the Obsidians, galactic ghost stories—the sooner I found Elise and the others, the better our chances would be. Having two arms, Archangel armor, and a fleet of warships might also come in handy.

After one last view of the waterfall, I put away my cigar and went onto the Lady, glad to see the ship had been rebuilt. Fate had given her a second chance. Why wouldn’t I get one as well?

How the hell did I lose the people I cared about. Bug, Tom, Path, and now Henshaw—every person I found reminded me of what was important: friends, family, and doing whatever it took to keep them safe and happy.

7

Henshaw flew the Lady with an elegant style that matched the ship’s design. We swooped from one valley to the next, made a wide arc, and set down as lightly as a bird on the landing pad.

None of the commandos talked much. I took my helmet off. Henshaw nattered on about this or that, saying a lot of nothing. Jag and his commandos just kept to themselves, all professional all the time. I caught them telling quiet jokes when they didn’t think I was looking, but that was rare. For about five seconds, I wished I was part of their team—or their family.

With them sitting in the passenger area, still fully armed, it was easy to assess their gear. The armor was lightweight but tough. I guesstimated this by the number of dents and scratches suggesting physical insults had been turned away from the person beneath. The leather underneath alloy plates looked worn but well cared for. They liked their blades, which was always indicative of a warrior culture. Each member of the team had a shield strapped to his or her back that they never used. The hilts of short swords protruded from beneath the dull metal discs.

There was a story behind that gear. None of them seemed inclined to tell it.

I wasn’t sure what to think about their guns. They probably fired projectiles, but I wouldn’t know the propulsion system until I broke one down and had a look. Were they using cartridges? Air pressure? Electromagnetic rail technology? One thing was certain, I wasn’t going to underestimate this band of war fighters.

“Jag did not seem to be intimidated by Reaper stories,” X-37 observed privately.

I stepped out of the main passenger area and found a seat on the observation deck, which was closed since we were flying within atmosphere. Without slip tunnels and stars to gaze at, this place felt like an out of season resort. Planetary sightseeing came via cockpit windows and camera feeds.

“He didn’t,” I said. “The man looks tough. Moves with confidence. He’s got strong, calloused hands. Definitely collected some scars over the last couple of decades.”

“I would prefer they remain on this ship while we travel on our own, or find some other way to secure a tactical and strategic advantage,” X-37 said. “Jag’s soldiers treat him like a patriarch and a drill sergeant.”

“Agreed. Let’s keep an eye on them and hope they are just what Henshaw claims, soldiers for hire who will move on to the next job without a second thought,” I said.

“That would be ideal,” X-37 replied.

The trip was short, and we soon landed. I stepped onto the landing strip and hailed Bug, hoping our comms would work better now. “Bug, how copy?”

“Loud and clear, Hal. I don’t know what the hell was going on earlier, but I could barely talk to Path three meters away from me using comms,” Bug said.

“Where are you, and where are Tom and Path?” I asked.

“All three of us see you, but we’re not together. Each of us has a defensible position. Path is watching from his forge. Tom has the inner perimeter. Got him in support for now. I didn’t want to lose everybody at once if this was a trick,” Bug said.

“I like where your head’s at. The leader of this group is a guy called Jag. His team is an unknown quantity but very professional and well equipped. High quality operators, internally loyal, and not impressed by Reapers. Let’s not mess with them if we don’t have to. I’m hoping they will take their paycheck and go once this is over,” I said.

Behind me, Jag deployed with a squad and set up security, apparently holding the rest in reserve. His guards spread out and faced away from the center, weapons ready, eyes scanning for danger. Henshaw was nowhere to be seen, just taking his time as usual.

Bug exited the front door of my bunker, his rifle ready and his helmet visor closed. We exchanged a fist bump before Jag came over to introduce himself.

He presented one hand for a handshake, something I didn’t see much. “My name is Julius Augustus Garrison, team leader. I’m responsible for all contracts already agreed to, or agreed upon in the future, before we return to Sethorn in the Sethis system. Sorry about the sniper containment. Precautions were necessary.”

“What sniper containment?” Bug asked. “I hadn’t noticed. Felt free to walk about without a care in the world. Should I have been worried?”

Jag let it go, holding onto professionalism like it was armor. Two of his soldiers came up. “This is Kilgori Rulon and Amanda Houstonrex. If I’m not available, they have authority to make decisions for the team.”

“Or if something happens to you,” Bug said.

“See that it doesn’t,” Amanda replied.

Bug let that one go, mirroring Jag’s earlier response.

Two additional soldiers, the heavy gunner crew by their build, stepped up behind Jag and stood with thick arms crossed.

“This face-off is becoming quite juvenile,” X-37 said. “Although I will have you know that Jelly and Lady are having quite the reunion. It seems that the ship’s AI was preserved when the original vessel was lost.

I gave my LAI a covert thumbs-up.

Path emerged from his forge and strode casually forward to stand beside Bug. He wasn’t physically intimidating and didn’t wear armor or carry a firearm. Jag took notice of my sword saint friend. I made a note that the man was at least as observant as I had assumed thus far. What had X called him, the patriarch and drill sergeant for this group?

“Now that we’re all here, maybe we should have a spelling contest or something,” I said, holding an unlit cigar.

Jag smiled, but his crew wasn’t amused.

“You forgot the mechanic,” Amanda Houstonrex said. “We watched him the most. The guy doesn’t know how to stop working.”

“Sounds like Tom,” I said. “We’re not holding a town meeting. The only people who matter in this discussion are me and Henshaw, and maybe your boss if I’m feeling generous.”

Jag held up a hand to keep his people from lunging forward. “Kilgori, secure the LZ. Make sure there aren’t any Obsidians or JFT about to crash the party. Amanda, stand down. No one needs to get punched.”

“Maybe someone does,” she replied.

I raised my hand, signaling that I hadn’t intended disrespect. A tense moment passed before the conversation moved forward. “Give me a moment, Jag. I need to get my people caught up.”

“Of course,” he said.

I could see Bug had a plan. He was eyeing the commandos, sizing them up just as I had the first time I met them.

“Do you want to shadow them or go with them?” I asked.

“You read me like a book, Hal. I need to see what we’re up against in case they turn out not to be run-of-the-mill mercenaries,” Bug said. “And we are overdue for another Obsidian incursion. Might be nice to have someone else help with the fighting. Do you think they are friends with the mad scientist?”

“No. When I questioned them about Scheid, he seemed ready to go after a blood rival. Jag and his commandos may not be our allies, but they are definitely enemies of our enemies,” I said. “See what else you can learn.”

Jag and his female lieutenant strode toward us. “My perimeter guards say there are Obsidians inbound.”

“Told you,” Bug said. “They were probably waiting for the ship to land to investigate. It might’ve been smarter to leave it hidden.”

“Henshaw likes to fly,” I said noncommittally. “Are you sending out a squad to deal with them?”

“Of course,” Jag said. “We won’t fight them head-to-head unless we have to, but I have to control their movements. Can’t have them getting too close to my principal. Do you want to help, Halek?”

“I have business with Henshaw,” I said.

“Path and I will go with their team, keep them honest, and see if this Obsidian patrol knows what they’re doing. We handled their last attempt easily enough,” Bug said.

“There must not have been any HC clones among them,” Amanda added.

“Lucky guess,” Bug said, causing Amanda to snort a laugh despite her tough girl act.

Jag gave his people a nod of approval. “Make it happen, Amanda. Suffer no Obsidian to live, but leave a team with the ship. I will stay with Henshaw to protect our investment.”

“They don’t associate you with Obsidians, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “This leads me to believe they have never seen one outside of their armor.”

“Thanks, Bug,” I said while also acknowledging X’s comment with a hand motion. “Don’t get sloppy. The Obsidians are dangerous.” I needed to get down to business with James Henshaw and establish how much I could trust the habitual liar and gambler.

“Don’t I know it.” Bug cocked his head toward Amanda and her squad of commandos. “Come on, Path. Let’s go kill some guys who look exactly like Hal.”

“Now you made it ugly,” I said. “Good luck.”

Jag watched his soldiers leaving but didn’t follow them. “’I’ll stay with you, plus I’ll have my main team on my ship as a quick reaction force if needed. Fair enough?”

“You can come inside,” I said. “If your boss ever gets his ass in gear.”

Henshaw finally made his exit, strode into the middle of our conversation, and lifted his arms dramatically. “What are we waiting for? Jag, can you please bring that delightful medic of yours? If these negotiations go well, I will need some assistance.”

“Well, now I’m curious,” Jag said. “Does that work for you, Halek?”

“Sure. I got whiskey, if you’re drinking.”

“I still haven’t tried it, despite Henshaw’s claims. He said something about putting hair on your chest,” Jag said.

“You’ll love it.” I went into the crude but extremely tough bunker, still fascinated at what it looked like with ten meters of earth stripped away from it by a JFT artillery strike. Henshaw, by contrast, turned up his nose at the crude structure.

“If I can just plug in and refuel, we could handle the meeting in my ship, or perhaps have a picnic,” he said. “The closer I get to your medieval fortress, the more of a mistake I think this could be.”

“What, you don’t want to go into the box?” I asked.

“I’d rather not, no.”

“Then why bring a medic? Don’t promise me something you can’t deliver,” I said.

“I am the only person who can help you, Hal. You might keep that in mind and put in a good word for me with Elise.” Henshaw let out an extravagant sigh. “Let’s just go inside. I have the medical facilities, but I’m assuming you have something better if you are as prepared as I hope you are.”

“Everything that was important, except for people, survived in this bunker,” I said.

“Excellent. Then let’s go inside that crude domicile, slam back some of that primitive whiskey you drink, and begin negotiations,” Henshaw said. “Maybe you will even come out a whole man.”

“Please refrain from throat punching him,” X-37 said.

I gave my LAI a covert middle finger, bit back my anger, and led James Henshaw into my shabby little home in the bomb crater.

8

Henshaw continued his act until we were in my private medical center. The man was a flamboyant, devil-may-care gambler to most people he encountered. I understood that was a key element of his personality but only part of the big picture. He had the analytical mind of a scientist barely able to contain his self-destructive risk seeking. More importantly, I knew he was excellent at what he did—maybe the best in the galaxy.

Tom, Jag, and Bailey Starshine—Jag’s chief medic— inventoried equipment in the next room. I instructed Path to keep them there while I interrogated Henshaw.

“No more games, Jimmy. If Elise wants to space you, what makes you think I’ll go easier on you?” I asked, backing him up a step.

What kind of nutjob double-crossed a Reaper and forced him into a death match just to win a bet? James Henshaw, that’s what kind. I hadn’t forgotten what he was capable of. We had met in the worst environment with little reason to trust each other. The ocular engineer hadn’t learned a godsdamn thing over the last decade.

He wanted something even bigger this time. Getting back into Elise’s good graces was only part of the story.

“Okay, okay! Don’t hurt me. I may have tried this once before and it went badly,” he said, retreating with his hands up. Shoulders hunched defensively, he looked smaller, short and frail despite being neither.

“Tried this? What the hell are you sputtering? Are you telling me you brought her a Reaper like me—who you thought was like me?”

“I, uh. Well, you see the thing is…”

I locked the door, wishing I could cross my arms and glare at him for added effect. At this rate, he would give me the answers I wanted before I even started asking the real questions.

“I knew we needed this conversation,” he said, smoothing his hair with one hand. “But I can’t very well talk about Tempest Cain in front of Jag and his zealots.”

“Are they zealots?” I asked, noting the HC clone name for follow-up questions.

He squirmed. “I don’t know. Probably. How many highly skilled rebel commandos are anything but fanatics? But you don’t need to worry about them. I am trying to answer your question. Why won’t you let me get my bearings?”

“A zealot and a fanatic are not the same thing,” I said. “You’re a scientist. Be precise. Use your words. Don’t worry about getting your bearings or getting comfortable. Pretend you’re standing on death’s doorstep with my foot on your neck, and tell me about Tempest Cain while you still can.”

“So graphic,” he said. “Look at my hands. I’m trembling.”

“You should be.” The urge to display a Reaper blade I didn’t have hit me like a hurricane. Emotions both fierce and melancholy swept through me.

“Please just forget about Jag and his clan fanatics,” he said.

“Then talk about Tempest Cain, the clone you tried to pass off as me and probably almost got Elise killed,” I said. “Don’t hold back, Jimmy. Give me the rest of the story.”

“You are making an awful lot of assumptions, but you’re also right, essentially, I mean basically that is.” His wandering tonality was matched only by his inconstant gaze and frequent stutter. The guy was looking around like he suspected an attack.

I felt like a jerk. Terrifying this man was too easy, and I didn’t enjoy my half of the encounter. Coming out of a life pod had made me soft. What was next, free hugs? The ocular engineer was on the ropes, but I wasn’t sure I could hold him there. What the hell happened to my resolve while I was sleeping in that goo?

“Calm down, Jimmy. Don’t be nervous,” I said. “I haven’t hurt anybody for a long time. Not my style anymore. This is the new kinder, gentler Reaper—so long as you do the right thing and spill it.”

He looked at me sideways. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. I’ll tear off body parts if I don’t get the answers I need,” I said. “But I won’t enjoy it. Don’t make me cranky, Jimmy. No one wants that.”

“Ah, the famous Halek Cain sarcasm.” He forcefully exhaled. “I need more proof than that. You could still be just another clone. I was hoping you’d have your cybernetic arm—proof of who you were before—and I could offer you an upgrade. The Reaper I knew was a cyborg. You’re definitely not that man. How can I trust you?”

“Cybernetics wouldn’t be proof either and you know it,” I said. “Some other clone could have stolen my Reaper arm and had it put on.”

He shook his head. “That’s an extremely unlikely scenario. But I think I’ve already made my decision. If Tom, Bug, and Path trust you, you must be the real deal.”

“Great. You trust me. I’m touched. Now get to the point.” I held my face impassive, not wanting to undo the work I had already put into the interrogation. With luck, it was all downhill from here. He wanted to tell me something, I could sense it. Maybe it would even be the truth.

“I performed extensive tests and fact checks to make sure Tempest Cain was sincere,” Henshaw said. “He had an elaborate story about an organically regrown arm, which I thought was quite touching. Even Reapers deserve their redemption stories, don’t you think?”

“What did Elise think of this delightful fable?” I asked.

Henshaw looked at his feet, face reddening. “She saw through the HC clone’s lies immediately, but by that time he was already trying to kill her. Fortunately, she had surrounded herself with some very capable bodyguards. Novasdaughter commands the best fighters in the war, including the honor guard, if you want my honest opinion. Their new and improved use of the Archangel technology is quite impressive.”

“I want something in this conversation to be honest,” I said.

“I am doing my best, Hal,” he replied.

“Elise threw you in the brig afterward,” I added, not asking a question.

He looked up and smiled slightly. “Have I told you the story before?”

“No, Jimmy. This one practically tells itself. You know what I want. I need to evaluate what is in this for you and if I can afford to pay the price. And then I’ll need to start over with Elise, no thanks to you.”

“There is a silver lining, Hal. I had been working on lots of great technology. I wasn’t bluffing about that part. Fortune smiled on you when she took your arm,” he said, then began speaking quickly again, probably not liking my reaction. “I’m sorry you lost it, of course. That is a terrible tragedy. The experience must have been supremely painful. Who removed it, the mechanic? Horrible, just horrible. But this improved model will be so much better!”

Silence held the small room. X-37 asked to review the specs of the new Reaper arm, but I held the question for later. Right now, lack of trust was the only thing holding me back from a decision.

“I was going to upgrade your eye,” he said quietly. “But I see that’s not necessary.”

His eyes looked completely natural despite having every gizmo and technology upgrade available to mankind if my guess was right.

He realized where I was looking. “Now this is proof you can trust my work. I tried everything on myself first. These babies can pass for organic in most situations, but the power of their upgrades…”

A second later, small dots of light, barely visible, began to rotate around his pupils in opposite directions. The light in his right eye rotated counterclockwise, the one in his left, clockwise.

“I can barely tell you have augmented vision.”

“Like I said, Hal. My skills have improved enormously over the last ten years, and I was brilliant when we met. Practice and experimentation have raised my abilities to unparalleled levels. The ocular augmentations only show when I am activating advanced features.”

“What feature are you using on me right now?” I asked, fishing for information.

“Everything, Hal, but I still can’t see your soul.” He waited with uncharacteristic patience, almost showing real compassion in his expression. “Let me show you the arm and answer your LAI’s questions.”

* * *

Henshaw reviewed the procedure with Tom and Bailey Starshine over and over again. Bug stood ready as muscle. Holding down a Reaper was hard duty. He looked out of place in medical scrubs. This was also the cleanest I’d ever seen the man. Antiseptic changed his entire look. His longish hair was pulled back, his beard trimmed neatly. Apparently, he hadn’t been willing to shave just for my surgery.

Path, also sterilized, waited near the door. I didn’t want Jag’s soldiers in the room while I was unconscious. A Reaper couldn’t be too cautious.

Henshaw and his medical team approached the operating table. Already sleepy from the drugs, I wished he would say his piece and get on with the procedure.

“The new arm will attach over a broader surface, like I explained earlier. This means the recovery could take longer. The new Reaper limb will be stronger but also resist the torque of using it better than your earlier version. The blade is improved, and there are several other features you should train with before using during a live op,” Henshaw said. “You might also appreciate the improved defensive properties, as in the arm and the torso sleeve mimic Obsidian armor. Could you imagine being invulnerable head to toe?”

Narcotics surged through my bloodstream. What was that last part? Head to toe? I gave him a thumbs-up with my right hand, dragging intravenous tubes off the table. “Can you put a cigar case in it?”

Henshaw chuckled at my slurred speech. “Actually, there is a utility box intended for secure storage. I’d thought you might use it when stealing advanced technology—computer chips or alien circuitry. Or maybe secret messages. But if you want to carry a cigar or two, who am I to say that is wrong.”

“You’re not so bad, Jimmy,” I said. “Damn, these are the good drugs…”

“The medication must be taking hold,” Tom said.

Bailey Starshine checked the IV, then took my pulse. “He will be unconscious in three, two…”

The last items I saw in the operating room were two Reaper arms, one left and one right.

* * *

Emerging from the medical coma was easy compared to my desperate escape from the life pod I’d been stored in for years. I shifted uneasily at an already forgotten dream. Something from the pre-op nagged at me, dragging my memories out bit by bit until I remembered James Henshaw had not one, but two Reaper arms in his inventory.

I checked my left arm, amazed by the technological marvel in place of nothing. My right arm remained organic, despite what I’d seen before losing consciousness. A covert scan of the room failed to locate a second limb. Had that been intended for me? Another Reaper? Someone else?

“There you are,” Bailey said. “Right on time.” She checked her watch. “You have been an ideal patient, Halek. Medicating you was as simple as running my finger down the chart to get the proper dosages.”

“I’ve always been easy to get along with.” I stared up at her and felt like she looked familiar.

“You are definitely still under the influence of the meds,” Tom said. “Easy to get along with has never been part of your curriculum vitae.”

“Big words for a mechanic,” Henshaw said. The man looked exhausted, like someone who had completed a cross-country race without training for it. “I think you will be pleased with the result, Hal.”

I lifted the arm, marveling at the gleaming steel. “Shiny. How am I going to sneak up on people?”

“Worry about that later,” Henshaw said. “Don’t play with the color settings until I’ve run you through the familiarization course. This isn’t a cheap Union tool you can fiddle with until you learn to use it. Trust me, Hal. You want to do this right.”

“Sure, Jimmy.” My eyelids felt heavy.

“Are you sleepy?” Bailey asked, alarm in her voice.

“Little bit.”

“So much for the perfect patient,” she said. “Mr. Henshaw, this isn’t good. He’s crashing.”

“Hal, look at me.” Tom’s voice was stern. “That’s it. Now tell me about the time we met back on Greendale. Don’t stop talking until Bailey gets your IV switched out.”

“Greendale?” I asked. “Is Elise there?”

Darkness came all at once.

* * *

The image was like a dream, sensed more than seen. I knew Elise was there in my head, and she was in trouble.

“Hal, if this broadcast has reached X, then I am in trouble. Godsdammit, I don’t want your help because I don’t know who you are anymore. But we’re in trouble. I bit off more than I can chew this time, and the people who count on me are going to pay for my mistake,” Elise said. “I won’t allow it. Find us near Oroth in the Zakion system. Bring your A game.”

Talking was useless. Words wouldn’t come, and I didn’t think Elise would hear me if I shouted. Her message had the feel of something prerecorded.

A piercing noise cut through my head, slicing apart my ears with laser intensity.

“What the fuck is that sound?” I coughed repeatedly.

The alarm paused.

“You must wake up, Reaper Cain. Please respond or I will make it worse,” X-37 said.

“How the hell could that get worse, X? I’m up. Just don’t ever do that again,” I said.

“I make no promises,” X-37 said. “My recommendation is to respond to Tom’s urgent questions. He seems quite distressed.”

“Sure, X. I hear him. Just give me a second to rest.”

“Wake up, Hal. Talk to me, friend,” Tom said, then shined an annoying light in my eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Tom. Are you trying to blind me?” I said with less grace than I had intended.

Tom turned off the light as he pulled away. “Thank the stars. He’s back. Run all the checks you want, but he’s definitely the Reaper we all know and love—Mr. Manners.”

“I don’t know what happened.” Bailey sounded shaken. “I’ve never had a patient crash like that and survive.”

“You’ve never treated a Reaper like Hal,” Tom said.

Path approached the table. “It is good that you pulled through, Hal. We were quite worried about you.”

“True,” Henshaw said. “I didn’t attach the best piece of hardware I’ve ever built just to watch you kick the bucket. Glad you made it. Now follow Bailey’s post-op instructions and go easy for a while. I will be on the Lady with a glass of wine and my feet up.”

“Save me a cigar,” I called after him.

Bailey checked my pulse, then looked in my eyes. “Let’s hold off on carcinogens and alcohol for a few days.”

“You’re one of those mean doctors,” I said.

“I am whatever it takes to save a patient or achieve a mission,” she replied. “My clan requires my return, but I will check on you when I can.”

“Your clan?” I asked, suddenly interested despite the narcotic haze still clouding my judgement.

“That is the closest word the common language has to our unit,” she said. “Who do you think we are, Oroth grunts? We fight for each other first, and fortune second. The JFT Destroyers and even the Obsidians have everything backward. That is why we must prevail in the end.”

“Okay, great.” I lay back in the bed. Tom and Bailey hovered over me for a minute, then relaxed when I didn’t die.

Bits and pieces of the dream emerged. I wrestled with information I desperately wanted to be real, if only because it suggested Elise was alive and wanted my help. She might be as angry at me as she always was, but she had sent the message.

Unless I was hallucinating. X-37 would tell me the dream was my imagination, wishful thinking on overdrive. Tom, Path, Bug—every one of them would echo the conclusion.

I kept the images and sounds to myself. Data points grew vaguer by the second. Elise remained as clear as the last time I’d seen her, but she was a grown woman now, mid-thirties and tough as ever. She’d had some problem with the Oroth Council.

The more I analyzed my dream, the more I had to admit it was probably nothing but my imagination. Wishful thinking centered on the fantasy that Elise wanted my help. She didn’t of course. Why else would she have run off to fight a war without me?

There weren’t any new facts that would have come with a genuine communication. Everything had been pieced together from my interrogation of Henshaw and talking to Jag.

Except for one thing.

My heart raced as darkness covered planets and stars. I couldn’t see the source, but I heard the roar of insects, or maybe killer drones wiping out all life in the system.

Jag had said there were worse things than Obsidians in the galaxy.

He probably wasn’t wrong.

9

I moved my left arm in a circle, feeling the smooth action of the joint and the only pleasant connection with my entire shoulder, chest, and back. Henshaw hadn’t been joking about the base of this prosthetic—it covered half of my upper body. I wondered about the second arm I’d seen and imagined that with two, my torso would be completely armored even in my birthday suit.

Tom walked beside me as we strolled around my estate, taking light exercise to speed my recovery. “Can I ask you something, Tom?”

“Sure, Hal.”

“Did Henshaw try to put two arms on me?”

“No. You must have seen the second limb. I asked Jim about that, and he said he brought both prosthetics in case he needed to scavenge parts from the second one,” Tom said. “He was lying, of course. His tool kit held everything he needed for this arm.” He punched my new limb.

“Bug for Hal,” Bug said via the secure comm X-37 had set up.

“Go for Hal,” I said.

“We’re completing our morning patrol with Amanda’s squad. Kilgori and the others headed back to their ship, not the Lady. I’d follow them to get eyes on it, but I think they left Amanda with us to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Bug said.

“Must be one hell of a ship,” I said. “They hide that thing like it’s their job to make it invisible.”

“Maybe it is,” Bug said. “Or maybe it has something to do with their religion.”

“What makes you say that?” I had my theories but was curious to hear what the kid from Dreadmax thought.

“Just the way they talk, like calling their squad a clan and each other brothers and sisters,” he said.

“Lots of military units do that.” I knew what he meant, but could he take the idea further?.

“Yeah, sure. Seems different with the Sethorns. That’s who they are, you know—from the planet Sethorn. Either way, we’re done with this patrol and ready to launch if that is still on the schedule today. I’m ready to be done with Maglan for a while.”

“Me too, Bug.” I winked at Tom, who had listened in. “You ready for an adventure, mechanic?”

He laughed. “Sounds like a compliment when you say it. Henshaw still sees me as a wrench, despite all we’ve been through. Thought he would respect me by now.”

“He does, in his weird way,” I said. “But he’s also selfish and stupid eight days a week.”

“I wonder why he brought that second arm,” Tom said.

“Yeah, that’s a question,” I replied. “Let’s get it answered. Might be better to have most of the information before we confront him. My gut tells me he was going to just slap it on me without asking if you and Path weren’t there.”

“Why would he do that?” Tom asked.

“One of his experiments, like the way he did his own eyes. Hell, for all we know, I could have awoken with not much humanity left,” I said.

Tom shuddered.

I couldn’t help but think of Byron Thane II. “You remember Thane?”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “He had two arms.”

“Seemed to work.” I opened and closed a fist. “And Henshaw was right about one thing. This arm is light-years ahead of what I had before.”

The sensitivity was indistinguishable from my natural arm. Stronger, tougher, and full of functions I was still learning, this limb was all I could hope for. If I couldn’t find a functional Archangel rig, maybe a head-to-toe upgrade courtesy of James Henshaw might be a viable option. Jimmy had said that was possible, I thought. Memories of pre-op were sketchy, so I pushed them aside.

“What’s on your mind, Hal?” Tom’s voice was low, full of concern.

“Winning,” I said. “At any cost.”

Path emerged from his forge with a bundle on his back large enough for a pack animal. “I have blades for you, Hal. We should spend our travel time teaching you new skills and integrating weapons with your arm.”

“Looking forward to it.” I jammed a cigar in my mouth.

“Tom has proven to be the best of assistants,” Path said. “Ten years isn’t enough time to master the forge, but my skills did improve.”

“When you weren’t running around Marsi keeping people alive,” I said.

“Yes. That was a distraction. Things are different now. We are back together. Soon, we will be with Elise and forming our own clan to rival Jag’s people,” Path said.

“Interesting.” I lit my cigar and puffed it to life.

“Bug and I patrolled with them often while you were recovering,” Path said. “They are supreme warriors with a code similar to that of my order, but revolving around family and generational advancement. Very intriguing.”

“You can say that again.” I stopped short of Jelly. “What do we have left, X?”

“Everyone is ready to depart, and both ships have been checked and rechecked. I would say we are in the best condition possible,” X-37 said. “I cannot speak for the Sethorns and their vessel.”

Sethorns, I thought. Jag didn’t speak about his home world often. I wondered if the place was as secret as his ship.

Everything about our departure happened fast after that. Before I knew it, I was kicked back in Jelly’s bridge with my cigar watching the Maglan landscape pass beneath the accelerating ship. “What’s that?” I pointed to a horned beast running on two legs with three cubs following close behind.

“The beast,” X-37 said.

“Is something chasing her?” I asked.

Tom, Bug, and Path watched with interest.

“I don’t think so, Reaper Cain. She seems to be watching our takeoff.”

“Huh. How would she know it’s us on this ship, and why would she care?” I asked.

“Unknown, Reaper Cain. Perhaps you created a connection when you spared her and her litter,” X-37 said. “She did howl to warn you about the Sethorn commandos.”

“I thought that was my imagination.” I gently chewed on the cigar in the corner of my mouth.

“Perhaps it was. Either way, you will be pleased to see that she is not only alive, but also much recovered,” X-37 said.

I thought about the foxes I had seen the same night as the beast. One of the animals had been missing a foreleg. We’d shared a cosmic kinship, but now I had a prosthetic. How would the animal fare in the wilderness of Maglan?

“Introspection detected,” X-37 said privately. “Are you well?”

“I’m great, X. Just thinking about home and wondering if we’ll ever come back.”

A pile of parts and engines labored up from a clearing. Black smoke billowed behind its thrusters. Parts fell off. The ship veered off course for several seconds, corrected violently, and began to accelerate at a much steeper angle than seemed reasonable.

“What a rattle trap,” I exclaimed. “I love these commandos more all the time. They’ve got guts to fly anywhere in a heap of spare parts and hope.”

“That is their super secret ship?” Bug asked.

“Apparently,” I said.

Path leaned closer to the display. “The ship is a lie.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I’ve seen ships disguised with a few mismatched panels, maybe even pocked with battle damage or asteroid strikes, but you can’t fake that kind of suck.”

“She has plenty of acceleration,” Tom noted.

“And the rest of the ship?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t look good, but I will reserve judgement until they allow me to complete an inspection.”

“Good luck with that,” Bug said. “I thought they were keeping it secret because of some awesomely powerful technology, but it looks like they were just embarrassed.”

Jelly sounded a warning tone. “Leaving Maglan atmosphere.”

The crew quieted.

“Enemy vessels approaching,” Jelly said. “That was quick. They must have seen us launch and predicted our trajectory.”

“Looks like five ships,” Tom said, typing on a screen to check scan results.

I checked his work on my own screen but said nothing. X-37 was doing the same, while Bug manned the weapons console.

“Lady and I have agreed that the time to activate our stealth technology is very near,” Jelly said.

“Do it, Jelly. Get us out of here without a fight,” I said as I watched another group of Obsidian ships race to intercept Jag’s fast but simple starship. The larger force, however, was headed for the Jellybird.

“Unauthorized vessel,” came a voice on the main comms. “You are required by the Oroth Council to land on the United Sovereignties of Oroth carrier Isocu. Comply immediately.”

“We are ready, Captain,” Jelly said.

“Unauthorized vessel for Isocu,” I replied. “Go back to your own system and leave Maglan alone.” I twirled a finger for Jelly.

An instant later, both the Jellybird and the Lady Faith II disappeared. Seconds passed before I started to relax. Stealth tech was a complex interaction with what other ships could detect—basically a measure of their sensors versus what Jelly and Lady could do to defeat them.

“If they can see us,” Tom said, “they are doing a great job of pretending not to.”

The Jellybird led the way. The Lady Faith II followed on the new vector, easily slipping away from the Oroth sweep.

Jag’s ship, however, wasn’t so lucky. She raced away from Maglan with more and more enemy ships in pursuit.

* * *

“Get as close as we can without getting involved,” I said.

“Right away, Captain,” Jelly said. Lady didn’t answer but followed Jelly’s lead like she was the older sister of the pair.

“Comms indicate the Sethorn ship is called the Blade of Julius,” Jelly advised.

“Get Henshaw on comms.” The ocular engineer turned cybernetic expert was responsible for this--or part of it, anyway.

A minute passed.

“Yes?” Henshaw said.

“What is going on with Jag and his team?” I asked.

“I paid what I owed and they departed,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

“Are you not watching them get swarmed by Oroth ships?” I couldn’t believe the man was this heartless, even on his worst day.

“I was in my sensory deprivation chamber as is my habit during launch,” he said. “Planetary takeoffs are traumatic enough without worrying about the fate of mercenaries.”

“Can their ship escape?” I asked.

Henshaw faced a screen out of view from the comm camera. He frowned. “They don’t have a chance, even though the ship is still moving. Normally it stalls after takeoff and they have to deploy extravehicular activity teams to repair all the pieces that fell off.”

An alert beeped in my ear.

“Reaper Cain, we cannot move closer to the Blade of Julius without detection by the numerous Oroth ships in pursuit. Jelly also warns that the longer we pursue, the greater our chance of being discovered,” X-37 said.

“Understood. Back off a bit, Jelly. Give me time to think,” I said.

None of my friends argued, but they all looked worried. More than twenty Oroth ships were in pursuit, and a few that I assumed belonged to Scheid. This last group of attack craft had the image of an Obsidian helmet on their sides.

“They must really want Jag and his team,” I said.

“That is how I knew to recruit them,” Henshaw said. “They are notorious.”

“Our escape would be guaranteed if we didn’t get involved, Reaper Cain.” X-37 beeped frantically as he made thousands of calculations a second. “My analysis shows the opposite to be true if we attempt to help the Sethorns. It would be a nearly impossible mission with no benefit to our chances of survival.”

“Story of my life,” I said.

10

“Give me some options,” I said.

Bug, Tom, and Path all looked relieved for reasons I could only guess. They seemed okay with the Sethorns by the time I was healthy enough to travel, but that didn’t mean they’d become buddies.

“What?” I asked.

Tom, the de facto spokesman for my friends, looked nervous. “We’re glad you’re not rushing into a lose-lose scenario. Just… be cool, Hal.”

“I can do that,” I said, wondering where he’d picked up the phrase. Ten years was a long time. I had to remember that the galaxy, including my friends, had changed while I was out.

Tom and the others seemed to have bonded with Jag’s secretive, warlike band of brothers and sisters.

For all I knew, only a few words had been exchanged between the two groups, yet there was a nascent bond between them. They had patrolled together, and Tom had worked on their gear. Jag hadn’t enjoyed my whiskey or my cigars so we didn’t spend a lot of time together. He was preoccupied with the welfare of his team and the protection of his principle—James Henshaw.

“Lady thinks we can alternate showing ourselves to the Oroth ship captains, drawing them in an increasingly wide search pattern until the Sethorn ship can escape,” Jelly said. “X-37 agrees.”

“That true, X?” I asked.

“It is, Reaper Cain. While any exposure to the enemy could get us captured or destroyed, this plan will not allow us to be taken at the same time. So not all would be lost if we fail,” X-37 said.

“That’s good, I think.” I ran calculations on my own workstation. “Let’s give it a shot. We’ll make a pass through their formation, dropping the stealth field on the way out, then go invisible as soon as Lady does her thing.”

“Very good, Captain. Moving into position now,” Lady said.

I monitored the controls but didn’t interfere. We shot between ships, scanning them for future analysis. Every warship of the Oroth Council was loaded with both offensive weapons and point defense turrets. More than one housed fighters that looked ready to launch.

“This could get ugly,” I said.

“My analysis suggests there is a seventy-eight percent chance that this rescue attempt will be highly unpleasant for everyone involved,” X-37 said to the room. “We should, however, succeed, if we can—how do you say—eat the suck.”

Bug snorted a laugh. “I hate these ship chases. Give me a face-to-face fight any day.”

“Dropping stealth field,” Jelly announced.

The change in the Oroth ships was immediate and obvious. Three fired rockets at us. Two thirds of the ships changed course and accelerated toward our position.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Raise the stealth field.”

“Be advised that Lady is not in position to show herself. This will increase our chance of being captured or damaged,” Jelly said. “Raising shields per your instruction, Captain.”

I held my breath until Lady dropped her stealth field and drew several of the ships the other direction. Not all of them followed, but the Oroth reaction force was spreading thinner.

“The Blade is changing course as well, further stretching the Oroth formation,” Jelly advised.

“Nice to see them doing their part,” Bug said.

Tom nodded agreement but still looked green around the gills. I didn’t doubt his courage. This encounter had my heart racing, and I never really expected to survive day to day. The mechanic was probably worrying about more than simple survival. He would have to put this ship back together at the end of the day.

“My analysis predicts a second revelation of our position would have little additional effect on the Oroth formation and would increase our risk of capture or damage significantly,” X-37 said.

“Agreed,” I said. “Jelly, work up a firing solution on the ships closest to catching the Blade.”

“Right away, Captain.”

“Battle stations,” I said.

My friends strapped in. Jelly diverted power to shields, thrusters, and weapons in that order. She had guns, which was more than I could say for her when we started, but our attacks would be weak compared to true warships.

“We strike, then disappear,” I said, feeling nerves for the first time in ages. Fear was one thing. Mind numbing terror wasn’t a stranger to me either, not after all the planets and monsters and spacewalks I’d taken. This was different. This was like diving from a high board when you were afraid of heights and didn’t know how to swim that well.

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

“Yeah, X. I’m great. Just thinking about the old neighborhood and that city pool. Can’t remember the last time I thought about my actual childhood,” I said.

“You undoubtedly have more complex memories than your clones possessed, including the cyborg,” X-37 said. “This is an artifact of being the biological original.”

“First cyborg,” I corrected, lifting my new arm for emphasis. “Looks like I’m the current model as well as the biological source material.”

I focused on Jelly’s view screen and wondered if X-37 would elaborate—not that I wanted to get into this topic with my LAI. He talked about my past like it was another line of code. Sometimes my digital friend could be as cold as a machine.

Go figure.

“We are in position, Captain,” Jelly said.

“Are you sure about this, Hal?” Tom asked. “It’s the right thing to do but a big risk.”

“We’re going to need their help,” I said.

No one argued, and I realized what I’d said was true. Finding my old friends and fixing my broken body was only part of what we needed to survive and win. Did I know exactly what I was getting into with Elise? No, not even close. But I knew her, and that assured me that this would be our biggest challenge yet. After facing the Union, the Alon, and the Sansein—that was saying something.

“Fire when ready, Jelly,” I said.

“Dropping stealth field. Missiles away. Raising stealth field,” Jelly said. “Lady has dropped her shields, maneuvered aggressively, and gone back into hiding. She has almost no weaponry and apologizes for not taking offensive action.”

I listened to the update but watched the Blade of Julius launch a hellish barrage of missiles and mines at her pursuers. “Jag’s quick.”.

“He might have been expecting us to do something like this, or hoping,” Tom said. “Because that looked planned—an immediate action drill worthy of a spec ops team.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Bug added.

My friends were right. With everything on the line, the commando leader had his head fully in the game. He would be anticipating our moves and hoping for more, most likely.

“Can we do another attack run?” I asked.

Jelly hesitated. X-37 beeped in my ear. Tom and Bug squirmed in their seats.

I unbuckled and headed for the shuttle bay.

“What are you doing, Hal?” Tom demanded.

“Don’t worry about it. You have the helm,” I said.

X-37 harangued me all the way to the launch bay. “You cannot launch a shuttle while in stealth mode, and if you did, I can’t see what possible good it would do.”

“Jag needs a distraction,” I said, powering up a shuttle. “I’ll give him one.”

“And then what, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“This is ill-advised,” X said. “The stakes are too high for reckless solutions. You must adapt, learn patience, and improve not just your weaponry, but your mind.”

“I’m as patient as a sniper when I have to be, X. How many deep cover operations have we been on? You know I’m not a one trick operator.”

“Your current behavior does not support this hypothesis,” X-37 said.

I muted the display cluster of LAI codes.

“Tom for Hal, hold on. Just stop,” Tom said.

I waited to open the shuttle door, feeling guilty for blocking X. He was right, we had to work as a team if I was going to find Elise and deal with Scheid. “Give me good news, Tom.”

My mechanic friend laughed nervously as he talked. “The best news. Jag’s ship broke free. There was an explosion from one of the sneakier mines he dropped in his wake and he slipped away from the chaos. One of the Oroth ships is floundering, and others are responding with search and rescue efforts. We’re in the clear as well. Thank the stars.”

I held my position for several seconds and reactivated my LAI. “X, make sure Tom isn’t lying out his ass to keep me from using this shuttle.”

“He is telling the truth, Reaper Cain. Though if he were lying, I would definitely take his side on this one. You are a menace today.”

“You can’t do that, X.”

“I can do a number of things to prevent you from committing suicide or engaging in missions with survivability probabilities so low as to be the same thing,” X-37 said.

“I’ll remember that, X.”

“Please do, Reaper Cain. We’re in this together, in case you forgot.”

My hands trembled as I strolled back to the bridge. I lit a cigar, then leaned against a wall to smoke. That had been a close call, and my friends were right. What the actual fuck good was I going to do in a shuttle?

“Are you feeling better?” X-37 asked. “Perhaps a whiskey on the observation deck would be in order?”

“You’re encouraging me to smoke and drink?” My cybernetic hand trembled in perfect synchronization with my natural hand. Henshaw and his assistants had really done good work. “I must have scared the hell out of you, X.”

“That is one way to put it,” X-37 said.

“I’ll listen to you next time.”

X-37 made a peculiar humming sound I’d never heard before. “I hope that you do, Reaper Cain, though the numbers suggesting this will actually occur are quite low and difficult for me to process.”

* * *

“We are approaching the slip tunnel,” Jelly said. “Lady is ahead of us this time, and we have contact with Blade. He’s very appreciative of our efforts.”

“What’s Jag’s ship AI like?” I asked.

“That is difficult to say,” X-37 offered. “It seems they don’t actually interact with their ship AI, not directly. That could be a cultural norm, or they might not understand the ship has an artificial intelligence.”

“Nice,” I said. “I’m sure that will never bite them in the ass.”

“Would you like to speak with Jag?” Jelly asked.

“Sure, Jelly. Put him on the display.” I held my unlit cigar. Right now I thought neither Jelly nor X would complain if I smoked on the bridge, but rules were rules. What fun would it be to break them if I didn’t at least pretend they mattered most of the time?

“Halek, it’s good to see you. Thanks for the help back there,” Jag said. He looked tired… and jacked. A lot of soldiers appeared smaller outside their armor. Julius Augustus Garrison was thirty or forty, maybe even older by the gray streaks in his short hair, but built like a champion athlete.

“No problem,” I said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

He considered that but didn’t comment. “We’re going to be traveling the tunnel together. Perhaps we could cross-train. Compare stories. I can teach you about the evil encroachment of the Oroth Council, and you can explain why they fear Reapers so much.”

“Sure. Why not? I’m tired of Path beating up on me. Might be nice to share the love,” I said.

Jag laughed. “All right, Halek. Let’s make the most of this slip tunnel then. Get some rest. If you train with my team, you’ll need it.”

11

I slept late and wandered into the shower. Slip tunnels could make even a Reaper lazy, and I hadn’t drunk more than a sip of whiskey or smoked a full cigar since that one moment of weakness outside the bridge. Why would I when my guests weren’t interested? My hands were steadier than ever despite major surgery only weeks ago.

“Good morning, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Your calendar is marked for beers in the shower.”

“I didn’t forget. I’m just skipping it today.” I dried off and got dressed.

“In that case, I applaud this responsible new attitude. You are due for training with Bug, Path, and Jag in one hour,” X-37 said.

“You just had to remind me.” I sat at the small desk in my cabin, laying my left arm across the flat surface to examine it. “Pull up the owner’s manual, X.”

A dense block of text appeared on the wall behind the desk, complete with diagrams. I focused on one for an extra second, and it moved forward, transforming into a three-dimensional representation of my new wrist. Tapping the image allowed me to turn it any direction I wanted.

“What exactly has gotten into you, Reaper Cain? You’re taking care of yourself and using your new cybernetic attachment responsibly, and you haven’t sworn at me since awakening from surgery,” X-37 said.

“I’m turning over a new fucking leaf,” I said. “And before you think I’m totally reformed, it’s a tobacco leaf.”

“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” X said. “I assume that once we have an adversary within arm’s reach you will become a violent psychopath again.”

“You better hope so because that is the only thing keeping us alive most days.” I opened one panel after another and examined circuitry, bearings, and the secret cigar compartment. If Henshaw thought I was storing anything but expensive tobacco in here, he was out of his mind.

“You have fifteen minutes before the scheduled training session,” X-37 said a short time later.

I closed up my arm, following the instructions on the display. The silver appendage gleamed like a marvel of modern technology. Holding it high, I manipulated my pinky, middle finger, and thumb at the same time until the color changed to charcoal.

“Can you tell me how it does that?” I asked. “I understand the biocontrols, but how does it actually change color?”

“That information is blocked. Henshaw has it marked as proprietary,” X said.

“I’m gonna show him my proprietary left hook.”

X-37 scrolled through his copied version of the Reaper arm owner’s manual. “I believe there is a sublayer capable of affecting the polarity of molecules on the exterior. Their alignment must have something to do with it. Anything beyond that would be a guess.”

“I don’t want to build one, just use this one effectively,” I said, then gathered my sparring gear. “Let’s go get my ass kicked.”

“Very good, Reaper Cain. Way to maintain a positive mental attitude.”

No one was in the hallway, but I knew we had guests on the ship, which made even the empty spaces feel crowded. I’d run into this phenomenon during previous slip tunnel passages. Elise and I had nearly driven each other crazy every time we traveled between star systems.

I tried not to think about racing her on the treadmill or fighting shoulder to shoulder on dangerous planets. We’d been through a lot. Each day that passed made me more uneasy. She had to be in a lot of trouble. The dream hadn’t been just my imagination. X-37 claimed he had received a communication from an unknown source. He was unable to read the transmission code, but something had registered in my unconscious mind. I wasn’t sure if I liked the trend.

Voices in my head, or top-secret message? I wouldn’t know until people started shooting at me.

“Are you thinking of Elise?” X asked.

“How the hell could you know that?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Your biometrics occur in patterns. This is one I recognize. Sometimes I err, but not often when it comes to Elise, Tom, or your direct family.”

“Interesting.” I held a cigar but didn’t light it. Inside the training room, Jag and Bug warmed up for their first sparring match.

“You were supposed to go first, Hal. Thanks,” Bug said when he side-skipped by me. He switched directions, then added arm waves to warm up his upper body without stopping the quick movement of his feet.

“No weapons?” I asked X.

“It does not appear they have laid out training swords or sim guns,” X-37 said. “I have no data on Sethorn training modalities so I assume this will begin with hand-to-hand drills.”

Path and several of Jag’s men watched from various positions around the training mat. Most of them, except for Path of course, looked nervous.

“I think they take this more seriously than you anticipated. Wounded pride might make them escalate each training scenario after they lose,” I said. “Someone is going to get hurt.”

“It will probably be you, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Based on past training scenarios and your inability to dial it down a notch.”

Bug and Jag circled, throwing jabs, lunging, and occasionally shooting in low for attempted takedowns. So far, neither of them committed to an all out attack.

“Bug will go for that spinning back fist,” I said. “And Jag will block it easily. I keep telling the kid to learn a new opener.”

“He’s no longer a child, Reaper Cain.”

“You know what I mean, X.” I followed the action, walking as close to the edge of the training zone as possible. “Everyone is a kid to me. That’s what it feels like because no one knows what they hell they’re doing.”

“You are biologically much younger than most of these people you treat with such unwarranted disdain,” X-37 said.

“Whatever.”

“Maybe they should be calling you kid,” he added.

“Too far, X. Don’t cross that line, or I’ll trade you in on a more respectful model,” I said, keeping my eyes on Bug and Jag.

“Impossible for more reasons than you want to hear. I will list them in your HUD,” X-37 said.

I ignored a wall of text flowing down my peripheral vision.

Bug lunged forward, jabbing hard with his left hand, then spun a hundred and eighty degrees the other way to deliver a vicious right back fist that caught Jag on the jaw.

“You were half correct, Reaper Cain.”

I ignored my LAI. Jag had the aura of a total badass. He should have seen that coming. Was he sandbagging?

Bug picked up the pace—jabs, front kicks, and elbow strikes when he could get close enough. The thump of training gloves and sparring pads filled the room.

Jag’s people never blinked, or breathed, or moved away from the edge of the mat.

“Bug’s strikes are not hitting as hard as he intends,” X-37 said. “Jag is stuffing some before they reach full range and deflecting most of the others. The impacts sound impressive, but my analysis suggests they could continue like this for a long time without injury.”

I walked along the edge of the training area, resisting the urge to shout encouragement or make suggestions. If Bug or his adversary saw me, they paid no attention. Jag’s people, however, noticed the way I paced and didn’t seem to approve—like I was embarrassing myself or something.

“What the hell is that about?” I asked.

“Reaper Cain, I have no idea what information that inquiry is intended to gather. Other than the direction of your increasingly furtive glances, I assume you have some inquiry regarding Jag’s team.”

“I’m not furtive,” I complained. Kilgori in particular was glaring at me like he might call me out.

“You have switched your attention from the combatants to the spectators seven times since the event commenced,” X-37 said.

“Whatever.” I stuck the chopped down cigar into the corner of my mouth and put my hands on my hips like a drill sergeant.

Jag pressed forward. Bug defended, then advanced. Jag defended, each block and parry perfectly timed. A pause followed the initial violence. Both fighters went in like wild animals, grunting sounds that might have been words, striking hard and frequently.

Jag’s people rose to their feet and began shifting side to side, resisting the urge to pace.

“Hah! See. Not so easy to sit still now, is it?” I asked, not thinking they could hear me over the clamor of combat.

“A very even contest,” X-37 remarked.

“Nope. Bug is wearing down. Jag will start backing him up soon,” I said, removing the unlit cigar, then hanging it down to one side.

“Are you certain?” X-37 said. “Statistically everything is nearly identical—timing, frequency of offensive strikes, effectiveness of blocks and parries—“

“I see all that, X. Maybe not as precisely as you do, but I see it. But I also know what it feels like. Check their facial expressions. Can you hear the way Bug is breathing?”

“Yes, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “He appears to be pushing for a resolution via victory.”

“That’s because he’s reached his limit and knows it’s now or never,” I said. “The kid has come a long way since Dreadmax. I wouldn’t want to fight him—but he’s gonna lose this match.”

“By extension, you wouldn’t want to fight Jag either, since he is now emerging as the victor,” X-37 said.

“Get off my back, X.”

“Reaper Cain, I cannot occupy physical presence on any portion of your body, which means I cannot get off anything.”

“Thank the gods for that,” I said, then fired up the cigar.

Jag drove Bug into a corner and hammered him mercilessly. When the Dreadmax kid turned Maglan soldier didn’t yield, Jag nearly lost his momentum.

He retreated a step, but immediately pressed forward when Bug came out swinging. They stood toe-to-toe, swinging for the fences until the timer sounded. The increasingly one-sided contest was uncomfortable to watch.

As soon as the klaxon sounded, they gripped hands and exchanged a fighter’s hug—that age-old tradition of two warriors who had earned mutual respect. They laughed at something I couldn’t hear, then Bug pointed at me.

“Looks like it’s your turn, Halek,” Jag said.

“No, Julius, I believe it is my turn. Please rest as much as you need and hydrate,” Path said. “I may nominate you for an apprenticeship in my order when we are through.”

Jag looked him over, not for the first time. “Okay, sword saint. Choose your weapon.”

“That was a poor tactic on his part,” X-37 confided. “Path will have the advantage in any melee situation, but the discrepancy will be worse should he select training swords.”

I said nothing, aware that Jag was monitoring my reaction. If he went hand-to-hand with Bug and crossed swords with Path, then what would he try with me? Shooting each other in the face? Maybe he would get himself a Reaper blade and best me at my own game.

That made me think of the right arm I had seen in the operating room. As soon as Jag retreated to his own team to prepare for the next bout, I asked X-37 about the issue. “Did you record images of the prosthetic surgery?”

“Very few images, Reaper Cain. Your eyes were closed most of the time. I archived sounds, but I seriously doubt you want to hear them. There were power drills involved.”

“I saw a right arm before they put me out,” I said.

“Yes, that I do have. Would you like to see the image?”

“Sure, X. Put it up on my HUD.” I studied the arm and decided it was exactly like the one I had now, but for the right side of my—of someone’s—body.

“Perhaps he was just being thorough, bringing extra options in case something went wrong,” X-37 said.

“Like what, Henshaw not realizing I was already an amputee and hacking off the only arm I had left?” I asked.

“That does seem ridiculous when you put it that way.” My LAI retreated into data processing, which I suspected had to do with predicting the outcome of the fight that was about to happen.

Path and Jag faced each other with practice swords. Sensors would log hits even if not seen by the naked eye and weren’t supposed to allow serious injury. I knew from experience that was complete bullshit. Path had brutalized me many times over the years, with these practice weapons and others.

They stared at each other without moving.

“This is going to be booooooring,” I said.

“On the contrary, it is no different from any other martial contest to me. The end will come quickly, I imagine,” X said.

Jag whipped up his weapon and simultaneously charged forward with perfect footwork. The strike wasn’t a feint. Path blocked, looking surprised for the first time I’d ever seen. His practice blade bent dramatically and snapped back.

They circled, exchanging strikes so quickly I couldn’t follow all of it. “Can’t keep up, X. Godsdammit that’s fast.”

My heart rate increased.

“You are not involved in the action,” X-37 said.

“Don’t judge.” I edged along the perimeter of the mat, picking out new details that helped me anticipate where the next exchange would go.

Sweat beaded on Path’s head. He looked harried. Jag drove him backward, then around the training area, scoring one hit after another.

“Are you seeing this, X?” I asked, not sure if I should be excited that the sword saint finally had competition or worried that I was next to face the leader of the Sethorn commandos.

Backed up as far as he could go, Path blocked or parried strike after strike. I got tired watching.

“This exchange defies statistics,” X-37 said. “Even Path should have missed a block by now.”

The determination on Path’s face grabbed and held my attention. His jaw, neck, and shoulders flexed with effort. As for the rest of him, I gave up tracking his blocks and counterstrikes.

“This cannot continue,” X-37 said.

I slowed my heart rate and watched with open eyes as Path would advise me if he wasn’t so busy. Everything changed. Jag’s secret was his footwork, but also his extreme athleticism.

Path slipped to his left, then lashed out once with the practice blade in his right hand.

Jag staggered back, holding the side of his head, then fell hard, still gripping his weapon. The spectators stared. No one dared speak.

“Perhaps you should inform them that Path has won the contest,” X-37 said.

I signaled my LAI to forget about that idea.

Path offered Jag a hand. The commando leader took it, came to his feet with the sword saint’s assistance, and shook his head several times. When realization came, he didn’t look happy.

“You strike hard,” Jag admitted.

“Only when necessary.” Path’s answer was short, sincere, and one hundred percent sword saint.

Jag nodded, patted Path on the shoulder, then approached me. “That may be all I have today, Halek. My apologies.”

“No problem. I’m sure we’ll have a go before this slip tunnel opens,” I said.

“Kilgori is my protege.” Jag motioned the man forward. “No training day should go to waste. I believe you will find him a worthy opponent.”

“False humility detected.” X-37 displayed a transcript of the conversation in my HUD. “He believes Kilgori will defeat you.”

“Great,” I said. “Pick your poison.”

Kilgori gave me a sideways glance, the picture of someone who thought they were the brunt of a joke. “I don’t understand.”

“How do you want to do this?” I asked. “Bare hands? Strong language? Spelling contest. I’m game for whatever.”

“Kicks only.” He smiled broadly. “Until I know I can survive a strike from that metal arm.”

“Fantastic. Let’s kick each other’s asses.” I slipped on training gear and stepped onto the mat.

“Kicking has never been your number one skill,” X-37 said.

“Shit, I forgot.” I warmed up with a few basic air kicks, not wanting to give too much away to my adversary. “I’m not bad.”

“At this level, every percentile of difference is important,” X said.

His warm-up demonstrated a lot of speed and flexibility.

“Would you like a reminder?” X asked. “Perhaps I should list your strengths and weaknesses in rank order.”

“Not helpful, X. Don’t distract me unless it’s important.” I faced Kilgori in the center of the mat.

“Salute,” he said.

I echoed the phrase without breaking eye contact. “Salute.”

We dropped into fighting stances, tested the distance with a few easy kicks, then circled each other. He was about my height but leaner. Each move was precise and relaxed, like maybe he’d been training for years—or every spare minute since he was old enough to walk.

His lead foot snapped at me. His back leg drove into my gut with amazing speed and power.

I twisted at the same time I flexed my core, but it still knocked some of my breath out. My left hand countered instinctively, but I pulled the punch and tried my own kick a second too late.

“Clean miss,” X-37 clarified.

“Thanks, X. Very helpful.” I spun and delivered a heel kick that caught Kilgori on a forearm.

He shook the limb he’d blocked with as we circled warily.

I kicked for his head, then his torso with my rear leg. Neither struck.

He counterattacked, but I slipped sideways and kicked him in the shin. The force of the strike tripped him. He stumbled and I went in fast, kicking like a berserker.

He retreated, changed angles, and caught several kicks on his raised shin and one with his foot.

I drove him to the edge of the mat and repeated the spinning back kick, catching his other forearm.

He grunted in pain but rolled out to one side, dashed around the mat, and staked out territory closer to the middle where he would have room to maneuver. Most fighters would have retreated out of the contest perimeter, defaulting this match but also getting a chance to rest and reassess their opponent.

Sethorn fighters didn’t roll that way, apparently.

We went back and forth. I only blocked with my Reaper arm once because it seemed unfair. Did Kilgori and his friends appreciate my gallantry? Who knew?

“Time,” Jag called. He slashed his hand vertically between us. “Draw.”

“That is incorrect, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “You won by several points, though I was hoping you would knock him out.”

I signaled X-37 to forget about it, then mimicked Kilgori’s end of match salute.

“I’m feeling recovered, Halek, if you’re up for another match,” Jag said.

“Why the hell not?” I wiped my face dry and drank a bottle of water.

We agreed on grappling this time and spent the better part of an hour looking for choke holds and joint locks. By the time I made it to my cabin, I’d found muscles I’d forgotten existed and concluded that I didn’t want Jag and his team as enemies.

12

Leaving a slip tunnel was always an event. This time, I was alone with a barely touched whiskey in one hand and a smoldering cigar in the other. Tom, Path, and Bug were asleep in their private cabins.

The middle of my watch was a welcome time of solitude. Meditation wasn’t my style, but these sessions bore similarities to the practice. Or maybe they didn’t. I reminisced, speculated, and analyzed memories I hadn’t touched in years. This was the opposite of emptying my mind. This was letting it fill up with things I couldn’t afford to forget—mostly good things, surprisingly.

Was I still a notorious assassin with a confirmed body count far surpassing my peers?

Well, yeah.

But I’d been just another kid from the neighborhood before that. The Union hadn’t brainwashed me completely. I remembered more about my early life than I had during my Dreadmax to Maglan years.

I updated the ship’s log. “Not much happening tonight, Jelly.”

“True, Captain. But the end of the tunnel is approaching. Would you like me to wake up the others?” Jelly asked.

“What do your scans say? Any surprises?” I skimmed the information scrolling up the main display. “The data doesn’t show any threats.”

The Blade of Julius led the way. This was their home world. I couldn’t tell if they were preparing to leave slip space or not. Hopefully, they would get on the comms soon to discuss the plan.

“There is one planet in this system showing signs of life and civilization. I assume that is Sethorn,” Jelly said. “There are light military patrols throughout the region. Three ships have been diverted to investigate our arrival.”

“Hail the Blade of Julius.” I extinguished the cigar and hid the evidence in my secret Reaper arm compartment. The whiskey, I merely sat down just out of camera view.

“Good morning, Halek,” Jag said. “Welcome to Sethorn.”

“We’re still quite a ways from your home world,” I said.

“The Sethorn Republic claims the entire system by tradition,” Jag said. “The Oroth Council forbids this, even as a casual greeting or joke.”

“Which means you do it all the time,” I said.

He nodded. “Exactly. I operate outside the lines, and that will become more evident when you see other ships of my people.”

“You mean they’re not all pieces of junk?” I asked.

“That hurts, Halek,” he said, maintaining his hard expression for several seconds before cracking a smile. “But yes, that’s the color of it.”

“My watch isn’t over, but my crew will wake up soon. Do I need to contact the authorities? It looks like several ships are headed our way,” I said. “What is the protocol?”

“Those are for me, just to make sure I don’t cause trouble,” Jag said. “I need to change uniforms. We should contact the Republic escort in about two hours. See you then.”

“What kind of trouble would you cause, Jag?” I said, pushing just to see what I could get.

He smiled wryly. “Make me a promise.”

I waited without comment or commitment.

“Describe my team and our gear accurately if they interrogate you regarding our first contact,” he said.

“I can do that,” I said. “You did well with what you had. Good care and control of your issued gear. Will that get you a positive performance rating?”

“Sure, Halek. See you soon.” He signed off.

“What the hell was that about?” I asked.

“Unknown. We can infer that the Sethorn government regulates equipment and technology leaving the system,” X-37 said. “If they believe anyone would want to steal tech secrets from them, they must be delusional.”

I picked up my whiskey and took a sip. Jelly announced that breakfast was served in the galley and that Tom, Bug, and Path were all in attendance.

“Inform them of our arrival in the Sethis system. I will remain at my post until relieved,” I said. “Make sure they understand there is no emergency. I don’t need them all running up here at once.”

I watched the ships approach. From this distance, they were a computer simulation of what they would look like close up. The design resembled the Blade of Julius but their condition was a completely different story.

The new ships looked immaculate, surfaces gleaming from the distant sunlight. Their engines appeared compact and powerful, lacking smoke or other random discharge. Not a single part fell off.

Time passed quickly. My crew gathered to witness our first contact with Jag’s people.

“If you were looking for an introduction to Sethorn traditions, it seems you will be disappointed, Captain,” Jelly said. “They have refused direct communication and are relaying all information through the Blade of Julius.”

“Options?” I asked.

Two seconds passed, during which I suspected Jelly and X-37 were comparing notes.

“Jag will give us an update and request we follow his lead,” Jelly said. “As we need an alliance and guidance in this new sector of the galaxy, I suggest we comply but remain vigilant.”

Bug handed me a rolled-up sandwich and a container of fruit juice—orange I thought. The flatbread was still warm and steam curled up from the scrambled eggs in the center.

“Jelly’s egg paste is better than ever. These taste real,” Bug said.

I examined the sandwich, skeptical of my friend’s culinary instincts. The man’s favorite thing in the world was still cheese crackers no matter how old.

“Trust me, Hal. Breakfast of champions. I’ll eat it if you don’t,” he said.

I snarfed the meal, then chugged the drink before Jag finally appeared on the display.

His uniform was a meticulously tailored version of what he wore in the field, but with the addition of a perfectly angled hat I thought was called a beret. The guy cleaned up well. Gone was the chipped and dented gear.

“When he said he had to change uniforms, I assumed it would be to represent a different military force, as though he had been working behind the lines or something,” X-37 said. “This makes him look far more respectable, according to various fashion metrics in my database. He is also wearing a halo and boom mic I suspect are more technologically advanced than what he used in the field. This makes little sense. I’m running a fresh analysis of his appearance from scratch.”

I wanted to disagree with my LAI but couldn’t imagine any self-respecting operator taking his second best equipment into the field. Had he been testing his team? Slumming it with secondhand junk? While going against a Reaper?

The idea almost pissed me off. Jag’s team had taken me seriously, or so I’d thought. New evidence suggested they were either hiding something or stupid.

Sethorn was an emerald world full of life and mystery. There were several cities, none of them enormous but each a collection of technological marvels. Mountains, waterfalls, and oceans made me want to start over in this place and forget about fighting the Oroth Council.

Far from urban areas, I saw the truly ancient remains of a Dreadmax-like starship. Some of the fuselage looked like a bump in the mountainside, but other sections bore a distinct resemblance to a capital ship. Vines hung from engines the size of department stores. Grass grew on the top of the spherical mass.

Whoever first colonized this world had come thousands of years ago and had a rough time of it in the beginning.

There was a massive hole in a wall where a herd of animals wandered in and out to graze on thick grass. Birds swarmed into the sky. Clouds drifted above the scene with sunlight slashing beams of gold across rich farmlands. Too much of the ancient ship was gone to know anything about how it came to be smashed against the planet.

Jag finished consulting with Kilgori Rulon and Amanda Houstonrex, stepped toward me, and reopened the comms. “The Sethorn Defense Force isn’t excited about your ships, but I vouched for you and your friends. They’ve hosted James Henshaw before and aren’t fans.”

“I don’t blame them. Skepticism is the way to go. The guy is always running a double game,” I said.

He gave a polite nod but didn’t defend or condemn his boss. “Your ship will be required to dock at Rethbo Station. They will ask to inspect, but you can refuse, in which case they will not allow you to deliver or receive goods to the station or the planet.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“My recommendation is for one representative to accompany me to the Security General’s office for an interview. Once that is handled, we can get both your ships refueled for reasonable prices.”

“What do you think, Tom?” I asked.

“I don’t like you going alone,” he answered.

“We should accompany you to keep them safe,” Bug said. “You can be a menace in a new place.”

X-37 beeped in my ear. “Apparently, he has forgotten their performance in the training room. The Sethorn people will be quite safe from you, Reaper Cain, so long as Jag and his team are close at hand. I suspect their society has many other capable warriors as well.”

“Agreed.” I addressed Jag. “See you there.”

“I’ll come to your docking point as soon as we clear our own inspection,” Jag said. “Safe journeys.”

“Same,” I replied.

* * *

“We would prosper if the Oroth Council paid us for our technology or our services,” Jag said. “But they take what they want and tell the rest of the Sovereignties we are heroes because we surrendered our time, talent, and wealth for the greater good. Which, just to be super freaking clear, we didn’t.”

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

Jag watched me out of the corner of his eye as we walked through the clean white corridor. “I’ll never really get used to that. My uncle told me about LAIs and ship AIs as soon as we finished inspections. Not sure I believe him, especially not the part where he claims all ships, including mine, have an AI.”

“How else could you travel through slip tunnels?” I asked. “Ship AIs handle a lot of computations.”

“Flagging uncle for future analysis. His inflection suggests this is not a familial term,” X-37 advised.

“We used computers and slide rules,” he said. “But knowing what I do now, a lot of things I never understood make sense. Maybe I always suspected ships had AIs but not the kind that talk and pretend to have personalities.”

“Cover your ears, X,” I said.

“It is quite all right. My personality is entirely fake, a shameless rip-off of your mediocre jokes and sarcasm,” X-37 said. “Would you like me to use the speaker box in your Reaper arm? Perhaps I can answer Jag’s questions.”

I thought about it as the commando leader studied me. “Yeah, but be careful around strangers. They might freak out.”

“Are you talking to yourself, your LAI I mean?” Jag asked.

“Tell him, X.”

“Hello, Julius Augustus Garrison. I am X-37, a limited artificial intelligence in the service of Halek Cain, the last Reaper.”

Jag’s eyes went wide, and he nearly tripped in the middle of the unobstructed hallway. “Uh… hello.”

I tapped the invisible speaker on the inside of my wrist. “He says you can ask him questions to speed things up.”

“I don’t have anything to ask. Not right now. Sorry, Halek. That caught me off guard,” Jag said. He looked up the hallway and seemed relieved to see an extraordinarily attractive blonde striding toward us in full combat attire. The main difference between Jag’s field uniform and the station personnel were the black, blue, and gray kilts worn by men and women. Her beret was blood red, while Jag’s was black with a silver emblem.

“Julius,” she said.

“Decima,” he replied, then hugged her.

“You survived again, and brought a friend.” Her eyes looked me over. “You’re Halek Cain? I thought you’d be bigger, like three meters tall with horns.”

“Halek, this is my sister Decima Camilla Garrison,” Jag said. “Her team calls her DCG when they dare. Halek Cain is our guest, Decima. Don’t be rude.”

She gave me a look that made me blush. “He knows I’m not.”

“Uh, can I see more of this station?” I asked and started forward despite having no clue where I was going. She was something, but rude wasn’t it. I didn’t enjoy feeling like an awkward teenager. I was an intergalactic badass who didn’t have time for that.

“Of course,” Jag said, flanking me. He cast a stern look toward his sister when he thought I was preoccupied with my LAI.

“This is bullshit, X,” I subvocalized.

“Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, and your imitation of her body languages suggests you are—“

“Never mind, X. Focus,” I said.

“—attracted to Jag’s sister. You are the one lacking focus, Reaper Cain. Why don’t you get off my back,” X-37 said.

Looking at Decima was like getting punched in the gut. Stunning physical beauty rarely affected me like this, but I couldn’t get her image out of my head after ten seconds of looking at her. She was different from the rest of the Sethorns, who were dark-haired, dark-eyed, and unreasonably attractive as well.

I had learned again and again that outward appearance meant nothing. What a person could do, how loyal they were, whether they like my jokes better than X-37’s—those were the things that really mattered. But Decima… she was going to cause me a lot of grief.

So far, this system was like a magical island in mythology. Nothing good could come from stopping here. I didn’t want to be caught in a lotus dream where I never wanted to leave. How easy would it be to train with the best warriors I’d ever met and convince myself that I was preparing for battles to come—but then never actually fight them?

“My sister was just heading to the training area. We’ve already sparred enough to fulfill my monthly requirement.”

“Tell me about it.” I pointed to a healing black eye.

Decima laughed and bit her lip. “You boys play so rough.”

“We will join you and the family for dinner after I show Halek around,” Jag said. “Go train. You need it. Your forms are an embarrassment.”

“Okay, brother.” She walked away, and I stared a second too long.

“Her forms are the best Sethorn has seen for years, but don’t tell her that,” Jag said. “Let’s go. I’ll familiarize you with Rethbo Station, then arrange a meeting with the Security General. In the meantime, I’ll direct the station crew to refuel your ships on credit. You can pay after the Security General flags your account for a discount.”

“Does he like cigars?” I asked.

“No one has ever seen a cigar here,” Jag said. “And by that, I mean no one in the entire system.”

“Your home sounds delightful,” X-37 said. “I am sure Reaper Cain will refrain from poisoning his lungs out of respect for your laws and culture.”

Jag looked at me, then X’s voice coming out of my Reaper Arm. “Forgive me if I don’t place any bets. Some areas are off limits. Let’s start with the general assembly area, maybe grab some pie.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

13

“We don’t need to visit the surface,” I said, though I wanted nothing more. Time was of the essence, and Elise needed our help; otherwise, I would already be on the ground. Thoughts of the Maglan beast and her vulnerable litter resonated in my memory.

I had left my estate to hunt the monster and come to long for a similar existence instead. The creature was a deadly predator, but only to provide for itself and its children. Gazing upon Sethorn woke me up to how tired I was of Galactic conflict. I needed peace. We all needed peace.

Jag pointed through the launch bay at a view of his home world below the station. The containment field was completely transparent, far better technology than I would have predicted after seeing his battered spacecraft. None of that seemed important compared to the view of the planet below.

Silver clouds covered a portion of the blue and green world. I’d seen a lot of planets, but this one was special. I couldn’t explain why, but it called out to something in my subconscious.

“You know you want to go,” he said. “I pulled strings to arrange the trip. Outsiders don’t get to visit without an armed escort. It’s a high honor.”

“You’ll be with me?” I asked.

“Constantly. Anything you need, me or my team will provide.” He clapped me on the shoulder like I was part of his clan already.

“So I would have an armed escort guarding me, preventing my escape.”

“Good point,” X-37 said privately. “That should teach him to play word games with a Reaper.”

I ignored my LAI.

“You have me there. I would effectively be your warden,” Jag admitted. His mood was generous, much more relaxed than when we first met. “You step out of line, bam!” He punched his palm.

The man was genuinely happy, and I almost wished he could retire and start his own tobacco farm, right after I taught him what that was.

“You’ll have a double escort,” Decima said, sliding up behind us and putting her own hand on my shoulder seconds after her brother released me. The difference was, her hand slid to the small of my back before pulling away.

“That’s not necessary, sister,” Jag said.

She shrugged and smiled innocently. “My warriors are heading that way regardless. Mandatory planet time. How overdue are you? Exceptions can only be honored for so long without an official letter.”

“While this is interesting, I am logging a significant amount of interpersonal data,” X-37 said. “I’m not sure we should be involved in this conversation.”

I signaled X-37 to keep that between us and played along with my hosts. “What about my team?”

“Sorry, friend. That would be pushing our luck. Normally, I don’t rate this type of special treatment, but more than a few clan bosses are interested in the legendary Reaper,” he said.

“I thought you had never heard of us,” I said.

“I hadn’t. My employer has been talking about you in high places, it seems. Your reputation as a warrior is a curiosity, but the quality of your fight against Kilgori and myself has also leaked,” he said. “Don’t think our training is some kind of secret. I just mean that normally no one would care about a couple of sparring matches.”

“My brother has a reputation,” Decima said. “And occasional incidents of humility.”

“Reputation?” I asked.

“He’s never been defeated,” she said. “That’s why he has that enormous melon he calls a head on top of his shoulders. Big enough to hold ten egos. Don’t let his act fool you.”

Looking at the spectacular planet below us, I realized there was nothing I wanted more than to visit the place. Decima didn’t seem offended that I was staring at it instead of her. I could feel my humanity calling out. Peace, strength, and everything I associated with being whole and healthy emanated from Jag’s world.

An alarm sounded. Jag and his sister looked at each other, excitement obvious in their expressions.

“What’s that, the dinner bell?” I asked.

“Funny, Halek,” Jag said. “The station is under attack.”

“And there are already enemy units inside secure areas,” Decima said, holding her left hand to her ear to activate what I assume was a hidden comm device.

“Come with me, Halek. Stay close. I’ll try to get you back to your ship and away from here, but the security of Rethbo Station must come first,” Jag said.

I spread my hands in mock surprise. “So no tour of the planet?”

“He’s funny and good-looking,” Decima said.

I wanted to return the quip, play the flirting game as we ran for the landing zone, but a piercing noise cut through my comms. A ghostlike image of my headshot filled my entire HUD. Something was wrong with his face, like he had been slashed apart and put back together. Shadows from his helmet tricked the eye.

“Which clone baby is that, X?” I asked.

“You will learn my name soon enough,” the man said. “I’m coming for you, and I’m bringing friends.”

“Kill the link, X. What the hell are you doing allowing this type of direct communication?”

My LAI responded, but I could barely hear him through waves of static.

“I’ll find you, Halek, and your friends,” said the spectral image.

* * *

When X-37 finally blocked the intruder, it was like a digital sledgehammer. I actually saw stars. Raising one hand to keep my balance, I turned in a circle, anticipating an immediate assault from all directions while I was still regaining my bearings. Jag and his sister adopted a defensive posture, weapons drawn and held in the low-ready position.

“Move to contact,” Jag said to his sister. “I’ll get Halek to his ship, then link up with your team.”

“How about I stay with you and fight these assholes.” I snapped out my blade to emphasize my abilities. “I’m not too bad in a fight.”

“That’s not our custom,” Decima said. “My brother would lose face if you were forced to defend yourself while being his guest.”

“What if I find this invader and attack him first,” I said. “That’s a lot different than self-defense.”

“An interesting idea, but not something we’re going to hash out today,” Jag replied. “You may want to leave with your crew, or at least see to their welfare. So let’s move.”

“He does have a point, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I retracted my blade and turned back the way we came. Jag flanked me while his sister sprinted away in the other direction, gathering defenders as she went.

A new alert sounded. I stopped, then swept my vision down a side hallway. Something triggered my senses.

“No time to lallygag,” Jag said. “The sooner you get your ship, the sooner I can get to my team. If you want to fight whoever is attacking us, that’s on you once you are in control of your own vessel again. Our people believe that if you are free to leave and stay, it will increase your honor, even though that’s not as important to outsiders.”

I held up a hand, wanting him to shut up. Smoke drifted around the corner. “The intruders have breached more than one section of Rethbo Station. This is happening right here, right now.”

Jag drew his sidearm. I pulled mine, and we took up positions at the corners. He called in our location and requested reinforcements.

“Talk to me, X,” I said.

“I am unable to access the security features of this facility,” X-37 said. “I believe there is a correlation between the attack and your arrival. Barring an unexplained coincidence, my analysis suggests that these attackers are after you or perhaps your friends. Henshaw is a slightly less probable target, but it is very close. He most likely has enemies in this system.”

“Or owes someone money,” I said.

Four Obsidian regulars burst around the corner, weapons up. They moved like trained operators, hunting through their sights as though they expected to shoot. Through previous experience, I knew they weren’t clones but Union veterans a long way from home or others they had recruited during the last decade. I wasn’t about to underestimate them.

Jag and I fired at the same time. I shouldn’t have been surprised. We had been very equal during our sparring sessions, in both strategy, problem-solving, and physical reaction time.

Three of the assaulters went down with serious wounds. One grabbed a comrade and dragged him back around the corner. Before he was done with his escape, a second, much stronger assault force rushed our position.

Five Obsidian regulars and a full Obsidian clone came at us this time. The clone charged ahead of the others. He was bigger than I was, which said something. His body language shouted aggression. The glass-like surface of his armor reflected muzzle flash like a fireworks display in hell.

“Take the squad. I’ll handle the leader,” I said, then opened fire. Bullets ricocheted from his armor. To penetrate, I needed to hit several times in the same place, which was impossible in this dynamic environment.

This HC clone was trying to break through our line before our backup arrived. Which is what I would’ve done had the roles been reversed.

Jag put two rounds on each of the clone’s team, slowing but not stopping them. About the time I clashed with the beefed up HC clone, Jag bolted ahead and kicked the first of the regulars backward. This was about to get real.

I snapped out the Reaper blade and met the advance of my body double. His black armor glistened like obsidian as he drew a sword from his back and slashed too fast to see. His footwork and a dip of the shoulder gave away his intentions. The reflections I’d first noticed came faster and faster as the battle around us intensified.

I slipped left, leaned back, and avoided the blade striking my throat. Armor protected me, but this guy knew its every weakness. For all I knew, these HC losers never took the gear off. It would be like a second skin, every use natural and intuitive. If there was a way to hack off my head, he would know it.

After dropping low, I executed a spinning leg sweep, catching him perfectly. Down he went, but not for long. He bounced to his feet even as I thrust my arm blade at his torso. The sharp edge bit into armor, scraping an obvious groove in the high-tech surface.

He executed his own spinning attack, nearly chopping off my face, visor or no visor, with the HC clone sword. The weapon resembled my arm blade. Slightly narrower, it was also much longer.

Path would tell me to control my inner self, my breathing, and my perception of time, so I did. The sword saint had never been an easy master. Elise and I had nearly died learning the man’s hard lessons.

All that effort was going to save my life if I could just focus—and maybe find a weapon to match his. My right hand twisted to draw my pistol, but I needed it for balance, blocks, and counter grabs on the rare occasion one was possible.

I kicked. He punched.

Our blades crossed. We pushed each other back and forth, twisting to get free but never quite separating. He knew as well as I did that there were pros and cons to parting now. One step back would put my enemy in the perfect range for a sword thrust. Three steps back and he would have room to draw a firearm and shoot. Closer than that and I would take his head off before he switched weapons.

“How did you get so big, clone baby?” I hooked one of my legs behind his and tried for a sweep as I completed the insult, hoping to catch him off guard again.

He nearly fell for it, but he overpowered me, immediately attempting the same takedown tactic. I stepped back from it with the leg he had targeted, frustrating his attempt to trip me up. Unfortunately, we couldn’t let go of each other now. Blades pressed together, hands grabbing armor, we were a tangle of violence and hatred.

“Don’t be jealous, Bio,” he spat.

“That must be the lamest insult that has ever been directed at you, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I might have thanked my LAI or laughed, but I was busy falling backward from a savage headbutt that came right after the insult. The HC clone’s visor rammed into mine, transferring force through my helmet and down my neck and spine. Normally agile, my feet tripped over each other. Air left my lungs when I struck the ground.

Falling on your back in the middle of a life and death fight sucked, especially when your murderous opponent came down on top of you like a starship crash landing.

“I’m you but better. Look at what you could have been,” he said.

“Get over yourself. You’re a fake, like a cheap cigar.” My retort would’ve been more convincing had I been able to breathe. Each word was labored. The armor wasn’t doing much to resist the pressure.

When his visor snapped open, I saw a terrifying version of my own visage. Like the rest of the clones, he was a young version of me, perhaps in his mid-twenties. Scars crisscrossed his face, and his eyes were oily pits of darkness. His glistening skin was as white as bleached bones.

“Horrific physical attributes detected,” X-37 said. “Strongly advised not to look at the scars.”

“Too late,” I grunted.

The clone’s wounds weren’t wounds but something alive, writhing under the skin, turning the pallid skin gray as charcoal. They didn’t stop on his face either, but went up his forehead and down his neck. I couldn’t see much else, but I didn’t want to.

“You feel terror, Halek,” he said. “You’re right to be afraid. This is what your genetics have become, and I’m using them to wipe out evidence of your existence. When I’m through, no one will remember you or care that you are gone.”

“Well that sucks,” I said. “My legacy is going to be an ugly corpse-face guy with worm scars. Can you believe this bullshit, X?”

X-37 spoke audibly through my helmet speaker. “Cosmic unfairness detected, Reaper Cain. This imposter also makes an unlikely statement. His chance of success at erasing your legacy is less than nine percent. You have simply pissed off too many people for him to remove you from collective memory.”

Jag and the Obsidian regulars started shooting at each other again, and I thought I heard other voices. Reinforcements had joined the battle, I just didn’t know on which side. The deck shook around us from a violent impact to the station.

“Your LAI is mouthy and weak, just like you.” The HC clone freak pinned my right arm under his knee, then leaned his forearm across my throat. Our blades were still pressed together between us, momentarily ineffective. “I am the only Cain who matters now. Call me Tempest.”

“What kind of name is that?” I asked aloud, not really wanting an answer.

“I believe he drew inspiration from mythological, meteorological, and cultural references to select a moniker designed to terrify his enemies,” X-37 said.

“What culture? He’s a clone. He’s got no culture, style, or personality.”

“Correct, Reaper Cain. I have him marked in your records as a punk-ass fake.” X-37 made several clicking sounds. “There is something different about this one that I cannot identify.”

“Work on it. I don’t want to be surprised.”

“Both of you shut your mouths,” Tempest shouted, spit flying against my visor. “You don’t talk when I talk! I’m the one who matters. I’m the real Cain now, and I have the power of the Darkness in me.”

X-37 spoke privately. “I’m not liking this development, Reaper Cain. The scant information I have gathered on the Darkness is very disturbing.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Tempest said. “Declare me the original Cain, serve me as my right-hand man, and I’ll let you live. Maybe I’ll even let you have some of those cigars you like so much.”

“Maglan Goldbands are my own brand,” I said. “You can’t let me have them.”

“I’ve got a humidor full of Starbrands, looted from the Union before we left,” he said. “Now surrender and give me your oath of fealty, or die.”

The shooting around us ceased. A boot slammed into the side of Tempest’s helmet, launching him off me.

“Julius Augustus Garrison detected,” X-37 said as a hand grabbed my right arm and pulled me to my feet. “My analysis shows Jag really knows how to kick.”

His entire team, plus Decima and her people engaged my new enemies, shooting and slashing with swords. But that wasn’t what drove Tempest back. Path rushed into the fray, a whirlwind of violence and death.

I’d never seen the sword saint fight with such savagery.

“You know what I always say, X,” I said as I caught my breath.

“Please share, Reaper Cain. The anticipation is killing me.” X-37’s deadpan voice almost convinced me he was bored with my humor.

“Never come to a sword fight without guns and friends with guns,” I said. “And a sword master.”

“I am not sure that will go down in the annals of strategic thought, but I will log it just in case. Perhaps you should work on it,” X-37 said.

I cocked my head to the left, then to the right to straighten out my neck, ready my weapons, and charge back into battle. By then, I was seeing the full martial valor of the people of Rethbo Station because the Obsidian invaders were in full retreat, fleeing in their assault ships as fast as they had come.

The only thing wrong now was that my Reaper arm felt dislocated. I moved it through an easy range of motion, and it got hung up several times. Until now, I thought it was far superior to the old one. If it couldn’t survive a single fight, then I was going to have problems.

At my feet lie Tempest’s sword. I picked it up with my good hand, just in case I had to defend myself again.

“That seems to be a fine weapon, despite how the abomination used it,” Jag said.

I did a test slash from low left to high right, ignoring a spasm in my Reaper arm that hung almost uselessly now. “I like it. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Let’s get you to your ship,” Jag said.

Path and Bug fell in with us, and we walked silently through the battle-damaged hallways.

“I’m analyzing your Reaper arm,” X-37 said. “It appears to be coming off.”

“Bullshit. What kind of cybernetic arm comes off like that?”

“Perhaps you should ask James Henshaw,” X-37 said.

“Trust me, I will.”

14

We made it to the Jellybird but were advised not to take off. I dropped into the pilot’s chair, checking holo screens for data. Bug and Path occupied the copilot and navigator seats, each of them looking worse for the wear. Bug’s armor was damaged and Path held his left wrist with his right hand as though protecting an injury.

“What gives, Jelly?” I asked.

“Flight control reports ship-to-ship battles in this sector. The Obsidian raiders are in retreat but still fighting determinedly. They didn’t come to take over Rethbo Station but to execute a hit and run raid,” Jelly said. “I assume you were involved. Is your new arm malfunctioning?”

“It is, thanks for noticing.” I checked on the Lady Faith II and found her also ready to launch but going nowhere. “I’ve got words for Henshaw. Needs to be face to face.”

“No way, Hal,” Bug said. “We might need to leave in a hurry.”

“Fine. Get him on the holo comm. I need to have a piece of his ass,” I said.

“Captain, are you quite certain of this objective?” Jelly asked.

X-37 intervened. “I can explain that rather crude metaphor during a phase of our trip where we are in less immediate danger. For now, let’s just say that Reaper Cain needs answers.”

“Get Tom to the bridge too,” I said.

“Already on my way.” Tom spoke from an earpiece as he ran through the ship. “X-37 told me your arm is malfunctioning.”

“James Henshaw is responding. I have him on the holo, but the connection is muted until you are ready,” Jelly said.

“I’ve never been more ready,” I said. The man was lucky we were on separate ships. That probably wouldn’t save him in the long term. Maybe he was a genius with cybernetics, but I wasn’t the type of customer an engineer like James Henshaw should piss off.

“Halek, good to see that you survived the attack,” Henshaw said from the holo display. “When Lady advised me what was happening, I became extremely worried. My spa treatment had just begun. Needless to say, I abandoned it.”

“I am going to kill you until you’re severely dead,” I said. “Spa treatment?”

“Could you wait until after my auto-massage? I really don’t want to go into the afterlife all bound up in knots.” Henshaw stretched his arms above his head like he had just awoken from a nap.

“He doesn’t appear concerned with your anger, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I held my breath, counted to ten, then let it out, trying to think of a reason the cybernetic engineer might be this calm. Several conclusions came, all of them suggesting there was more to this situation than a substandard project that broke during its first stress test. I filed each theory away and leaned forward. “You can fix my arm,” I stated. “You expected this little hiccup.”

“The way you treat your equipment, and your friends, damage was expected. Whether I can fix it depends on what you did to it,” he said.

“It feels out of socket. Just hangs there twitching.” I pointed to it with my good hand.

He leaned back with his hands behind his head, smiling with way too much satisfaction. “Hal, the new arm is modular. You can remove it and replace it with different variations I created. None of them are ready at this exact moment, but the fist and blade version is easy to recalibrate. Tom should be able to handle it without difficulty.”

“Now would be an excellent time for a savage rejoinder followed by a threat, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I signaled my LAI thanks but no thanks, choosing to dig deeper, learn more from Henshaw. “What are the other variations?”

He hesitated, then dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward. A moment later his face was as close to the camera as mine was. His answer came in a low, confidential voice. “I’d rather not say until they are ready.”

“Normally, Jimmy, I’d reach through this holo comm and throat punch you, but I’m gonna save that for later. Next time we meet face-to-face, you better have some new cybernetic gear ready, and it better be the best godsdamn tech you’ve ever produced,” I said.

“Of course, Hal!” He spread his hands wide. “It’s me. When have I failed to deliver.”

I hesitated. “With tech, not often.”

“Try never,” he said.

“Don’t push your luck. In the future, I need to know the limitations of my gear before I go into battle.”

“No problem,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind…”

“Go spa yourself, Jimmy. But get to work on the modular Reaper gear.”

Henshaw tipped an imaginary hat to the camera and disappeared.

“The Rethbo deck crew refueled both ships while you were away,” Tom said. “We should be in good shape even if we can’t find resources after we head to Oroth.”

“That quick?” I asked. “Jag said he would have them put it on our tab, but that seems fast.”

“I believe he put the bill on his own tab to expedite the process,” Jelly said. “Very unexpected. That is an extraordinary expense for someone on a soldier’s salary.”

“There is more to Julius Augustus Garrison than my initial analysis suggested. I have run several scenarios based on known facts—what we saw of his performance and that of his team—in addition to political, cultural, and economic predictions gleaned from our short visit to the system thus far,” X-37 said.

“And?” I asked.

“Insufficient data,” X-37 said. “If Sethorn runs on pure capitalism, he would have to be a person of significant financial resources. If it is a socialist collective, the acquisition of resources might not require the same degree of personal wealth for an individual holding rank.”

“Rank may equate to wealth,” Jelly said. “My observation of interaction between the Rethbo AI and other ships in the landing berth suggest the Garrison family is quite heroic and, historically, has been advanced unlimited credit despite their financial solvency.”

“Must be nice.” I scanned Jelly’s system reports, noting where there were battles and where the Obsidians were giving the Sethorns the most trouble. So far, the conflict was one-sided. Outnumbered, the Obsidians were clearly in retreat—which made me suspicious. “Can you put me in contact with Jag?”

“No, but his sister, Decima, seems to be available,” Jelly said. “She sent a message indicating you should call her.”

“I bet she did,” I murmured.

“Sorry, Captain. I didn’t catch that. Is there a problem?” Jelly asked.

“Reaper Cain is having woman troubles,” X-37 said.

I waved my good hand at Jelly’s control panel. “I am not. Let’s not start a bunch of rumors.”

“Would you like me to connect with DCG?” Jelly asked. “She seems quite nice.”

“No, I need Tom to fix my arm first.”

“Good choice, Reaper Cain. You want to look your best when contacting a member of the opposite sex,” X-37 said.

“Now you’re just messing with me,” I said. “When has your dating advice been worth two dirty credits?”

“Perhaps a little.” My LAI went into silent mode, probably comparing notes with Lady to plan our escape from the system or matchmaking. Who knew with these computer types.

Tom opened his tool kit, then manipulated my arm in stages—raising it straight up, then rolling it in a wider and wider circle. “Interesting.”

“Can you fix it?” I asked.

“Let me skim the schematic James sent me one more time.” He consulted a tablet for several minutes. “Impressive. If this works, it’s brilliantly simple. Repairs and upgrades will still require a skilled technician, but removing and replacing it could be done by nearly anyone.”

“Great. Now I’m going to get it ripped off in a fight. No need to arm bar me when they can just remove the arm and toss it away,” I said.

“Or beat you over the head with it,” Tom said. “Joking. There are several fail-safes. X, can you grant me permission to remove and replace the arm? Bug should have the ability to do this as well in case Cain needs help in the field.”

“Do it, X,” I said, despite wondering when I would have another arm to switch out with this one.

My thoughts drifted as Tom played with my cybernetic prosthetic. The urge to haul ass to Oroth made me antsy. I tapped one foot rapidly as Tom worked.

“There it is,” Tom said, then removed my left arm.

“Ouch.” I flinched from an electrical jolt shooting from my shoulder up the side of my head.

“Did that hurt?” Tom asked, concerned.

“Caught me off guard.” I took the arm and realized how light it was. Henshaw had used high tech alloys and minimized anything that would add weight. “Feels weird to hold it like this.”

Tom peered into my shoulder socket. “This is really clean. Henshaw is an artist. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Nothing the mechanic had said before now made me quite this uneasy.

“I can see into the support structure. Very complex. Nothing organic is exposed. I think this would stop a high-powered bullet, which means it protects one of the most vulnerable areas in most armor. Armpit defense is a big topic in the military tech journals I’ve read.”

“Let’s not talk about my armpits,” I said.

Tom took the arm, then reinserted it into the shoulder socket. With a twist and a few typed commands, I felt good as new.

“Test it out,” Tom said.

I moved it through a full range of motion, then deployed and retracted my blade. “Nice. Feels good. Better than ever.”

Tom nodded and crossed his arms, clearly satisfied with his work and the product. “I am very excited to continue work on this new version. He told you about the other models, right?”

“No. And I’ve only seen a right arm. If you put that on my left shoulder, I’m going to be pissed,” I said.

“No worries, Hal. I know right from left.” He checked his work again. “Henshaw had a heavy weapon version and a shield version, that much I can tell you.”

“He showed you the variations?” I asked.

“Not exactly. He bragged, like he always does, and I snooped around his ship.”

“You should have brought them aboard the Jellybird,” I said.

“I thought about it but decided to wait until I knew they were finished. I also ran out of time. Once the station alerts sounded, I came straight back to the Jellybird.”

“I believe Tom may have participated in some of the luxuries offered on the Lady Faith II,” X-37 said. “He seems increasingly friendly with the cybernetics and optical engineer despite constant disparagement.”

I let that go for now. Why shouldn’t my friend have a little down time? If there was one person I trusted completely, it was Tom. He wouldn’t be influenced by Henshaw’s gifts. And Henshaw wasn’t my enemy, he was just a scoundrel who couldn’t be trusted.

“Decima is hailing the ship,” Jelly advised. “Shall I put her through.”

I opened and closed my left fist several times, testing it out, then smoothed my uniform with both hands.

“Perhaps a shave and a haircut would be in order as well,” X-37 said.

Tom agreed a bit too quickly. “You are a bit rough around the edges, Hal.”

“This isn’t a date,” I said.

“Of course not, Reaper Cain. One does want to look his best in any case,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, that’s been my mantra.” I punched the receive button on my workstation.

“Sarcasm detected,” X-37 said.

The holo comm flashed to life, and there stood Decima Camilla Garrison, DCG. She’d cleaned up well after the battle. The traditional Sethorn kilt had been replaced with combat fatigues that matched her shirt and beret. The uniform emphasized her trim waist. Her boots were shined to a high gloss, and her weapons looked inspection ready.

“Good evening,” I said. “What can I do for you, Decima?”

“Very good Reaper Cain,” X-37 whispered in my ear. “Your normal confidence with women has returned.”

I gave X the finger out of camera view.

“Good evening, Halek. Thanks for your concern,” she answered. “My brother is having a bullet removed from his… left calf I think.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She laughed. “He wouldn’t forgive me if I shared the condition of his butt cheek.”

I burst out laughing, as did Tom.

“I wish him a speedy recovery,” I said.

“Doesn’t everyone. I volunteered to escort your ships from the system if you desired to leave, but he told me your departure could wait. The stubborn man thinks he is going with you as a guide or something,” she said.

“Tell me the rest.”

“How much did he share about our home?” she asked.

“Less than nothing.”

“That’s intriguing. How exactly do you share a negative amount of information?” she asked.

“Vague references, subtle deceptions, wearing crap armor and traveling in a ship that barely flies when it’s obvious Sethorn has the ability to produce much better,” I said.

“Oh, you are clever, aren’t you,” she replied. “We have laws against taking technology out of the system. Everyone knows this, but we have the United Sovereignties of Oroth convinced it’s an attempt to hide our lack of sophistication and industry.”

“Why would you tell me?” I asked.

“The Oroth Council won’t listen to you,” she said. “And I think we can trust you.”

“Why? Because we fought together once?”

“More than that. Don’t ruin it by being a jerk,” she said. “When you are ready for departure, we should travel to the second slip tunnel and depart for the Zakion system. I will need to travel on one of your ships, and my team must remain behind.”

“Why can’t Jag act as our guide?”

“Our laws require at least twenty-five percent of a citizen’s life to be spent on Sethorn.” Her facial expression grew serious. “My brother has been attempting to save the galaxy since he was a boy. They called him home a few years ago, and we finally have him. He will go to the planet and reconnect with our family. And, though it’s not polite to talk about, not everything is perfect on Sethorn. He has other obligations.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

“That was why he wanted you as a companion, so he could interrogate you about all the places you have been and plot his next adventure,” Decima explained.

Tom gave me a look. “Sounds like someone I know.”

I waved away his comment.

She ignored our banter. “You are like my brother in many ways. And different in others.”

That got my attention. How long had I been on the move? Could I ever stop?

“I’ll come aboard in one hour, unless you don’t want a guide,” she said.

I still had questions. “Do you know Oroth well?”

“Nearly as well as my brother. I was called back from my own crusade against the Oroth Council a year ago and look forward to resuming the fight.” Back straight, head high, she waited for me to argue--or whatever.

“Fine. Come over and make yourself at home. Hope you like cigars and whiskey,” I said.

“Not sure what either of those are, but they sound delightful,” she said. “Until then.” She saluted and disappeared.

“I’m not sure delightful is what I would call your vices,” X-37 said.

“Let’s clean the place up.” I rushed out of the cockpit. “We’re having a guest.”

“You’re going to actually clean up this bachelor ship?” Tom asked.

“Get off my back, Tom. I mean, can you give me a hand? What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You are just a bit hot and cold today,” X-37 said. “The opposite sex does cause you significant distress.”

“Whatever, X. I just never realized how shabby this place looks. No offense, Jelly.”

“None taken. I have an extensive list of maintenance and cleaning tasks for you if you are needing a place to start,” Jelly said.

“I’m going to regret this, but send it to my HUD.”

Tom laughed good like a big brother. “We’ll get it done. Bug and Path will be glad to help, I’m sure.”

15

Path was almost no help with his broken wrist. Arm splinted, he sat meditating on the observation deck. Bug, by contrast, worked like a housekeeping demon.

“Didn’t mark you as a clean freak,” I said as he passed me with an electric mop.

“Dirt and clutter reminds me of Dreadmax. Living in the Maglan apocalypse was driving me insane, if we’re being honest. Get to work, Hal. I can’t do everything. Let’s get Jelly ship-shape.”

“My analysis shows you have time for one additional chore before Decima arrives at the ship,” X-37 said. “The Rethbo AI informed me she was delayed by a meeting. It seems there is trouble on Sethorn—Obsidian agents fomenting political strife and arguments between clans on what to do about it.”

I stopped with an armload of jumpsuits and training gear destined for the laundry. “Shit, X. That sounds like a precursor to an invasion. The Union always stirred up civil war on planets they wanted to invade.”

“Agreed, Reaper Cain. Public disorder followed by a full-scale invasion is very likely. The local military leaders are most likely overconfident after driving back the Obsidian raid on Rethbo Station. I have informed the station AI and he is working to inform local leaders,” X-37 said.

“Why can’t he just tell them?” I asked, hurrying to deposit my load in the ship washer.

“It doesn’t work that way in the Sethorn system, or the rest of this sector. Ship AIs must crunch the data and present it to captains for their own analyses. Neither summaries nor conclusions are allowed of AIs or their very crude versions of LAIs—think food appliances and climate control units. Horrible,” X-37 said. “My existence is illegal in the United Sovereignty of Oroth.”

“Good thing I don’t give a—”

“About their rules, yes. I believe our views are closely aligned on this subject. Cybernetics are also illegal in most circumstances, and taboo. Smoking…”

“Why is the entire galaxy turning into a no-smoking zone, X,” I complained.

“Inhaling superheated carcinogens into your lungs is extraordinarily bad for you and those around you, Reaper Cain.”

My LAI wasn’t wrong, so I resisted the urge to present my middle finger. I skimmed the laundry instructions instead, picked the quickest option, and started the machine. “Why haven’t I ever done this before? I’ve never worn dirty clothing outside of a mission so someone is slaving over this bullshit.”

“Tom handled it prior to this moment, or contracted others to get it done when we had sufficient crew,” Jelly said. “Is this the first time you have started a load? I believe you mixed several colors…”

“I feel like a jerk,” I said.

“It is not the end of the world, Captain,” Jelly said. “Though everyone will be wearing pink socks in the near future.”

“No, about Tom doing more than his fair share.” Too many examples came to mind.

“Of course, Captain. Shameful.”

I cringed. “That’s harsh, Jelly. But accurate as fuck.”

“I will add this incident, including your poor decision to mix reds with whites, to my database of your negative personality traits.” X-37 paused. “The list is definitely growing.”

“Why would you track something like that?” I demanded.

“I thought it might be useful to win a variety of arguments in the future,” X-37 said.

“Whatever. Get Henshaw on the holo comm. I’ll be on the bridge in two minutes to talk to him. We need to plan our next move,” I said.

“Good evening, Hal,” Henshaw said. This time he was dressed to work, his attire mimicking a ship captain’s uniform—a very casual ship captain of course.

“We’re almost ready to leave,” I said. “Once I have a final passenger, we need to head for the slip tunnel. The Oroth Council and Scheid’s Obsidians are up to something, so we will need to take advantage of our stealth technology to make a break for the slip tunnel to Zakion.”

Silence.

Henshaw shifted in his over-padded captain’s chair and fiddled with a wine glass. “Hal, I really can’t go with you. Please put in a good word for me with Elise. It is important for her to understand you wouldn’t have made it to the Zakion System and Oroth without my guidance and encouragement. Feel free to mention how well your new cybernetic arm works as well.”

“I’m speechless, X.”

My LAI clicked several times. “Me as well, Reaper Cain. You should know, however, that Jelly has been in constant communication with Lady. James Henshaw has been working diligently on cybernetic upgrades. Perhaps it would be best to leave him here. He is essentially useless in a fight.”

“True,” I said, slightly offscreen so that Henshaw wouldn’t hear me. “But that’s not the only type of problem we’ll be facing. I really could use him. He’s arrogant, not stupid.”

“What was that? For a moment it seemed you were giving me a compliment,” Henshaw said.

I faced the holo. “Fine. Stay here, Jimmy. Don’t forget our deal. I’ll need incredible gear to defeat Scheid and the Oroth Council.”

“You won’t be disappointed. Please don’t forget what I said about Elise. She hasn’t forgiven me, and maybe she won’t. But everyone would be better off if I was allowed to operate within her realm of influence. I wouldn’t even object to being closely monitored.”

“Stay out of trouble, Jimmy, and work on those cybernetic enhancements,” I said.

James Henshaw gave me a lazy salute with his nearly empty wine glass and disappeared.

“He must have really pissed her off,” I said.

“That was my conclusion as well,” X-37 said. “It seems he has been exiled.”

* * *

Jag arrived with Decima. She wore light armor and carried several weapons, while her brother bore a massive backpack that forced him to stoop forward.

“I thought you couldn’t play,” I said, helping him set the bundle down inside the ship.

“I’m just the equipment mule today,” he said. “Do you have that in your military?”

“Absolutely. Tough job, but someone has to do it. Are you sure you can’t join us?”

He looked miserable. “No, my sister is right. I have avoided my duties for too long, and there has been increasing disorder on the planet. Some call it civil war, which hasn’t happened on Sethorn for a thousand years. We’ve always been united in our resistance to the Oroth Council.”

“Listen to me, Jag. That has more to do with the Oroth Council and the Obsidians than your own people,” I said. “Maybe you have rebels, but I bet the Obsidians are behind the worst of it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. What would they care about our social structure, especially since we don’t allow them to know anything about us?” he said.

“The Obsidians are led by a man named Scheid. The man, and many of his regular soldiers, are from halfway across the galaxy, a section of space ruled by the Union. Fomenting rebellion and disorder before a full-scale invasion is a common tactic. I’d bet whatever you consider valuable that Scheid has brought this tactic to this part of the galaxy,” I said.

He studied me for a long moment, and I realized his sister was watching me as well. “Rumors are you’re one of the clones. Are you from the Union too?”

“That’s a conversation for another time, except I can promise you, I am the Union’s worst nightmare, and Scheid’s worst enemy as well.”

He stepped closer. “I heard the one calling himself Tempest demand that you acknowledge him as the original. Why would he say that, Halek?”

“Like I said. Conversation for another time.”

“When we trust each other?” he said.

With nothing left to say, I waited for him to press harder or ask more difficult questions. He didn’t, and the moment passed.

“When you reach the Zakion system, search for my cousin Naaman. Decima can help you find him, and deal with him when you do. He’s a bit of a problem child. You two should get along well,” he said.

“That is most likely a false conclusion,” X-37 said. “Rogues do not often get along, contrary to popular belief.”

“Don’t I know it, X.” I wanted a new personality in my life like I wanted to go back to climbing mountains with one arm.

Jag and Decima waited for an explanation. They were growing accustomed to me talking to myself. I needed to put X on a speaker again. Might keep me from feeling outnumbered.

“My LAI says your cousin sounds like a delightful individual,” I said.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what he said.” Decima hefted the pack that her brother had carried this far. “Where can I put this?”

“I’ll show you the way,” Bug said from near the doorway to the rest of the ship.

Tom and Path also watched the scene in the cargo bay.

I clasped hands with Jag. “Good luck. We’ll be back. I’d like to have that tour of your planet and we can talk.”

“Take care of my sister. She acts like she follows rules and regulations, but she’s reckless,” Jag said. “Of course, after watching you, maybe you’re not the best person to rein her in.”

“She looks like she can take care of herself,” I said. “Watch your back. I don’t think the Obsidians are done with Sethorn. Their master loves technology and will want to steal anything you have.”

That got his attention. He saluted, then left, attitude far more serious than when he arrived.

“I believe he will be reporting to his superiors in short order,” X-37 said.

“Good. I hope they take him seriously.” I went to the cockpit and asked Jelly to take us to the slip tunnel. It wasn’t long before Decima joined me and began interacting with Jelly as though she had worked with this type of AI before.

“You’re a natural,” I said.

“I did my research.” She pulled up several holo screens, not completely comfortable with AI interaction, but better than I had expected. It was hard not to think of them as a person on the other end of a comm link. “Your name is Jelly, correct?”

“It is. Welcome to the ship, Decima Camilla Garrison,” Jelly said.

* * *

No one spoke as we entered the slip tunnel. I could tell that Decima was excited but trying to contain it. What had she been taught about slip tunnels? I still couldn’t imagine a civilization who didn’t rely on AIs to help navigate the stars. What kind of technology were they hiding on the planet?

“Something on your mind, Halek?” she asked.

I knew better than to answer that question without thinking it through.

“Caution recommended,” X-37 said. “I am unable to analyze her true intentions.”

I signaled X that I heard him. “Have you been through many slip tunnels?”

Decima blushed. “I made six trips, but four of them were through the same tunnel. Back and forth to Oroth to get my cousin Naaman out of trouble. He’s the one my brother should be worrying about, not me.”

“Do you think you can find him without a lot of drama?” I asked.

“Drama? That’s a weird way to put it.” She typed on one of the control panels, then gazed at the holo display. “These are very good, in a quaint kind of way.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but of course she didn’t. That whole obsession with keeping technology secret was going to be a pain in my neck. X-37 would pick up any clues she dropped, not that I expected there would be many.

“Interesting, Reaper Cain. Her people have a primitive relationship with AIs or near AIs but seem advanced in other technological areas,” X-37 said.

I signaled agreement nonverbally.

Jelly navigated through the glowing green tunnel until Decima and I both grew bored—almost at the same moment. She smiled when she caught me looking toward the door.

“What?” I asked.

She shrugged. “What is there to do on this ship?”

“Eat, train, look at the stars, and sleep,” I said. “If you’re really adventurous, there is whiskey and cigar time on the observation deck.”

“That is what your people call liquor, right? Some of the clan bosses who spent time with Henshaw said it was horrible. I’ll pass.”

I waved that away. “Henshaw doesn’t do it right. Trust me, it will be the best part of this trip.”

She gave me a three second look I didn’t know how to interpret. Sustained eye contact could mean several things.

“Sultry expression detected,” X-37 said.

I signaled my LAI to go talk to Jelly for a while. “We should train.” The words came out in a rush, and before I knew it I was headed for the door.

She followed close behind, skipping a step to close the distance between us. The woman was practically walking on my feet by the time we entered the hallway. The moment passed quickly, and she was suddenly striding beside me, full of energy.

“My brother says you’re good,” Decima said.

“He beat me, didn’t he?” I wasn’t sure of her game. Instinct told me she was one of those opponents who would try to get in my head before we sparred. Normally, I was resistant to that tactic and usually turned it around. Somehow, I didn’t think toying with this woman’s psychology would be a great idea.

“He didn’t say, which is interesting. Everyone just assumes he annihilated you. First timers always get wasted when they fight a Sethorn combat master. Normally he talks about his victories, but this time he didn’t. What could that possibly mean?” She exaggerated the expression, eyebrows high and an excessively innocent expression on her face.

“Uh, there were witnesses. Ask someone in his squad.”

“Relax, Halek. I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

“Thanks. Reapers are insecure as hell. Always looking for validation,” I said, hoping my tone wasn’t toxic.

She laughed.

We reached Jelly’s training room. She entered immediately and toured the facility, testing the thickness of the mats, then examining racks of practice weapons and resistance equipment.

“Aren’t you eager to get after it,” I said, immediately regretting my choice of words.

“I like to win, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of how this is going to go,” she said.

“Really?” I was intrigued. She’d either kick my ass or learn a valuable lesson about messing with a Reaper. “How do you think it will go?”

“You’ll underestimate me, and I’ll beat you like you owe me money. I’ve been through this before, even with my own people who should know better.” She stood with her feet shoulder width apart, hands at her side, everything about her posture suggesting she was ready for anything.

“Would you mind if Path watched?” I asked.

“I heard he’s even better than you and my brother,” she said. “Call him if you want. I’m going to warm up.”

“I’ve sent him the invitation,” X-37 said.

“Thanks, X.” I began my own warm-up, light jogging on the kinetic treadmill followed by fifteen minutes of calisthenics and another fifteen of stretching.

Decima’s warm up wasn’t that much different, except that she incorporated sword forms in her routine. I was in trouble, and curious to see what Path thought of her style. The pattern of movement she followed was unfamiliar, but appeared to be based in real-life combat scenarios. The sword saint was slow to arrive for some reason, because meditating over a broken arm took a lot of time, apparently.

I wasn’t the most patient spectator, but thought I could watch her all day. Each move led into the next, fast, powerful, and driven by purpose. It was like she told a story, and I needed to learn how it ended.

“I don’t normally start with weapons, but I’m game for whatever,” I said.

She put away the practice sword and moved to the center of the mat. She did something that reminded me of Crank, a Union spec ops soldier I hadn’t thought of for a while. She bowed.

“I guess some traditions transcend cultures.” I returned the gesture, something I hadn’t done for who knew how long.

“As they should,” she replied.

We circled each other, fists up, feet moving through stances. She lunged forward with a straight jab. I caught it with my left hand, unconcerned with fairness. She winced as her knuckles struck my palm. The surface of my hand was covered with synthetic pads to mimic the touch sensitivity of flesh, but underneath it was a tough metal alloy.

I counter jabbed as soon as she pulled back her fist. She slipped sideways to avoid the punch and weaved back into the fight without hesitation. Even though we were throwing light strikes, a Reaper fist to the face would have left a mark.

We circled each other, feinting, measuring distance, working out the best strategies.

I again led with a left jab, immediately following up with a right straight punch, then a double left jab so fast the combination was a blur. She blocked, dodged, then caught me with a savage right hook to the jaw that rang my bell.

“You’re not used to a fight lasting this long, are you?” she asked.

“How did you guess?” I gave her some distance, faked a rush, then went in swinging, driving her back to the edge of the mat.

She thrust a knee toward my groin. I sacrificed the welfare of my right thigh. Better than taking a direct hit to the junk, but it still hurt.

Path and Bug entered the room. I barely noticed my late as hell friends, despite my heightened situational awareness. Decima and I exchanged blows for several seconds, cursing and grunting in pain as the contest wore on.

Decima dropped low and shot toward my knees for a takedown, her first big mistake. I had improved my takedown defense over the years and had a significant strength and size advantage. I stuffed the attempt, smashing her to the mat.

A long time ago, Crank had tried a similar move… and I had crushed him. Far bigger and stronger than Decima, the man had barely been able to stay in the fight afterward. His near success had been a reality check, and I had vowed never to be taken down.

Air whooshed out of Decima’s lungs as I slammed my chest against her back and her face to the mat. She didn’t give up. Framing her arms into a box to resist my weight, she sucked in air as soon as she had space to breathe. I pressed harder, driving my weight into her.

The protective cage she’d made around her airway could only do so much. The tactic was unfair as hell given the size disparity between us, but she didn’t complain—or quit. Forcefully pinning an opponent like this was a ruthless, nasty technique both physically and psychologically.

After nearly a minute of dirty street fighting, she twisted out from under me, tried to crawl onto my back, then attempted to mount when I twisted away from her move.

“She fights like she never lost the advantage,” X-37 said. “The woman doesn’t lack confidence or ambition.”

I swept her, again taking the top position, then attempted an arm bar. She grabbed her forearm with her opposite hand to keep me from pulling the targeted arm straight, then rolled toward me, immediately releasing the pressure and again attempting to mount. The woman was determined.

We continued from one side of the mat to the other, every move a lesson in ground fighting tactics. Path and Bug watched silently—neither of them shouting advice as they might have on a normal training day. Rolling in this scenario was a cyclone of alternating angles, attacks, defenses, and grunts of effort.

I came to my feet, thought of Bug, then executed a full force spinning back fist. My friend’s signature move didn’t work for me and went sailing over Decima’s head as she ducked and shot in for yet another takedown attempt.

She caught one of my knees and levered the full weight of her body against it, taking me to one side and down to the floor. I was too slow to escape or reverse the mount.

Her hands crossed my throat to secure a choke. I drove my hips up to throw her off and seized her hands to slow her submission attempt. She immediately transitioned into an arm bar and locked it in tight.

I tapped out, glad she understood what the gesture meant, and let off the pressure.

“Like I said, I like to win.” She stood up and offered me a hand.

I took it and let her pull me up. She winced from her injuries. I pretended not to notice out of respect. Beating a skilled adversary who outweighed her by thirty kilograms had taken a toll on her body.

“What do you think, Path?” I twisted at the waist to release tension in my lower back. “Is she any good?”

“Were you holding back?” the sword saint asked.

“You know I never do.”

“Then I would say yes, she is quite extraordinary. Perhaps we can work on more technique and less brawling for the rest of this training session,” Path suggested.

“Did you come for a turn?” Decima asked.

Path took a step back and spread his hands. “I will watch.”

16

Jelly emerged from the slip tunnel while I slept. X-37 woke me, of course.

“Entering the Zakion system is not an event to miss, Reaper Cain,” X said.

“Are we in danger?” I stared at the ceiling, not wanting to move. Every muscle in my body hurt.

“Not at this precise moment,” he said. “My analysis suggests that a number of deadly events could transpire at any moment.”

“Story of my life, X. I’m going back to sleep. All this slip tunnel training has worn me out.” I pulled my pillow over my face. “Why are you turning on the lights? Did I upgrade you to full asshole or something?”

“You have not provided a personality upgrade for over a decade, Reaper Cain. As for the lights, I really must insist that you wake up and get your act together,” he said.

“Fine.” I held my position like my LAI would go away. Yeah, right.

“You are not moving, Reaper Cain.”

“I’m thinking about it. Getting psyched up.”

X-37 paused. “Your biometrics do not reflect this statement. It appears you are attempting full rest—low heart rate, steady brain waves, and of course, a complete lack of bodily motion.”

I sat up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Reaper Cain, the Zakion sector awaits. You are one step closer to reuniting with Elise.”

I rolled out of bed. “That was low, even for you, X.”

“Please explain.”

“You know, X.”

“I really don’t, though it seems to have worked. Your biometrics have definitely moved into your get shit done range.” My LAI presented lines of numbers in text in my HUD as proof which I blinked away.

“I’m worried about the kid, X.”

“Elise is no longer a child. She is leading an armada against Oroth oppression,” X-37 said.

One beer and a shower later, I was feeling ready to face the galaxy—and Elise. That kid had come a long way since I pulled her out of a cage on Dreadmax. We all had—Bug, Path, even Henshaw was different after the Oroth invasion of Maglan and Scheid’s clone attacks. As for this armada she was leading into the fight? I had concerns. In my head it comprised a handful of broken-down ships full of half-assed jerks whose incompetence would get her and the rest of my friends killed.

Once I was dressed and had secured a good cigar tucked into my Reaper arm, I headed for the bridge to join my friends. Every one of the overachiever pains-in-my-backside would be there, chipper and full of energy.

Bug saluted me with a coffee cup. Tom cleared out from where I normally sat. Decima looked me over, probably making sure all my arms and legs were attached after our last training session. She had done her best to rip them off during our last grappling session. Whenever I relied on my strength advantage, she would answer with both of her arms and legs against one of my arms—utilizing moves I should have seen coming but never did. Super annoying.

My body was younger than it had been when the Wallach-Xad coalition settled on Maglan, but it didn’t feel young now. Sparring, running, weightlifting—space travel always left plenty of time for self-improvement.

The slip tunnel exit behind us looked huge, even though I thought they were basically the same size in reality. The Zakion system was no more or less majestic than any other star system I’d entered. No one spoke. Watching the galaxy around us inspired self-reflection and awe no matter how many times a person experienced it.

“If I can access your computers, I can begin a search for Naaman,” Decima said.

“Of course, Decima,” Jelly replied. “Please enter coordinates and other relevant information and I will scan the system.”

“Of course, Jelly.” Decima hesitated only slightly. She was growing accustomed to our more active ship AI. Jelly’s personality still caught her off guard from time to time despite how prepared she had seemed on that first day.

Her fingers flew over a keyscreen.

“System scan initiated,” Jelly said. “There is one inhabited world in the green zone, but all planets in the Zakion system have orbital stations or protected surface settlements. All seem to identify as loyal members of the Sovereignty of Oroth.”

“Thank you, Jelly,” Decima said. “Please search for the first, second, and seventh armadas. They normally don’t leave this system and are always kept fully staffed.”

“All three have been located,” Jelly said. “One is in orbit, possibly with several ships dry-docked at space stations for repairs, of Planet Oroth. A second is holding position near enough to the capital to defend it. The third seems to be leaving the seventh planet from the system’s sun. There are nearly one hundred smaller military units in transit from one planet to another as well.”

I looked over the data. “I haven’t seen a military presence like this since we left Union space. The planets look highly industrialized as well.”

“Excellent observation, Reaper Cain. The Oroth Council seems to maintain an aggressive war footing, which could be indicative of an external threat they are prepared to repel, or a political system relying on force to institute their will on vassal states,” X-37 said. “Locally designated as Heto 5, planet seven is un-survivable on the surface due to high winds and extreme cold.”

“Where are you getting your information, X?” Decima asked, looking to the speaker on the bridge my LAI was using.

“I am reading survey reports and daily activity logs from military units assigned to that area,” X-37 said.

“How? That is highly encrypted information,” Decima replied. “Our best code hackers rarely get more than a few lines of code from Oroth fleets.”

“My LAI is good at decryption and hacking into computer systems,” I explained. “In my old profession, I had a lot of missions where I had to infiltrate unfriendly civilizations in the Deadlands.”

She thought about that. “Perhaps that is the reason for our prohibitions against artificial intelligences.”

“Limited artificial intelligence,” X-37 corrected. “I must insist you recognize the distinction.”

My LAI didn’t explain, which was good. The last thing I wanted was people knowing that a violation of this rule would cause X to shut down involuntarily. So far, no one had been able to misuse that knowledge, but I didn’t want to take a chance. I’d had to live without X-37’s help after I woke up and didn’t want to repeat the experience.

Decima didn’t probe further. “Heto 5 has several moons with established smuggling bases. That’s the best chance for us to find my cousin Naaman. I’d also bet that your friend Elise has her fleet somewhere in that region as well. The seventh fleet is obviously looking for her.”

“Why would she be this close to a planet?” I asked.

She pointed at the view screens. “I don’t see her in the other places she could support a large military force. From what I’ve heard, her technology is a mixture of Maglan and Oroth. I don’t know much about the former, but I understand the limits of the latter very well. Sethorn ships are similar to those produced by the Oroth Council’s minions, at least where the basics are concerned.”

X-37 beeped softly as he worked. “Logging information for future analysis.”

“Let’s head that way, Jelly,” I said.

The ship AI responded promptly. “Right away, Captain. I have located a small fleet of warships refusing to use identifying markers. This must be Elise’s armada.”

“Keep track of it.” I hoped it was, and I hoped she was okay.

“Why don’t we just go straight to Elise?” Bug asked. Tom seemed to be waiting for an answer to the same question.

Instinct warned me to find Naaman first, but I also knew the benefits of a local guide. Decima’s cousin would have knowledge and resources I needed to defeat Scheid’s Obsidians and the Oroth Council.

“We’re going to do both,” I said. “First we find Naaman and see what he can do to help us, and Elise.”

“We’re on our way, Captain,” Jelly said.

* * *

Heto 5 was a smuggler’s refuge that reminded me of the Deadlands. We approached in silence, watching the screens and listening to Jelly’s occasional updates. Merchant vessels came and went from the large moon. All of them avoided us, maintaining maximum speed until they were beyond our reach. I spotted a military patrol and watched it, listening in on pieces of their communication with other ships and the moon’s traffic control officers.

“Not the best of the Oroth fleet,” I said.

Decima nodded agreement. “Most ship commanders assigned to areas like this are selected for the ability to squeeze bribes from local officials rather than their combat experience or political connections.”

“Like I said, some things are universal. Let’s just hope the seventh fleet doesn’t return.” I stepped closer to a terminal and started my own research on Heto and its five moons. Every hypothesis I checked confirmed we were dealing with a den of rogues and thieves only loosely monitored by Oroth officials. “You think your cousin could be here?”

“It’s one of his favorite haunts,” she said.

“X, can you confirm?”

“Does your cousin go by any other names?” X-37 asked on the speaker.

Decima blushed, then shrugged. “It’s not so much what name he goes by as what people call him. Naaman the Liar, Naaman Two Times, and Slashed Eyes. The people he calls friends just call him Slashed or Slash.”

“I bet there’s a story behind those names,” Bug said in a low voice.

“There’s always a story behind a name, Bug,” Decima said. “My cousin was a renowned warrior, a true master of the blade, better than my brother. People have speculated for years who bested him and put the scar across his face that nearly took his eyes.” She paused. “That same battle left lots of other marks, but the face is what people notice. He covers his face when he can.”

I watched her body language as she talked. This wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. My guess was she hadn’t fully come to terms with her cousin’s reputation, his actions, or his mutilation.

“So how do we find him?” I asked.

“There are three ports on Heto 5. One is as good as another to start with,” she said. “I prefer Zone 3. Less traffic and better scenery. Semi-honest industrial transports frequent that one. Naaman would appreciate all these facts.”

“I have coordinates to land and clearance,” Jelly said. “Their traffic controller is very friendly, and Decima is correct on how many ships choose this spaceport.”

“Take us in. Bug, are you up for the landing?”

“Sure, if you want it done manually.” He adjusted his position in his copilot’s chair. “I could use the practice. Jelly, I’m reviewing your landing trajectory suggestions.”

“Very good, Bug,” Jelly said.

I watched Bug fly the ship, pretending to evaluate his landing. If Decima thought I was stalling, she didn’t show it. I had a lot of concerns about Naaman but not enough information to ask good questions. X-37 hadn’t made any recommendations. I assumed he was still searching logs and databases available to his hacking skills. When he had something, I would be the first to know.

Tom dealt with flight control, answering their repetitive questions with straightforward answers without revealing too much detail. The hard-working, constantly self-improving mechanic was surprisingly good at deception despite being the most honest person I knew.

We passed through a line of ships waiting to land. I didn’t ask why we were moved to the head of the line but assumed it was because the vessels were very large and full of illicit cargo no one wanted to reveal to strangers. Bug landed perfectly. I checked the security cameras and saw plenty of curious spectators around the landing zone. Half the crew of one ship had stopped what they were doing and stood in a line with their arms crossed. Farther back from the cluster of landing pads, merchants and their customers stepped out of shops to stare.

I didn’t like what I was seeing. “We’re drawing a lot of attention,” I said.

“New ships full of strangers do that,” Decima said.

“Bug, I need you and Path to stay here with Tom in case there’s trouble. I don’t want the Jellybird inspected or seized.” I didn’t need to remind my friends, but it never hurt to be thorough. Some Union Spec Ops lessons were hard wired as habits.

Bug didn’t respond immediately.

Path stepped forward, his arm no longer in a sling though he still wore a ceramic splint around his left forearm. “Tom and I can keep people off the ship. Unless they are extremely determined, and in that case it wouldn’t matter how many people we had to defend it.”

Bug seemed relieved. I noticed the difference in his stoic demeanor, though I doubted a stranger like Decima would pick up on the change.

I nodded to Path. “Your call.” I switched my attention to Bug. “What’s on your mind, kid?” I used the additive to lighten the mood, but he didn’t bite.

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” He locked eyes with me. “I’m going with you. This isn’t an ordinary smuggler’s port, and we’re a long way from home.”

“Three is considered lucky in the Zakion system,” Decima said. “So why the void not?”

“I find no errors in Bug’s analysis,” X-37 said to me privately.

I slapped my palms together. “Great. Let’s move out. Fifteen minutes and we’re off to explore Heto 5.”

We split up to get ready. I selected a long coat with a high collar because I had seen similar fashion on some of the spectators near the flight line. What I wanted was a cloak with a hood or some other way to cover my face. I was halfway through my weapons check before I realized I didn’t have to conceal a cybernetic eye, something that was often a problem when trying to blend into a crowd.

Long sleeves and gloves concealed my left arm. I slipped a shortened HDK Dominator III Deathlance, lovingly referred to as my D3D, under my coat and made sure I had two pistols, one on my hip, also under my trench coat, and another concealed well enough to defeat anything but a diligent pat-down or advanced scan. My concealed pistol was made out of carbon fiber and ceramics, not a piece of metal on it. This place looked like it would use the cheapest scanners possible, and that meant metal detectors.

We met near the loading ramp of the Jellybird. I wanted to do a pre-combat check but wasn’t sure how Decima would take it. “You ready?”

She nodded.

Bug opened his coat, then handed me his short-barreled shotgun. “Check it for me.”

I did, and he presented each of his weapons, including a concealment pistol just like mine. He had several knives and multi-tools as well.

I handed him my least concealed weapons, the D3D and my primary pistol. He looked them over expertly and made sure the magazines were fully loaded.

“Anything else?” he asked, sounding a lot like a customs officer.

I raised both my arms. “No. You know me, law and order every time.”

“Yeah, you look like a good citizen. I’m going to pat you down,” Bug said, then searched until he found my hidden pistol. “I think that’s the best you’ve hidden a weapon in a long time. Show me how you did that.”

We tried several options to hide his concealment weapons. The location inside of his right boot seemed obvious to me, but I thought most cops would miss it. The knives fit into sleeves, collars, and the other boot. Decima watched in fascination.

“There won’t be many checks, not here. Anywhere else in the Zakion system you would be insane to take that kind of arsenal through a checkpoint. But this is Heto 5, Zone 3. No one cares,” she said.

“Should make our job easier,” I said.

Bug looked concerned. “That means everyone will be armed to the teeth.”

“Let’s go. I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.” I contacted Tom on the bridge. “Do you think you can refuel?”

“Not necessary, but I have a list of parts I would like to locate. Some of them critical,” he answered.

“How can we be missing critical parts?” I asked.

“You’ve clearly never been a mechanic,” he said. “Ships are always missing critical parts. Jelly hasn’t been in action for a while. I rebuilt her with scavenged junk from the postapocalypse of Maglan. Trust me on this one. Scavenging for parts is a lifestyle, not a one-time event.”

“Just be careful,” I said. “We can’t leave the ship unattended, so if you venture out, wait until we’re back so Bug or I can go with you.”

“Don’t worry, Hal. I’ve been at this game for a while. I can handle myself,” Tom said.

I muted the channel and asked Decima for advice. “My mechanic wants to look for parts. Safe or unsafe?”

“Nothing is safe here, but as long as he doesn’t venture too far from the ship, he should be fine. People here don’t see themselves as smugglers or a disreputable den of thieves and liars. They look at everything as free trade, and your mechanic looks like he can stand up for himself,” she said.

I nodded, then keyed my comms. “Okay, Tom. But don’t go too far from the ship and if you get any grief, get back to the Jellybird. When I get back I’ll go with you for the sake of negotiations.”

Tom laughed. “Okay, Hal. Find Decima’s cousin. Path and I will handle things here.”

“Let’s go, kids,” I said.

“He calls everyone a kid,” Bug explained. “Even though he looks younger than we do.”

“Looks?” Decima asked.

“Long story.” I gave Bug a look that should have killed him.

The first checkpoint was easy. We walked through and nodded to the trio of armed men smoking complicated pipes. Two of them sat on stools and didn’t even pretend they would stand up.

“I thought you said smoking was taboo in this system,” I said.

Decima shook her head. “Cigars are nearly unheard of—definitely out of fashion. Pipes are very popular, though I would be curious to know what goes in those rolled up monstrosities you’re always sucking on.”

“Now you’ve made it ugly. I savor my cigars because they aren’t easy to find. Big difference,” I said.

“Okay, Halek.” She patted me on the shoulder as she flipped a small metal disk toward the guards with her other hand. One caught it while also pretending he never saw us.

“I’m glad we have a guide,” Bug said. “None of the local procedures make sense.”

“It will get far more interesting,” Decima promised.

17

“Most of Zone 3 is underground. The parts above the surface are of no interest, mostly scenery for tourists and pilgrims. We need to descend to level ten before we start looking for my cousin,” Decima said.

Bug and I followed her lead. We walked three abreast in corridors wide as city streets with white walls, blue ceilings, and a cheap blacktop for pavement. Cracks ran through the paint and potholes had been filled multiple times in the street. Movable carts and temporary buildings made up merchant row but looked like they had been stationary for years.

“Is there a law against building here?” I asked.

“No, but the cost of permits makes it too expensive for most people. If you see a permanent structure, it belongs to the government or a corporation,” Decima said. “Not the way we do things on Sethorn, but it works for Heto 5.”

“Does it?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“How do you do it on Sethorn, or is that another secret?” Bug asked.

“Our government isn’t allowed to own property, though most individuals can’t afford more than a small home or shop. Families have the deeds to all the important land. Family is everything on Sethorn. That’s why no one trusts Naaman. About five people in our entire history have left Sethorn permanently, and he’s the most recent and the most notorious of them.”

“I’m excited to put our fate in your cousin’s notorious hands,” I said.

“Sarcasm detected,” X-37 said through my arm speaker.

Decima and Bug laughed.

“I looked up to him when I was young. Who wouldn’t want to go adventuring?” she asked.

“It’s overrated.” Bug hooked a thumb at me. “Especially when you’re with this guy.”

We moved through a crowd. I saw pedestrians with long coats but also cloaks, masks, helmets, and other crazy costumes. Some of the residents didn’t wear much at all.

“Modest group,” I said.

“Sarcasm detected?” Decima asked.

“It is Reaper Cain’s normal tone,” X-37 said.

She shook her head in wonder. “Here I am talking to an AI like it is nothing. This really is an adventure out of the story books.”

“Limited AI,” X and I said at the same time.

“You are really stuck on that?” she asked. “What is the difference?”

I thought quickly, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t reveal my LAI’s fatal weakness. Decima was trustworthy but once the information was out, anyone might try to make X shut down involuntarily.

“It would be like me calling you an Oroth when you’re really a Sethorn,” I said.

“Nice save, Reaper Cain,” X said privately.

“Damn,” Decima said. “I feel bad. Those are fighting words. Oroth citizens are scum.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Not literal scum. There are very few actual citizens, each of them enormously wealthy and holding all the power in this sector. They won’t stop sending their fleets out until every system within reach is paying them tribute,” Decima said. “They don’t call it that, of course.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said. “How few is few?”

“The Oroth Council has twenty members, all citizens. There are three hundred known citizens in the Sovereignty of Oroth, occupying five star systems and several colonies in systems not fully under their control,” she said. “Three hundred men and women rule billions of people.”

“Worse than I thought.” I compared these new details with the Union and had to admit this place was even worse when it came to lack of representation.

The crowd parted for a loud vehicle with eight wheels and armor. We moved to one side and blended with the crowd.

“Local militia,” Decima said.

“They’re heading toward the space port,” I said.

Decima didn’t comment until the armored vehicle was out of sight.

“Should we be worried?” I asked.

She started walking again. “Always. We’re in the Oroth system, aren’t we?”

“X, warn Jelly and the others about the militia,” I said.

“Already done, Reaper Cain.”

Bug and I fell in beside Decima, watching the crowd as we moved toward a transport terminal.

“This one goes as far as level eight. Not much of a view on the way—all high-speed tunnel travel. If you’re rich and want to see the hydroponic grow zone, you can take a glass bottomed ship to level four but that’s a waste of time and money,” she said. “The HSTT is free. Just don’t let anyone chat you up, because they are going to pick your pocket.”

“I’d like to see them try,” I said, but refrained from explaining I was an expert in the art of property reassignment.

We filed into the three car tube-train. There were fifty seats per car and a hundred people filing into each. I moved near one of the doors and staked out my territory. Three people tried to pick my pocket before the doors closed.

“Awwww! You broke my fucking fingers,” the third man complained.

I shoved him into a seat and handed him back his belt pouch. “I’ll break your face next.”

“You’ve got my wallet! It was secured to my body with a level five security package,” he said. “You’re calling me a pick pocket and look at you. My freaking fingers. What kind of arch criminal can remove a level five security package?”

“Just proving a point. Don’t mess with me,” then swept my gaze across the packed cabin. “Who else has a special relationship with their fingers?”

“So we’re keeping a low profile on this mission,” Bug murmured.

Decima snorted a short laugh.

Bug slapped away a hand trying to take something from his coat pocket. “Godsdammit, this is ridiculous.”

“Try being a woman in here,” Decima said. “I feel like I should get marriage proposals from half the men that came in behind us.”

I selected a few obvious suspects of this most recent offense and stared them down, standing tall, shoulders back, arms spread invitingly. “You want to grope someone?”

Eyes turned away. Red-faced men cursed under their breath.

By the time we reached our destination, the train car was deathly quiet. A few of the men aimed murderous looks of resentment at me, but I didn’t acknowledge them. I’d break a lot more than their fingers if they wanted to play this game and I had Bug and Decima to watch my back. We could thrash the entire group if necessary.

Would it be a bloody mess that would attract the wrong kind of attention? Absolutely, but I wasn’t in the mood to be manhandled by a bunch of casual pickpockets and ass grabbing perverts.

The high-speed tunnel transport was exactly that, fast and dark. The lighting inside the cheap passenger car was weak, half of the bulbs missing. Images of our unwilling companions flickered in and out of view. If we hadn’t laid down clear ground rules, I’m sure there would have been more attempts at thievery and sexual assault.

We stepped onto the platform of level eight. Men and women smoked pipes of every shape and size, producing a tobacco-esque aroma. I lit a cigar. “That was fucking delightful. Let’s never do it again.”

“Do you have another way to get to the surface?” Decima asked.

“No, but maybe the next tunnel transport we take will be empty,” I said.

“We call that the Reaper Cain special,” Bug explained. “Scaring away an entire load of passengers just so he can smoke and be pissed off.”

“I’m interested,” Decima said. “Slightly freaked out by this raw aggression, but definitely curious.”

Our progress to level ten was slower. There was a tunnel transport to nine, but getting to ten required a slow equipment lift and stairs. Lighting only got worse.

“We’re descending into the underworld,” I said. “And not in a good way.”

“Illumination on level ten is… more,” Decima said.

“Define more.” I thought I saw what was coming and wasn’t excited about it.

“Lots of neon signs, light shows to advertise certain establishments, security patrols shining spotlights. It will be bright as noon on Sethorn—but not all at the same time or consistently,” she said.

“What is on level ten?” I knew the answer but asked anyway.

“Taverns, dance clubs, whorehouses. Lots of unlicensed body modification salons and unregistered traders.”

“We’re searching the Oroth entertainment hub,” I said.

“To put it far more politely than the place deserves.” She took the lead down the last flight of very wide, very dark stairs.

A long time ago, this place had been an extravagant display of tiled floors and walls with murals painted on the ceiling. I couldn’t see much of it, and what I did observe was in disrepair. Graffiti covered every section within arm’s reach. Trash littered the corners where I realized a homeless man sat with a glass bottle held near his unconscious face.

“You know General Elise Hastings?” Decima asked.

I nodded.

“Did she learn reckless aggression from you and your friends,” Decima asked. “Or did she teach it?”

“Some of both,” I said. “Why?”

“Because we track her activities just like any major player in the Oroth conflict. Our intelligence network has been blocked more and more often by the Obsidians, but we know a lot.”

I waited.

“General Hastings has been playing a dangerous game,” Decima said as we moved beyond the homeless man’s hearing range.

“Sounds like Elise.” I strode toward a huge blast door I assumed marked the entrance to level ten.

“You don’t understand,” Decima said. “She takes her fleet to dangerous systems on the periphery of Oroth influence to escape them, then jumps back for hit and run raids.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“She flirts with the Darkness.” Decima shivered. “Dangerous enough, but there are systems that used to be connected by slip tunnels that no longer are. Your friend might find herself in another part of the galaxy with no way back.”

My blood ran cold. Elise, and everyone else I cared about besides the people I had with me now, would be gone forever—completely beyond my ability to fight for them. “What does that have to do with the Darkness?” I didn’t like the term, and it wasn’t the first time I had heard it.

“No one knows what it is, not precisely. But most believe it cuts slip tunnels,” she said.

Bug cursed. “That’s impossible.”

Decima glared at him.

“Let’s assume it is possible and plan not to get caught on the wrong side of that kind of bullshit,” I said.

We stopped at the door.

“Ready?” Decima said.

“Why did you bring that up about Elise? Why now? We trained together every day during the slip tunnel,” I said.

“I’m becoming too attached to you and your friends. Jag says it’s my weakness. I don’t want to see you and your friends suffer. Finding Elise is an obsession for you. Anyone can see what failure would do to you.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bug said. “I don’t want to be around you if something happens to Elise. No offense.”

“None fucking taken, Bug,” I snapped, not really understanding my sudden anger.

He held up his hands defensively. “We’ll find her and put these Oroth dumbasses in their place. Chill, Hal.”

I jammed a cigar in my mouth and lit it. “Let’s find your cousin Decima.”

She joined me at the door. “This will take a big push. People don’t come this way often.”

I looked back toward the distant homeless man and his bottle. “What about him?”

“He probably doesn’t plan on rejoining society,” she said, then heaved the door open.

Inside, there were definitely lights.

18

Narrow streets, high ceilings, and buildings packed against the walls on both sides made level ten an overpopulated canyon of outdated technology. “Lots of permanent structures here.”

“Old tenements owned by crime bosses and corrupt politicians. Not the same as the food carts you saw at the landing zone,” Decima said, then pointed to a man surrounded by armed guards in battle armor. “That’s an Oroth citizen right there. Slumming. He could afford to purchase property here, but wouldn’t. Trash like this is far below the tastes of an Oroth elite. He must be looking for a fetish partner.”

The appearance of the man surprised me. He was taller and more muscular than anyone around him, and his soft face had the look of genetic manipulation and cosmetic surgery. Layers of silk robes, shirts, scarves, and leather pants set him apart from the working class crowd. His hand-tooled boots reached his knees. Platinum buckles and diamond embellishments ringed his ankles, wrists, and throat.

“Someone wants to get robbed,” I muttered.

“Unlikely,” Decima said. “He could walk down the street naked and defenseless, and no one would touch him. The penalty for harming a citizen of Oroth is best not to talk about.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” I studied the man and his security element—well equipped soldiers lacking humor.

“Complete insincerity detected,” X-37 said.

“You don’t understand, Halek,” Decima said. “I’m talking about torture and execution. Not even my brother would risk their attention.”

“I’ve been tortured before. And they have to catch me first. Don’t worry. I’m not going after this guy, or any of them, unless they make me. We’re here to find Naaman and get what we need to help Elise.”

“And protect my home world,” Decima said. “Sethorn and other neighboring systems will support Elise if they can. Our interests are complementary. The Sovereignty of Oroth must fall.”

The pretentious citizen and his entourage passed us without incident. I faded even further into the crowd to make sure I didn’t draw attention. People shouldn’t know me here, but I was getting too many looks. I needed to find out why. For now, it was best to keep a low profile. I groaned inwardly at my performance on the tunnel transport train. That shit had to stop immediately.

We proceeded down the street, glancing into shops and avoiding street hustlers. I could feel Bug watching me. We’d known each other for a long time, and he could probably sense my change of attitude.

“You okay, Hal?” he asked.

A squad of JFT troopers, something I hadn’t seen for a while, delayed my answer. Geared up in full armor, they were ready for business and heading our direction. From time to time, they pulled a man out of the crowd and shook him down for identification. We passed near enough to hear them asking questions, and my suspicions were confirmed.

The pedestrian was about my height and build, at least at a casual glance.

“They’re looking for you,” Decima said. “How the hell did you get so famous?”

“Must be my sparkling personality.” My thoughts were elsewhere. Three of the Jump Force Troopers wore embroidered black bands around their left upper arm—a completely unnecessary decoration, and not like other members of their elite teams.

TCN. What the hell does that mean?

“X, do a search for that unit identifier and chain-lightning embellishments,” I subvocalized.

“I found eighteen references to the image on public forums and encrypted security bulletins. TCN stands for Tempest Cain Nation. Before you ask, they don’t work for Tempest Cain but idolize him as a superhero or perhaps a demigod.”

Bug pulled a tattered piece of paper from a wall and presented it like he was serving me legal papers. My face was plastered beneath a wanted headline. What confused me was the list of crimes, including dates and accusations: petty larceny, fraud, impersonation of an Oroth official, assault, battery, and aggravated escape from custody.

“I’ve never been here before,” I said, staring at the wanted poster but still distracted by the JFT troopers idolizing Tempest Cain. “This asshole isn’t me. Look at that chin.”

Decima took the flyer and held it up next to my face for comparison. Her conclusion took longer than it should have, I thought.

“You’re right, this isn’t you. This face hasn’t been stomped on so much,” she said. “And he’s not missing any meals.”

I snatched it back. “What are you talking about? Looks like this guy has gotten his nose broken a couple of times, and I think he’s missing teeth. I don’t look like I’ve been kicked around… much. And you’re the one who gave me my last three black eyes.”

She took back the wanted poster with exaggerated slowness. “I think he’s local. Probably using your reputation to shake people down or scam clients. You’re an assassin, right?”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked. The wanted poster was a bigger problem than she knew. The man was another clone, but she didn’t seem to realize that—which made me wonder if she had ever seen an HC Obsidian with his helmet off.

The petty criminal I was looking at now must have gone rogue from the program, then really let himself go. My worst habits, left unchecked, would turn me into the same type of pitiful wretch—out of shape, drunk, and floundering through life without a personal code to live by.

Tempest Cain, the most evil version of me, was worshiped by elite Oroth soldiers. What would they think of Flabby Cain? Crawling back into the life pod seemed like a great idea right about now. Fuck my life.

Decima gave me a concerned look but answered my question. “Most of what my people know about you is inaccurate. The Oroth Council, specifically the Obsidian agents of General Scheid, have been looking for you for a while. Sethorn System Security pays attention to that sort of thing, but the Oroth claims of what you have done are inconsistent and unbelievable more often than not,” she said.

“Having my face plastered all over this hellhole won’t make our lives easier,” I said. “And the JFT aren’t people to mess with. Some of them are tough as hell.”

Decima nodded agreement. “We should step inside the first shop we can. Keep a low profile until they pass.”

“I’ll stay on the street. They shouldn’t be looking for me. I never draw as much attention when Hal is taking it all,” Bug said.

“Fine, but be careful. You’re an outsider, and that by itself will get some looks,” I said.

Bug found a place near the door to a pipe shop and leaned against the wall. Decima and I went inside. Customers talked to the clerk at a checkout terminal. I browsed shelf after shelf of complicated smoking paraphernalia and what looked like tobacco products. Most of them had labels I didn’t understand. Decima spoke a common language, and so had the JFT personnel I’d met after I’d awakened from the life pod. Written language was more difficult, it seemed.

“Need help?” Decima said, stepping very close to see what I was looking at.

“I can almost read this. Some of the words are familiar. Syntax is all janky.” I turned a bundle of the leafy product over in my hand to have a better look through the transparent package. It resembled tobacco.

“Janky, that’s a new word. Did you make it up?”

“Sort of. No. Actually, I’m not sure.”

She pointed at the package. “This is odorless herb. I’m not sure it has the same chemical properties of your tobacco. You should try it. Maybe even get one of these pipes. Might help you blend in.”

I took her advice, selecting two simple pipes that look like the letter L and several samples of the local version of tobacco. One pipe was made of ivory, the other dark wood with an ebony stem.

“I shudder at what this means for your addiction,” X-37 said.

“Zip it, X. These are just herbal. You should be glad,” I replied. “Practically health food.” Thoughts of the slovenly Reaper huckster pushed to the front of my imagination—complete bullshit. Why should I have to confront failures I hadn’t succumbed to yet?

“Did you see the armbands on the JFT squad—TCN surrounded by chain lightning?”

“Sure did. See them more and more often since the Obsidians rose to prominence,” she said.

Purchase complete, Decima and I moved closer to the door and looked out. Bug signaled the street was clear. We emerged in time for me to watch the JFT continue down the street.

I hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Decima asked.

“I don’t see a squad leader. I might have their rank structure and uniforms wrong, but if I’m right, that means there are more of these jerks and the actual squad leader still at large. That unit looks like it’s led by a senior team member rather than a noncom or officer.”

“I should have seen that,” she said. “You’re completely right. Let’s get off the street again. Bug better come inside with us this time, or they might pick him out. If the first unit marked his position and description, the second group will definitely wonder why he’s standing in front of a new establishment.”

We stepped into a café that smelled like coffee but with flavored aromas—mint and other things I never put in my cup. This place was crowded. I stayed alert for pickpockets, but everyone was polite and generally in a good mood.

Decima ordered three cups of something hot and black, then asked me what I wanted in it. I told her nothing. Bug took his drink the same way. We found a tiny table near the back, sipped our drinks, and watched the street through the window until the rest of the JFT squad passed.

I pitched my cup, then retrieved a cigar from under a clever flap in my sleeve. Now wasn’t the time to light it, so I didn’t.

“Are you trying to get caught?” Decima asked. “The mug shot shows the cigar. Literally every person on Heto 5 will spot that thing in a heartbeat.”

“Right.” I placed it inside my Reaper arm and stuck one of the pipes in the corner of my mouth instead.

“Better,” she said but held back a smile.

“What?”

“You look goofy,” Bug said, then imitated James Henshaw giving a pretentious speech. “Hello, sir, good day to you. I am just so weary of this entire ordeal. Can we please get back to my spa treatment.”

“Piss off. I don’t sound like that.”

Decima and Bug laughed, rolled their eyes, and gave me patronizing looks.

“Sure you don’t,” Decima said. “We better keep moving.”

Ten minutes of foot travel took over an hour. JFT squads not only patrolled the area but maintained observation posts at the high traffic street corners. Their armored vehicles allowed their turret gunner to look over the crowd, his helmet visor darkened.

“He’s using all of his optic enhancements and probably has your picture up in his HUD,” Decima warned. “This way. Let’s backtrack and cut through another alley.”

I didn’t like the increasing presence of JFT troops, but at least they weren’t Obsidians.

“How much farther?” I asked. “We need to find Naaman soon and get off this moon. X, can you check and make sure the 7th Oroth fleet hasn’t come back.”

Decima answered at the same time X-37 began a check in my HUD. “There’s one place we can go. I didn’t want to, but I think we’re out of options. We should have seen him by now, or he should’ve found us.”

“Maybe he’s not here,” I said, skimming the list of search results X-37 was displaying for me.

“This is our best chance to find him. He frequents other outposts, and even goes to the Oroth capital, but I don’t know any of his haunts there,” she said. “We have to talk to Nana.”

“Is that like a grandmother?” I asked.

“Not in this case. Family titles are used as political and social ranks, or at least that’s what you would call them. The subtleties are hard to explain. Nana could be anybody’s grandmother, but she has a fondness for Naaman,” Decima explained. “You don’t want to know why.”

“Now I really do. What’s the story?” I asked.

“She’s a bit of a soothsayer, fascinated by people with dark destinies. Naaman interests her more than anyone else,” she said. “The feeling must be mutual, because I think it is one of the reasons he frequents Heto 5 more than other hideouts.”

“Interesting,” I said. A line of bold text flashed in my HUD. Elise’s fleet is not in the Zakion system and was definitely nowhere near the Oroth home world.

“X, are you sure?”

“Completely, Reaper Cain. Elise has fled Zakion. I will attempt to determine her probable destination, but it will be little more than an educated guess.”

“What is your LAI telling you?” Decima asked.

“Elise took a slip tunnel out of here,” I said.

Decima’s expression darkened. “That’s not good, Halek. She can’t keep doing that. Eventually, the odds will stack up against her. If her fleet stumbles into the Darkness, they’re gone. No help against the Oroth Council.”

I wanted to argue. Elise had known how to take risks when we came to Maglan. A decade of leadership must have tempered her youthful invincibility. But what if she was being forced into a bad choice.

“Let’s find Naaman and get back to the Jellybird,” I said. “The quicker the better.”

Decima put her hands together. “Nana will know where we can find him.”

“Lead the way. Let’s talk to the soothsayer.” I was ready to get this mission over with.

19

Decima took the lead. Five strides behind her, I watched our environment carefully. She knew Zone 3 better than she let on, I thought. Our progress was steady but not rushed. Each street held fewer and fewer JFT patrols. There were fewer streetlights and many of the shops were boarded up, doors chained with heavy locks. Pedestrians ignored us, but groups of people sat with their backs to buildings or squatted in the shadows of alleyways. Those eyes followed us like we were dangerous predators.

“Are you tracking this, X?” I asked.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. I must advise caution. More than a few of these individuals behave as scouts or lookouts. Expect an ambush or robbery in the near future,” X-37 said.

I checked Bug’s location. He walked casually but glanced over his shoulder each time we turned. My friend had come a long way since we met. How much would Elise have changed? Or Novasdaughter? Or any of the men and women I had fought beside to secure Maglan? Where was my sister?

“Focus, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.

“Are you mapping this neighborhood?” I asked.

Instead of answering, X-37 placed his work in my HUD. I minimized the size and brightness so it wouldn’t distract me. If I had to retreat or I became embroiled in a running gun battle, the map would be useful. I scanned three hundred and sixty degrees around me when I could but also viewed the buildings looming above to provide my LAI with as much data for analysis as possible. The familiar habit calmed me.

Buildings became shabbier and shorter. The subterranean passages became rougher, carved out of rock and then just left to graffiti and the wear and tear of miners and other laborers coming and going.

Decima slowed until Bug and I joined her near a plaza. The domed ceiling was barely five meters above us and lit by simple LED lights. Color variations gave the edges contrast, but the effect wasn’t breathtaking. Low passages led away in several directions.

“Nana lives in a rough area,” I said.

“She does. She’s protected by the locals, some out of love and respect, but most out of fear.” Decima looked somber, like maybe she regretted bringing me here.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” I said. “Maybe Naaman will be sitting in her living room sipping a cup of tea.”

“That would speed things up,” she said softly. “There aren’t many pedestrians at this hour. No need to spread out. Moving tactically might alarm the locals. Word travels fast. It wouldn’t take long for everyone to lock their doors and cover their windows.”

“We’ll follow your lead,” I said, not really concerned if people retreated into their homes.

The final leg of our trip showed a surprisingly diverse population—men and women of all ages, races, and ethnic backgrounds working to maintain their homes or socialize with their neighbors. A few people greeted us politely, but most just watched us pass by. The lighting became less and less reliable, but I noticed that inside most dwellings, there was a warm glow and the sounds of happy families and friends.

“Do they go to the surface often?” Bug asked.

“The surface isn’t much to look at,” Decima said. “The Oroth Council discourages vacations, claiming that it upsets people and makes them unhappy with their placement in the grand scheme of things.”

“Typical,” I muttered, resisting the urge to compare this place to the worst of Union settlements. The reference would mean nothing to her.

We passed through two tunnel hubs, each of them freshly painted with murals of people singing and dancing. At the third intersection, everything changed. The lighting was better, though clearly a do-it-yourself venture with local resources. I observed the exposed bulbs and thought they were old but well maintained. The intersection and all the hallways connecting to it were painted with nature scenes. It looked like generations of artists had put their heart and soul into the intricate murals.

“Interesting,” Bug said. “Is that a temple?” He pointed into a painted forest where an ancient ziggurat thrust above the trees.

Decima smiled. “If you look closely, you will find many stories hidden in the rain forest. Look for the trail of skulls and tell me when you find it.”

“You’re more familiar with this area than I thought you would be,” I said.

“I’ve been here once before, but it left a mark.”

“Proper analysis of this area would take me several days,” X-37 said. “The wall decorations are packed with symbology, artistic expression, and possibly warnings.”

“Do what you can, X. We’re not staying long.”

Decima led us into a narrow passage that sloped upward instead of down like most of the others we had been traversing. The way was narrow, the ceiling low, but I felt a welcoming vibe rather than dread. None of us talked. I watched my companions carefully. They were having a similar reaction.

The wall paintings covered everything here, walls, ceiling, and floor. The last part was worn, but not terribly. There was either little traffic coming and going in this direction or people were careful where they stepped.

“Tell me more about Nana,” I said. “Is her name a rank or a title? Is she revered by the locals?”

“Nana can also mean ‘revered’ in most systems connected to the Sovereignty of Oroth. The tradition goes back a long way,” she said. “I need to warn you about something.”

“Hit me with it,” I said.

“If she doesn’t approve of you, or Bug, and tells us to leave, then we must go immediately. We mustn’t argue or linger.”

I nodded, thinking about the warning as we approached the end of the tunnel and a cottage carved into the wall. Grow lights on the ceiling simulated sunset. Plants thrived around the entrance, and also in a compact and well-organized garden. There were brightly colored flowers, swaying grasses, and even a few small trees.

Decima approached the front door, waited several moments, and then knocked with the palm of her hand. It was a soft sound, not demanding in any way.

“I am extremely curious to observe this woman,” X-37 said.

I signaled agreement but kept my mouth shut. Bug was also watchful and silent.

A very small, very old woman appeared in the threshold. She looked at Decima first, examining her from head to toe before motioning for her to enter. Bug was next, and her judgment of him took twice as long. With both my friends inside, I waited for Nana to confront me.

Somehow, I was sure she would turn me away, but she stared until my emotions warmed. The effect wasn’t dramatic, not like something from a holo-drama, but it wasn’t unpleasant. X-37 attempted to explain my biometrics, but I thought it was merely the fact that I had her complete attention, and she had mine. Was this what it meant to be welcomed? Neither of us allowed distraction to enter into this meeting.

The woman was short, her face expressionless but alert. Her dark gray robe might’ve been black but had faded. Symbols were embroidered horizontally from shoulder to ankle on each side and nowhere else. Her hands looked strong and dexterous but very old. I could tell by her skin she had deserved the grandmotherly title. Her eyes were bright, intense, and full of wisdom I had never seen before.

“You are dangerous,” she said.

I rolled up my left sleeve to display my cybernetic appendage, but she didn’t seem impressed or concerned. A raised eyebrow acknowledged that she had seen my demonstration, but that was all. “I’m not dangerous right now. Decima brought me here because I’m looking for Naaman.”

She nodded. “What are you called, traveler?”

“My name is Halek Cain.”

“Many others using the surname Cain have attempted to find me,” she said. “I turned them away. Why should I talk to you?”

“They’re clones.” I meant to explain further but finding the words just didn’t come.

“Of you?” she asked.

“Unfortunately.” I checked my HUD, but X-37 had no hints or suggestions for this conversation.

“Do you plan to destroy them all?”

“Haven’t thought about it,” I said. “I’m trying to help an old friend who is fighting a war. There’s no time for vendettas, and I don’t know all the clones or where to find them. Those I’ve met have all tried to kill me. I don’t expect the rest of them to throw me a party.”

She shuddered. Her eyes rolled back for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure—straightening her robe and glancing around at her garden. Her discomfort made her seem more human, less of a mystic. “Come inside. I have hot liquor and cold cake.”

“I think we’re going to get along well,” I said.

This brought a smile, and she looked twenty years younger. I followed her to the main room where Decima and Bug sat awkwardly at a small table sipping from tiny cups and eating a thick, dark cake with tiny forks. Another woman only slightly larger than Nana attended them, fussing with Bug like he was her long-lost grandson.

“Marie, I will be taking Halek Cain to my study for a conversation,” Nana said.

The woman, almost as old as Nana, looked worried and nodded. “Is there anything that you need?”

“No, Marie. Please continue to entertain our other guests, and don’t let them get too drunk.”

I followed the old mystic up a tight set of spiral stairs, turning sideways to fit my shoulders through the top section. I felt like I was climbing into a child’s treehouse. We sat cross-legged with a tiny table between us. A single candle illuminated the platform.

“Liquor and cake will come later,” she said. “I will provide it. I’m a good host, not someone to fail to keep a promise.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can we talk about Naaman? Decima thinks he can help my friend Elise.”

“Naaman can help anyone, so long as they understand what they really want,” she said. “I need to know about you.”

I spread my hands. “My back story isn’t nice. All I want is to take care of my friends and my family, and maybe do a little justice when I can.”

She stared into me, taking her time, listening to every word. “Tell me the not nice parts.”

“I was raised in a bad neighborhood. Joined the military and learned how to kill. I was good at it and became part of the team we call special operations. They recruited me into dark ops, a group that went behind enemy lines and did things to make sure our enemies couldn’t resist us.”

“Us?” she asked.

“I was part of the Union, a powerful government we left far behind,” I explained.

“We?”

“People who wanted freedom, people I met along the way. We faced hostile alien races and the worst of the Union’s hunters, and eventually settled on a planet called Maglan. I woke up after ten years to find it destroyed and everyone I cared about gone.”

She nodded. “Many people have come to speak to me about Maglan and what they feared was there.”

“I’d like to know why they came and destroyed everything we built,” I said.

“That is another conversation.” She passed her hand over the candle, causing the light to flicker in the small room. “You have been asleep.”

“For ten years.”

“Longer than that, I think,” she said.

A chill went up my spine, because in a way she was correct. I had been asleep since I joined the Reaper Corps, on ice while they used my genetics to build assassins and soldiers.

“Why did they choose you?” she asked when I failed to comment.

“No idea. Science,” I said.

“Tell me about your cybernetic attachment.”

“I didn’t come here for therapy. Can you help me find Naaman or not?” She didn’t need to know about my LAI or my arm.

“Naaman is occupied with a local crime lord named Sometri,” she said. “Captured might be a better word, but no matter how you say it, he cannot help you now. Sometri is very dangerous, very protective of what he considers his property.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Tell me where, and I’ll have him out by tomorrow.”

“Through a strongly worded negotiation?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Anything you can tell me about Sometri and his stronghold will help. If you want Naaman free, all the details matter.”

“He will escape, or be released, or be rescued. I’m concerned with none of these things. Hardship does not affect Naaman the way it does other men. He probably allowed himself to be taken when Sometri’s debt collectors came,” Nana said. “Now explain this.” She poked my left arm right where it attached to the shoulder. “I know about such things more than most. Does that surprise you? No? Of course not, because your machine parts are different somehow. They… pretend to think.”

“She does not understand your nerve-ware, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “I will search local security systems for information on Sometri and his base of operations while she presents her delightful fantasies.”

I acknowledged X with a hand signal.

“Why so long to answer?” Nana asked.

“I was talking to my LAI, limited artificial intelligence,” I said, noting how her eyes narrowed. “X-37 regulates my Reaper arm interface and analyzes anything I see, hear, taste, or feel. He communicates with computers and ship AIs when needed. You might say he is part of my cybernetics.”

“I have not heard of such a thing,” Nana said. “It explains your aura. When I look at you, there is the aura of a dark other.”

“Doesn’t sound like X,” I said without thinking.

“The aura is merely you reacting to this… LAI,” she said. “I am intrigued, and repulsed. Humans should be human, not machines.”

“Good thing I didn’t come here for your approval.”

“Naaman also has a dark aura, but that is because he went too far from home. I tell you what no one else knows, and he will not thank me for sharing his secret. Naaman has seen the Darkness and survived. Ask Decima to take you to the Sometri quarter. Take my advice and negotiate. Pay whatever price Sometri asks, and be careful around Naaman. The man has changed too much.”

“What do I owe you for this information,” I asked.

“You cannot pay it.”

“Try me.” I didn’t like being in someone’s debt, especially not a mystic like Nana of Heto 5.

“I dream of a long conversation with your ghost machine, your LAI. But this must be impossible.”

“Say hi, X,” I said.

“Hello, Nana. I am X-37, a limited artificial intelligence assigned to Halek Cain, the last Reaper.”

Nana drew back. “What is this? Your arm speaks?”

“Sometimes. Where is the cake?”

“Downstairs. Can I truly talk to… X-37, or is that a trick?” she asked.

“No trick. Talk all you want, but keep in mind his stories about me are all lies.”

“That is inaccurate, Reaper Cain. I remember your exploits better than you do,” X said.

We climbed down the spiral stairs and joined Decima, Bug, and Marie for dessert.

20

Hours passed before we left Nana’s place. Decima led us to Sometri’s quarter, a section of Zone 3 between the tenth and eleventh levels. Men, women, children, and dogs packed the street. I wasn’t sure who was making the most noise, but there was at least one live band blowing the doors off a pub. Wall murals covered this area as well, but they were faded, neglected, and sometimes vandalized.

“I should have known he would be involved with Sometri,” Decima said, sounding like she wanted to curse her cousin’s foolishness. “The man is a total scumbag—Sometri, not my cousin. Don’t underestimate him. Everyone on this moon is on his payroll or being blackmailed. Just because his goons are weak, doesn’t mean we can just take Naaman back.”

“There is more,” I said, observing her body language. Why was she so nervous? “Tell me the rest.”

She hesitated.

“Don’t hold back. We all know this isn’t going to be snack time with Nana.” I tapped on a small touchscreen on my left arm, signaling X-37 to make sure the Jellybird was ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

“Naaman may not want to come with us,” she admitted. “He’s always been on his own path, not one to answer requests.”

“Great.” I stretched out the word, thinking of ways to kidnap a man who was probably a capable warrior. If he was from Sethorn, taking him by force might not be an option even with Bug to help me. Decima might find herself torn between loyalties, so I didn’t count on her to get rough with her cousin.

“I can talk to him,” Decima promised. “That’s why I came. I’m probably the only person he will listen to.”

“But you have your doubts,” I said. “I’m not judging. But I can see you’re nervous.”

She didn’t respond, but neither did she deny the accusation.

“Why can’t anything be easy, X?”

“What fun would that be, Reaper Cain?” X-37 said via speaker box.

“Not helpful, X.”

Decima looked from my face to the speaker box inside my wrist. “I get the feeling you ask that question a lot.”

“I do, and I’m going to keep asking it until we catch a break,” I said.

We came to a warehouse but were only able to see the front as the rest of it was cut into the side of the subterranean wall. The number of doors and windows gave an indication of its large size.

“There are no schematics for this structure,” X-37 advised privately. “My analysis suggests it will be fairly straightforward like the rest of this level. The purpose of this facility is quite utilitarian, resource acquisition and processing for the most part. Geological restrictions could affect the floor plan, however.”

I motioned for Decima to move past the target location. “I need to get a feel for this place. Have you ever been inside?”

“Blindfolded, but yes. Jag and I went to settle a trade dispute. They tried to detain us, and we fought our way free, which is why I gave you a warning about Sometri having more connections than you would think. We didn’t have much trouble with his guards, but when we reached the spaceport, our ship had been seized by local officials. That was an expensive delay. We had to out bribe Sometri and his allies. They were surprised we were able to pull the resources, but you probably don’t want to know the reprimand we faced when we returned home.”

“I can imagine your superiors weren’t happy,” I said.

X-37 answered with more snark than necessary. “Reaper Cain has a great deal of experience with unhappy supervision.”

Decima released a smile as she nodded along with my LAI. “At least we have that much in common.”

“We need leverage,” I said. “What does Sometri need to stay in power? What is his most important resource?”

Decima shook her head. “I understand what you’re thinking, but it’s a bad idea. Every level in Zone 3 has someone like Sometri. If we interfere with their commerce, we’ll have all of them coming down on us, and we don’t have time for that.”

“Fine. Give me another idea then,” I said.

“We ask nicely?” Her expression made me laugh out loud.

“Why do I think you’re even worse at that than I am?” I asked.

“I’ll bring them out,” Bug said.

My friend sounded confident, but I didn’t see how he could pull it off.

“X can tap into my gear and give you a visual and audio feed of what I’m doing. If I need help, he can give me advice. If I get captured, you’ll have a floor plan and reconnaissance of the guard posts to plan my rescue,” Bug said.

“Hold on a second, Bug. You’re assuming we’ll come rescue you,” I said.

“You’re hilarious, Hal. Now think about what we’re doing. I’m nobody, completely useless to Sometri or anyone else on this shithole. But they probably want Decima after her last escape, and you have some sort of bounty or warrant out for your arrest. At the very least, I can promise to deliver the two of you. If we all three go in, we spend all of our chips in one place.” Bug rubbed the back of his neck, thinking through the scenario he was presenting. “I’ll get Naaman. The two of you need to be ready to move when we come out.”

Decima looked at me questioningly.

I threw my hands up in surrender. “Fine. Go get Decima’s cousin and try not to get murdered.”

My old friend nodded and headed for the entrance of Sometri’s warehouse stronghold.

“Brave man,” Decima said. “And call me crazy, but I think he’ll pull it off.”

I didn’t have a comment. Watching a pair of guards pat Bug down and then take him inside didn’t give me a warm feeling inside.

“We should find a place to lie low,” Decima said.

I fired up the pipe, inhaled the smoke, and wondered if I’d done it wrong. The sensation was mild, almost pleasant. “What’s the point of this stuff?”

“What do you mean?” Decima asked.

“Never mind. It’s… I don’t know how to describe it. Soft.”

“You mean it doesn’t gag you every time you smell it?” she asked. “I haven’t tried one of your cigars yet, but I can imagine how nasty they must be. Every time you fire one up, I want to leave the room.”

“Bite your tongue,” I said. To my surprise, she laughed.

We wandered through a maze of shops, then toured a food market. Unlike the rest of the structures in this area, a large cavern had been carved into the side of the wall to allow for an open air market. Men and women haggled over goods. The aroma of cooking food filled the area, and there was strange and exotic music.

I pulled three wanted posters from message boards and tucked them inside my coat.

I ate meat from a stick, not bothering to ask where it came from. Decima sampled her own portion and selected the local version of a coffee shop to patronize while we watched Sometri’s stronghold down the street.

“This isn’t bad,” I said.

“If you have to maintain a forward observation post, there might as well be refreshments,” she agreed.

I smoothed the wanted posters out on the table and examined the vile graffiti covering them. These were better pictures despite the demon horns and mustaches drawn on the paper. One had a flaccid penis scrawled in the corner—very classy.

Decima still thought the man looked like an imposter, but I could see myself in his puffy face. He looked like a drinker and a binge eater.

“What’s that look, Halek,” she asked.

“The guy drinks too much. Eats whatever he wants. Skips leg day.” For all my bad habits, this encounter made me realize I had always been more disciplined than I gave myself credit for. This jerk was a slob.

“It’s bad luck to judge people.” She raised her cup.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“You can’t taste the alcohol?” She took a sip. “Also, this is much more of a stimulant than what you call coffee.”

“It doesn’t taste that much different.” I knew what she meant. Once I focused on the beverage, I could tell it was more than just a casual drink. “Scratch that. I see what you mean now. I could get used to this stuff.”

“Why does the imposter look so much like you?” she said, her tone more serious than before.

I exhaled slowly, put my feet up on another chair, and had another sip. “I’m not sure you want to know, and if you do, I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“We are about to risk our lives together,” she said. “If there’s a problem, maybe it would be better to air it out now.”

“What do you know about the HC Obsidians?” I asked, trying to remember if Jag had talked about them being clones or not.

She looked uncomfortable. “Some call them demons. There’s talk of clone abominations and other dark technological wizardry that has been banned in Sethorn, and even the rest of the Sovereignty of Oroth. I feel like we’re going to regret your people ever came to Maglan.”

“The Oroth Council could have left us alone. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if they had just stayed in their own sector of space,” I said.

“But they didn’t,” she said.

“Have you seen one of the HC Obsidians without a helmet?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“What do you think HC stands for?”

She tensed but didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if that meant she knew what I was suggesting or just had a general feeling of dread at the way this conversation was headed.

“It stands for Halek Cain. They are clones, and I’m the original.” I had thought coming clean would make me feel better, create some sort of bond between us, but I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

Color drained from her face. She froze like a hunted animal, staring at me in horror.

“This petty criminal must be one of them. Why he’s on his own is anyone’s guess,” I said.

Several minutes passed before she spoke again. “If I understand what you’re saying, and it’s true, then this petty criminal is far more dangerous than I thought.”

“That’s why I told you my secret. Once we get your cousin and figure out how I can help Elise, you can take him back to Sethorn or whatever you want,” I said.

Fire filled her eyes, and her color came back. “Why in the void would you say something like that? Do you think I would abandon a quest so easily?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I said. “You know as well as I do that some alliances were never meant to be.”

An image glowed to life in my HUD. “It looks like Bug is inside and has a good comm link. I can see a live feed of the hallway. They must think he’s a security risk because he has at least five guards. If he looks over his shoulder, I bet I’ll see more.”

“You can see that? How?”

“It’s part of my cybernetic options. Hard to explain, but it’s basically an illusion. X-37 is able to project certain things in my vision to give me information in real time if needed,” I said.

“I’m not sure if I should be amazed or horrified,” she said, but her smile was back. “I knew you were a dangerous man, Halek, but I may have underestimated you.”

Bug spoke. I held up one hand to stop Decima from talking, then activated the speaker in my wrist so she could listen.

“I’m not going to cause problems, guys,” Bug continued. “You don’t need nine guards to look after me.”

“Nine is considered a lucky number in many parts of the Zakion system,” Decima explained. “It’s also a full squad, so that’s useful.”

“How big is this place?” Bug asked. “We’ve already gone through ten doorways, all of them with ugly but effective locks.”

“You talk too much. Shut your mouth,” said one of the guards.

“No need to get ugly. Why are you the only one who doesn’t have a rifle? Oh, you have a stun spear. Can I get one of those?” Bug asked.

“Quiet! We are almost there. I don’t like your face, or your constant chattering,” the spear guard said.

“That is probably the squad leader,” Decima said. “In some military organizations, the electric spear is used to motivate troops rather than defeat enemies.”

Some things never changed. “Big surprise,” I said.

“Sarcasm detected,” X-37 said, earning a chuckle from Decima.

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” I said.

21

“My name is Sometri. Welcome to my domain.” The man facing Bug’s camera stood on a metal platform with his hands spread in welcome. Behind and below him were forklifts moving freight—some of it marked as property of the Oroth Trade Network. Other bundles had labels scraped off or painted over.

The man wasn’t dressed like a king or even a crime lord. He wore canvas trousers, work boots, and shirt sleeves rolled up to his biceps. Sometri of Heto 5, Zone 3 looked like he worked for a living. Short, simply cut hair and a face full of laugh and worry lines concealed his true nature.

Or that was what I assumed. Crime bosses were never what they seemed, but they were always ruthless and conniving. This character might be a simple and generous host now, but I could imagine him issuing ultimatums. His scarred fists had surely beat many of his opponents into submission.

“Call me Bug. I’m not here to waste your time, Mr. Sometri. I’m looking for Naaman.”

“He’s here, but I’m curious. How did you know that?” Sometri said.

Bug held the man’s gaze and said nothing.

Sometri shrugged. “As an honored guest, Naaman is of course free to leave whenever he wishes. Did you think otherwise?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Bug said. “I’m new to Heto 5. Maybe I misinterpreted the word on the street.”

“New to the Zakion system, I think,” Sometri said. “I wonder what you heard on the street. Do people say I’m a bad man?”

“No. They say your business is your business and you’re not to be trifled with,” Bug said.

“Are you able to feed Bug tips, X?” I asked.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. But he is in no need of assistance. My analysis suggests that his performance is well within the eighty-fifth percentile of effectiveness for this type of negotiation.”

“That leaves a lot to chance,” Decima said.

“Correct,” X said. “But the probability for success is much higher than most of our previous missions. As Reaper Cain is wont to say, it’s much better than a stick to the eye.”

“Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” I corrected. “I know you have perfect recall, X. Stop butchering my metaphors.”

“Metaphors continue to challenge my algorithm, Reaper Cain. As you would say, please get off my back.”

“I only want one thing,” Sometri said. “I have a son named Demetri. He has been too long away. I’m concerned he has met misfortune at the hands of the Sovereignty of Oroth.”

“No, no, no. Don’t make this promise, Bug. X, tell him not to agree to anything to do with Sometri’s son,” I said in a rush.

“Sending a text message to his vambrace. Sent. They made him remove his helmet, which forced me to use a camera on his body armor. That is why the image resolution is grainy,” X-37 said. “The message will not reach him unless he checks his messages.”

“I don’t care about that. Just stop him.” Anxiety swelled in my chest. I’d learned a long time ago to deal with these emotions, but this caught me off guard. Elise was fighting a war. I wasn’t there to help. Everything I did to try and find her led me further away, or that was what it felt like. We needed a win, not a side quest.

“I don’t know how I can help you, Mr. Sometri,” Bug said.

“I have a lot of eyes and ears—not just here on Heto 5, but everywhere in the Zakion system. I’ve seen you walking with one of the HC clones, one of the renegade versions from the look of it. I ask questions, and I get answers. The Obsidian void-sons are infamous for their ability to conduct raids. You could convince your friend to help you liberate my son, bring him here, and we would be fast friends for life,” Sometri said.

“I think you overestimate my position. Cain isn’t my boss, and I’m definitely not his,” Bug said.

Sometri smiled and spread his hands. “I only ask that you do your best. Perhaps in a month’s time, I will be reunited with my son, no?”

“It might take longer than that,” Bug said.

“This makes me sad, but as long as it is a guarantee, a father would rest much easier at night,” Sometri said.

“Where’s Naaman?” Bug asked.

“Bug hasn’t actually agreed to anything,” X-37 pointed out.

“Technically, you’re right, X. But for a crime lord like Sometri, that’s practically a blood oath. Make a note in my assignment log to find Demetri, son of Sometri of Heto 5, and drag him home.”

“Noted. Giving all the other things you must accomplish first, that should be easy. Barely an inconvenience,” X-37 said.

“I don’t know why I laugh when you say it like that, but whatever,” I said.

Decima crossed her arms and watched the rest of the interaction without a word. I could tell she was as worried as I was.

“I have called Naaman. He is on his way. Sadly, I believe my time with him is done. He helped with many things but is not a prisoner, as I have stated clearly before,” Sometri said. “Have some liquor and cake.”

“What is it with liquor and cake?” I asked Decima.

“It’s a tradition here. If it matters, Sometri is supposed to have the best of both,” she said.

Bug lifted one hand to stop a young woman from bringing him a tray filled with treats and small glasses. “I’m watching my shapely figure.”

The woman giggled and held the tray closer to him. Bug selected a dark pastry and a small glass full of clear liquid. He ate the treat in one bite and then tossed the shot of alcohol down his throat behind it. His eyes lit up. “That is amazing. I’m glad I came.”

Sometri glowed with satisfaction. “You do me great honor. Our meeting is fortunate. You should return and discuss employment with me. When my son is back, I may have important work for you if you are interested.”

Bug nodded appreciatively at the tray of treats, then glanced at the girl and shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

Sometri clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good, Bug. Very good indeed.”

Naaman entered the room. Two guards followed him, each of them looking nervous. Naaman was tall and broad, and he wore a dark red cloak that shadowed his face. I could see his eyes glimmering and wondered if he was wearing a helmet or optics. Something produced the ominous effect.

Decima tensed. “Why would he do that?” Her voice was soft.

I didn’t think she meant me to hear her concern. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I hope not. We will see. Jag won’t be happy if my suspicions are true,” she said.

I searched for clues, noting the weapons belt and light armor beneath Naaman’s heavy cloak. The technology was different from what I had seen on Sethorn. If this man was an explorer, he might have acquired gear from elsewhere in the sector. “All I want is help finding Elise.”

“He is more likely to satisfy that desire than to make my people happy.” She hesitated, rubbing her arms like she was cold. “I fear he will never return to Sethorn, not like that.”

“I cannot perform a complete analysis from this limited view,” X-37 said privately.

I signaled my LAI to do what he could and keep it on the down low. “Let’s get in position. I want to be there when Bug steps out of Sometri’s stronghold.”

“Okay,” Decima said. “The sooner we leave this place, the better. My cousin has become a tech wizard.”

“I thought your people were good at technology and science,” I said.

“My cousin has broken our most sacred mandate. This technology is not to leave Sethorn. The simpletons of Zakion and beyond don’t understand it. They will call him a sorcerer or a wizard. Then they will attempt to steal it or force him to create more of it for their own purposes.”

“Now I’m curious to see what’s under that cloak,” I said.

“Do not make jokes.” She turned and strode away.

“Not joking.” I followed her toward a cafe near Sometri’s stronghold.

X-37 went into lecture mode as I caught up. “Perhaps you should drop it, Reaper Cain.”

“Whatever. Can we just be done with this mission?”

“I am treating that as a hypothetical question,” X said.

* * *

“He’s coming out,” I said.

Decima nodded energetically. “I don’t see any problems on our end. No JFT patrols, and no local tough guys looking for a shakedown. We should be clear to move quickly to the transport station.”

“Make a note, X. This is what I mean when I want things to be easy.”

Decima growled. “I can’t believe you just said that. Are you searching for bad luck?”

“Never believed in luck,” I said, then paid for our drinks. The clerk studied me for a long time, then lowered his eyes. Apparently, he didn’t think I was the same man on the wanted poster or had decided the reward wasn’t worth dying for.

“That isn’t entirely true,” X-37 said. “A deep analysis of our history together reveals—”

“Not now, X.” I was about to step out of the shop when I saw a news broadcast on one of the view screens. A reporter spoke into a camera. Behind her were scenes of celebration. It looked like someone had won a war. “What the actual fuck is going on?”

The newscaster spoke over the noise of the crowd, describing an incredible victory in the Kyroth system. An analyst came on and promised an end to the rebel threat that had been disrupting trade and endangering settlements throughout the Sovereignty of Oroth.

“Funny how excited they are,” Decima said. “Just last week there was a ban on all travel to Kyroth due to reports of Darkness contamination. At the time, there were systemwide protests because it meant anyone who had invested in Kyroth colonies was effectively bankrupted. No trade goods are accepted from that system any longer. But now everything is sugar and sunshine.”

I processed the information and worried about Elise and her fleet.

“Your friend made a mistake by going there, and the JFT armadas were foolish to pursue her,” Decima said. “Nothing good will come of this.”

“I need more information, X. Search for all other news broadcasts and hack into whatever system you need to find out where Elise is and if she survived or is in custody.”

“There is a large body of conflicting data, Reaper Cain. All reports explicitly state the complete destruction of General Elise and her fleet, but movement patterns of Oroth resources suggest that she has survived the ordeal and is on the run. They are in pursuit of something,” X-37 said.

“That could have more to do with the Darkness than your friend,” Decima said. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t give up hope, but you need to face reality. This is bad news for your cause and ours.”

Bug and Naaman left Sometri’s stronghold without an escort. Decima froze, her cup held halfway to her mouth. I finished my drink. When I turned around, she was still watching her cousin as though uncertain of what to do. I returned to her side but gave her a moment to get herself together.

“Let’s go, Decima,” I said. We left the shop and set an intercept course with Bug and the pariah of Sethorn. Pedestrian traffic thinned, which made me nervous. If we ran into a JFT patrol, it would be harder to hide.

“I told you I’d bring him out,” Bug said.

I clasped his hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good work. Let’s get back to the Jellybird.”

“Greetings, Decima,” Naaman said. His voice was smooth, neither deep nor high-pitched. I’d expected something more ominous.

“Naaman,” was all Decima said in reply.

I had a feeling our hike back to the ship was going to be awkward. Bug caught my eye and seemed to understand what I was thinking. He turned his attention to looking for bounty hunters and JFT squads. I had almost forgotten that the HC Obsidians were my real problem. Tempest Cain was out there somewhere, and he had a cult following I wasn’t sure I understood yet.

We made good progress and reached the lift quickly, then took it to level three where it stopped for reasons the transport supervisor refused to explain.

“There are stairs,” Naaman said. “This way is safer. JFT patrols have been called to monitor all major transport systems on Heto 5. Not a problem for me, but I suspect as one of the HC variations, you will have problems.”

“But not you?” I asked.

“I never have problems.” The man moved with confident grace, never revealing much of what was under the cloak or inside the hood. At the same time, his posture was natural, never appearing as though he was concealing anything.

“It’s like the man was born in that cloak,” I subvocalized to X-37.

“My analysis suggests the same conclusion, though for different reasons, I imagine,” X-37 said. “I have additional information on his stolen technology, but perhaps now isn’t the best time to discuss it.”

I signaled my LAI to continue gathering intelligence on the stranger. For now, I would make my own observations and draw my own conclusions. Bug was watching Naaman carefully. Decima pretended to ignore her cousin completely. The woman was deeply disturbed by whatever she had noticed.

We reached a set of stairs wide enough to move heavy equipment if needed.

“Decima and I will clear the first two levels and wait for you,” Bug said.

Decima didn’t look like she agreed with this plan, but after a moment she went with him, and I was left alone with the dark stranger.

I got straight to it when I had his full attention. “You’re an outcast.”

“A keen observation,” he answered. “We are two of a kind, no?”

“For different reasons,” I said.

“You want to understand why my cousin is so upset, and why I may never return to my home.” His expression was hard to read despite the directness of his words

“That would be a good place to start,” I said. “We came looking for you because I need help finding General Elise and her fleet.”

“A worthy quest.” Again he spoke with confidence. “Perhaps I will find my place among them. I can guide you through any system connected to Zakion or Sethorn. Your general is in trouble, as are my people, as is the entirety of the Sovereignty of Oroth.”

I followed him onto the first landing, where he lowered his hood to reveal a face like nothing I had ever seen. He wore armor, but it was more like skin that covered his face. For a moment, he seemed to be made of dark gray metal with optics covering his eyes. They reminded me of James Henshaw because the wheels of light rotated—sometimes in opposite directions, other times in the same direction, and sometimes they stopped and produced numbers or symbols that I did not recognize.

“This is the truth of me, Halek Cain,” he said. “What of you? Do you have the courage to reveal yourself?”

I removed the cigar through the sleeve covering my Reaper arm. No one gave me credit for my tailoring skills. There was no one to see us here. Once I’d fired it up, I blew a large smoke ring. “I can take my arm on and off and replace it with a bunch of different badass weapons.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of weapons?”

“Not sure. But I’ve been told they’re good. I utilize a limited artificial intelligence to get the advantage on my enemies.”

“Like one of the ship AIs that General Elise and her captains depend upon?” Naaman asked.

I shrugged. “We could stand here all day sharing secrets. But that’s not what matters.”

“You want to know if I am dependable,” he said.

“Nana told me you have a dark past.”

He smiled. “Nana said nothing of the sort. I suspect that description comes from Decima, and she is not wrong. I’m a traveler like you, Halek. My quest is never ending. No matter what my cousin believes, I do this to protect my home world, now and forever.”

His words gave me chills. X-37 poured information into my HUD, but I didn’t have time to read it. It seemed like my LAI was excited at all of the amazing shit he was learning about this mysterious figure.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

“If you have a ship, I will take you to a secret location where we will move to assist your general,” he said. “There will be times I ask for your assistance, and you will help me, as I will help you. Sethorn is sacred to my heart and soul, and I will never act against her despite what it may seem on the surface. If you ask me to harm my family or my home, I will turn against you. Other than that, nothing is off the table.”

“Naaman, I think we understand each other. That’s basically how I feel about my people, who were exiled from Maglan by the aggression of the Oroth Council.”

Naaman raised his hood like it was a ceremony, then lifted one palm in a salute—index finger, middle finger, and thumb. “We have this bond until it is done. I defend yours, and you defend mine. Let’s get to your ship.”

“We’ve barely met, Naaman. I’m down for an alliance, but if you betray me you will regret it.”

“I can see that much in your eyes,” he said.

“Best friend, worst enemy.” I led the way up the stairs at a run.

He followed close behind, demonstrating speed and agility equal to any special operations trooper.

We reached the next level and found Decima and Bug waiting. They looked worried. She remained by the door, peering out into a busy passageway.

Bug approached me. “Lots of JFT presence, but there’s also an Obsidian squad at the far end of this block.”

I moved past him and joined Decima to see for myself. She gave me a short look.

“You talked to Naaman?” she asked.

“We see eye to eye. You’re right about the technology. He has some kind of metal outer layer.”

“Hard skin,” she said. “Only the best warriors who prove their loyalty to Sethorn are given the gift. I saw the optics. Those are goggles but easier to remove than what he has chosen. He should be protecting one of our perimeter bases, not gallivanting around the galaxy revealing our secrets.”

“I don’t think he’s showing off,” I said. “I’m counting three JFT fire teams and one Obsidian guard post at the end of this section. Did I miss anything?”

She shook her head. “That’s what I see. More than enough to trap us.”

“X, I need your help.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “You will need to retreat one level and take a horizontal transport to Zone 2. From there you can ascend to the surface and cross overland to the Zone 3 spaceport. If you move at your best possible speed, this will take you approximately nine hours.”

“Did you account for protective equipment? That might be hard to acquire, especially if we are being hunted,” Decima said.

“I did not,” X responded. “I suggest you get started. Fighting your way through the spaceport is a poor option. There is an eighty-nine percent chance that there are more JFT and Obsidian forces in the area who will respond quickly to the sounds of battle.”

“All right, let’s get after it.”

22

This time Decima and Naaman led the way. Bug and I jogged after them, constantly scanning for threats and hoping we didn’t draw too much attention. Eyes watched us from doorways and windows. Men stepped off the street, disappearing into side passages or just crouching in the shadows.

“We’re doing all the work,” I muttered, not liking the feeling of a mission about to go bad. There was a reason family members were rarely allowed on the same Union mission. I hadn’t forgotten my early training.

“What the hell are they arguing about?” Bug snapped. “Not really a good time.”

“…what I had to do!” Naaman yelled, motioning angrily with one hand. The movement displaced his blood red cloak. I glimpsed gear too briefly to understand its purpose.

“That’s no excuse.” A string of words were lost in the space between us. “… bring destruction to Sethorn. Never again, Naaman. You swore an oath.”

“Fucking amateur hour,” I complained.

“They do lack focus, Reaper Cain. Good thing you and Bug are watching their backs,” X-37 said. “While we are on the subject of excrement striking the rocket thrusters, I must advise there is a great deal of encrypted radio traffic flying around Heto 5 at the moment.”

“Analysis?” I asked.

“Our enemies have realized we are up to something and are adjusting their plan to kill, capture, or neutralize us,” X said.

We entered a crowded plaza, slowed to a shuffle, and worked our way to another train depot. The passenger cars were larger here. I assumed they saw a lot of use between Zone 3 and Zone 2.

“Looks like shift change.” I scanned the crowd in search of Oroth agents or local informants. No one caught my eye—which was either good or meant I was looking for the wrong behaviors. This had happened to me on Voltia 8. I’d misread local body language and nearly been stabbed in the back.

Jaw locked, eyes active, Bug also watched the crowd for trouble. Decima and her cousin led us to a group of ticket scalpers.

“Everyone has to buy their own passage. It’s hard to get on board without a government issued pass,” Naaman said, then handed each of us some local currency. “Haggle for the best price or they will get suspicious and call the local garrison.”

The next several minutes were occupied with arguing over train fares. Tired workers with government issued passes packed into the train ahead of us. I secured my ticket and followed Decima and Naaman. Bug argued with an old man holding a dozen plastic tabs with bar codes. I wanted to reach out, grab Bug by the collar, and drag him on board.

The door began to close. I put my foot on the rail to stop it. To my surprise, I wasn’t going to be able to keep it open for long. The metal was heavy, and the hydraulic arm powerful.

“All right, all right!” Bug shouted. “You’re up-charging these tickets. Ought to be a crime!”

“What the void you say? I gave you the best deal all day!” The man gestured rudely at Bug as my friend squeezed into the train seconds before the door slammed shut.

Bug cursed under his breath. “Not sure why they even sell tickets. This is standing room only.”

The train sped away from the station. Every fifteen minutes it stopped and let off more passengers than it took on. After an hour of travel, there were benches for anyone who wanted to sit. I relaxed, convinced there were no JFT agents on board. There was, however, one very familiar face.

“Decima, do you still have that wanted poster?” I asked.

She followed my gaze. “Sure, but I don’t think you need it. He’s bigger than you. Could be your older, less disciplined brother.”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Bug said. “He’s got to be an HC Clone. Same DNA means same everything, like an identical twin.”

I wasn’t sure. X-37 was already presenting me with case studies and scientific theorems about clones and how they might be affected by their environment. This guy looked like me but was taller and much heavier. Calling him fat would be ungenerous, but he definitely wasn’t sporting a six-pack. He had the classic one pack of a beer-drinking powerlifter and shoulders made for manual labor.

“You must face the very real possibility that Scheid took liberties with your DNA for his mad experiments,” X-37 said.

“Whatever, X. I don’t care as long as he doesn’t get in our way.”

“Not exactly lean and mean.” Bug shifted his stance without losing grip on the safety bar. “Does the guy even train?”

“He may be trying one of your dirty bulks, Reaper Cain—eat big to get big,” X-37 said.

I turned slightly toward the over-sized clone, but kept my expression neutral. “Zip it, X.”

“He’s more intimidating in real life,” Decima said, eyes full of fascination. “Could be your older brother. How much must this guy eat in a day? You’re the runt of the litter, Halek.”

“Ha ha ha, very funny,” I said. “Are you scared?”

She snorted. “Please, Halek. Size isn’t everything.”

False Cain chatted amiably with the people around him, trying to sell them something from inside his coat. When they didn’t buy, he pulled out a device and snapped a selfie with them—not the smartest behavior for a wanted criminal. He didn’t look concerned. In fact, he smiled a lot more than I ever did. The distorted mirror image of who I was laughed loudly at someone’s joke, slapping one of his knees to show appreciation.

“Neto on Heto, that’s hilarious! You should be a poet.” His booming voice filled the train car. The workers around him couldn’t get enough of his antics. “You should take that routine on the road, Freddie. Always love your jokes.”

I moved farther away, turning my back on the scene. “This better not be a long trip. Choking Mr. Congeniality to death would probably draw attention.”

“You’re jealous,” Decima teased.

“Yeah, sure.” I wasn’t sure how I felt. This HC variation was different from the others. All I wanted was to get as far from him as possible.

Decima sat beside me, watching my body double intently. “The man is an actor. A real crowd pleaser.”

“Maybe we should turn him in for the reward,” Bug said. “Use the money to bribe our way off Heto 5. Joking. Come on, you had to know I wasn’t serious.”

“Hilarious,” I said.

“What’s on your mind, Halek?” Decima finally asked.

“I need to have an aggressive talk with Scheid. And put a stop to the games he is playing with my DNA.”

She reached under her jacket to check her for her pistol. “Who is that?”

“Scheid is the reason for that shit show, and Tempest Cain, and everything else that brought us to Maglan, and then here. Long story,” I said.

“Sounds like it.” She went to the window as the train slowed.

I rehashed memories of waking up from the life pod, learning I was a clone, then learning I wasn’t a clone but the biological original. Donated memories of the last ten years came back when I least expected them. Cyborg Cain had dumped a full life into my brain with some of our childhood memories overlapping.

Decima put a hand on mine. “Where are you, Halek? Come back to us.”

“I’m the cyborg now.” The words brought a surreal acceptance of my situation. I had thought I was done with doubt, but really accepting the truth was going to take a while. Scheid had to go, but did that mean all of his creations needed to be eliminated as well? The man across the train car was a big fool—a petty criminal who hadn’t asked to be grown.

He annoyed me, but I couldn’t muster enough hate and discontent to take him out. Better to just part ways and never see this reminder of what I was, and what he was, ever again.

Decima returned her attention to the window. Bug joined her, then crossed the train to look through the other side. Naaman stared at me, his expression unreadable within the shadows of his blood red hood.

The train decelerated. Brakes squealed.

At the other end of the car, False Cain lowered his voice and motioned for his crowd to clear out. “You all better squeeze into the next car. Looks like they’ve come for me again.”

“Trouble,” Decima said. “Local cops and a JFT squad on the boarding ramp. Looks like some heavy hitters just arrived as well. I expect more are coming.”

Naaman stood and readied himself—a shotgun pistol in his left hand and a long whip in the other. Big Cain leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and didn’t seem to give a damn. Hard eyes stared at me, burning with malice.

So much for the jovial salesman. Big Cain had a dark side, just like any other Reaper. How many of my secrets did he know? Surely Cyborg Cain hadn’t passed his memories to all the clones. I suddenly wanted to interrogate this one to see if he remembered my time before Dark Ops.

I slid my D3D out from my coat. Bug and Decima freed their weapons. Big Cain held his surly pose. The man wasn’t making jokes now. His face looked ten years older—tougher than when he had been a comedian.

“What are you doing here, Obsidian?” he finally asked.

“Call me that again and you’re a dead man,” I said. “We don’t have time for explanations or introductions. Make a run for it when all hell breaks loose and stop pretending to be me. Let’s never meet again.”

“You’re not calling the shots,” he said. “I have questions only you can answer.”

So did I, but my personal quest had to wait. Yes, I wanted to interrogate him, but that didn’t mean I would. “Get used to disappointment.”

He muttered something I couldn’t make out, glaring at me like he wasn’t accustomed to backing down from a challenge or blatant disrespect. The transformation from slick salesman to enforcer shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but it did. His nice guy act was just that, an act.

The train came to a stop. Passengers watched us from the next car, crowded near the glass as money changed hands. Our misfortune had become a gambling event. I wondered what the odds were and if I should place a bet.

“I have identified radio traffic from two rapid transports. Expect additional JFT squads within the half hour,” X-37 said via arm speaker. “I am also tracking a zone of silence, a dead spot in local radio traffic, that I suspect represents an Obsidian team. Their encryption technology is superior to local law enforcement units and even the JFT special teams.”

“We’ll be long gone before the main force arrives,” I said, not believing my own words.

Naaman shook out the whip, uncoiling it with surprising finesse. “Time for the first test.”

Big Cain shook his head in disgust. I ignored him but noted his disdain for Naaman’s weapon choice.

Our car remained locked after the train stopped. Citizens poured out of the other two and were ordered to clear the area by the local cops. Half of these looked like soldiers in riot gear. The others wore soft uniforms and carried handguns.

X-37 marked their positions. I saw them but focused on the special teams and the JFT squad. “X, can you override the train controls and get us out of here?”

“Not quickly enough, and we would travel nonstop to Zone 1. The possibility of reaching Zone 3 over land would no longer exist,” X-37 said. “I suggest choosing another option if you can think of one.”

“All right. Check your weapons, then conceal them. We’ll try to slip through security without a fight. That is the reason we came this way in the first place. Everyone, be sneaky.” Looking through the locked doors, I quickly realized that wasn’t an option. Bug saw it as well.

“Crazy assholes,” grumbled Big Cain without changing position.

Tempest Cain and his personal HC goons bolted onto the platform. All I wanted was a smooth departure with Naaman in tow. This asshole was too much.

“Was there another train?” I asked. “How did these godsdammed void sons get here?”

Naaman answered. “There are rumors of secret bullet trains for Oroth citizens.”

“Not rumors,” Big Cain said.

Naaman continued. “Until now, I would have told you not even General Scheid or his henchmen could requisition them.” He paused. “This would have been worse had we attempted to approach your ship directly. My money says they have a full complement of HC clones and a company of the best JFT units in the system.”

“How long until all of them show up here?” Decima’s tone suggested she thought this entire situation was an unfair joke.

“They don’t need all of them,” Bug said. “The locals are prepping a breaching team. These jerks are trying to impress the big shot Obsidians and the JFT.”

“Get ready,” Decima said, taking a fighting stance. Naaman did likewise. “They made their choice. Time for our enemies to die.”

I swept my eyes around the space and stopped on the doors to the next car. “Let’s try plan C.” Seconds dragged—useful for thinking, hoping, and making notes about how I hated Heto 5 and never wanted to come here again. My oversized clone still wasn’t reacting—very un-Reaper like and cocky as hell. Disregarding an enemy attack was the height of arrogance and a good way to get killed to death.

“Set up in the next car. I’ll hold them when they breach. Slip around their assault and escape if you can. Strike their flank if you can’t,” I said. “No mercy. We left that option behind a long time ago. Get the bystanders back. Order them onto the floor until this is over.”

Expressions grim, Bug and Decima hurried into the next car and took the deadliest angles they could find. The area between me and the door was about to become a kill zone. They shouted orders at the civilian workers, who complied immediately.

Naaman snapped his whip to test the range. Electricity popped. “I’ll make my stand here. They know me. The two of us should keep them occupied until our trap is sprung or my cousin and your friend escape.”

“I can’t work in these conditions, X. Can you find me a team who actually fucking listens to me?” I adjusted my position, guessing at how much room Naaman needed to use his rather unique selection of weapons.

“The non-compliance of your team is quite frustrating. Your biometrics correlate with frustration and impatience,” X-37 said. “Perhaps the clone could be enticed to help?”

I ignored the idea.

“We can hold them longer if we work together,” Naaman said. “If you want your friend and my cousin to live, then you will accept my help.”

“He’s playing dirty, X,” I said, then silently estimated how slippery the floor would be when covered with blood. Fighting in a box sucked. Facing a numerically superior enemy also stank like a Union refuse planet. Plans that degenerated to brute force nearly always failed. I wanted to put my fist through the wall.

“The more we kill, the greater enemies of the Oroth Council we will become,” Naaman said.

“I’m already their enemy.” I retracted my blade and readied my D3D. “And so are you from the look of it.”

“Not like this, Halek. Their security cameras will record the incident. The Oroth propaganda corps will edit each scene until we are portrayed as monsters. The citizens of Oroth will hate us, but so will the common folk of this system.”

“Listen to the tech wizard, Bio,” Big Cain said.

“That’s what Tempest called me,” I snapped. “You better pick a side.”

“I advise destroying this rogue HC clone now before the situation escalates,” X-37 said.

“Don’t care,” the man responded. “But that’s what you are. I’m not wrong.”

“We don’t have time for debate, Halek. Ignore him. The man won’t fight. He never does. Never chooses a side or takes a risk,” Naaman said. “We have other problems. When news of this ambush is spread through their media outlets, we will find no place to hide and no assistance. Their propaganda machine is enormously powerful. It will appear as though we ambushed the local police and showed no mercy.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I said. “Surprise me.”

“Fighting to the death seems to be the option we have already chosen,” Naaman said. “Wishing it were otherwise will change nothing.”

“Whatever. Fatalism sucks.” My heart rate settled, higher than normal but far below the panic zone. “Let’s eat this shit sandwich and put an end to Tempest and his space fracking cult.”

“Cult?” Big Cain asked.

Naaman raised an eyebrow, a peculiar expression with the hard skin active, and asked the same question. “Cult?”

I didn’t have time to explain the armbands or other things I had learned about my Darkness-infected clone. I barely even understood what the details meant. All I could say for sure was that he was coming in and we were about to have an epic fucking showdown.

“Reaper Cain, please do a secondary scan of the breaching team. It seems there has been a change of plans. Radio chatter is encrypted and somewhat difficult to parse,” X-37 said.

I peered through the window, momentarily entering the kill zone Decima and Bug had set up. “They’re sending in the local cops first as cannon fodder. The gutless dick faces.”

“I’d rather not kill these men,” Naaman said. “They will stand no chance and didn’t choose to be here.”

Time accelerated. The breaching team approached the door, connected explosives, and then stepped back. Eight cops in tactical gear would make the initial entry. Only after they took the brunt of the damage would the JFT and Obsidians enter. Now I understood that Tempest Cain would come last—like a god of death touring the carnage of battle. Dread bloomed in my chest.

The explosion blew the doors inward. Overpressure from the blast remained on the outside of the train, no danger to us—hence the reason they stepped back after placing the charge. The flying debris, however, hit us like shotgun pellets. I turned away and covered my face with my left arm, wishing it had a shield instead of a blade option. Shrapnel bit through my coat in several places.

Big Cain dropped behind a row of seats. Naaman stepped between me and the blast, raising his heavy cloak. The effect wasn’t perfect, but protected me from most of the damage. He snapped the blood red garnet down, seemingly unhurt. Bits of metal and glass clattered against walls, benches, and across the floor.

The local special weapons and tactics team stormed in, shouted orders, and stumbled when I rushed their bunker man, grabbed the ballistic shield, and shoved him into his team. Shots rang out. Pain flared along the side of my face. My ear wasn’t going to be the same after this. So much for my dashing good looks. Blood that didn’t spray through the air ran down my neck.

Naaman’s whip cracked, grabbing a man around his neck, then pulled him from the middle of their collapsing formation. Big Cain ripped loose a bench and held it up as a shield. Decima and Bug took their first, well-aimed shots.

“Hold fire!” I shouted. “Save it for the Obsidians.”

Ears ringing, eyes burning from the smoke, I slashed a man’s hand off before he could shoot me in the face. I kicked another in the gut, flinging him against the wall.

Decima and Bug attacked despite my order. A second later they were ducking a deadly barrage of return fire and stun grenades. I slashed the bunker shield in half, then put a vicious gash across another man’s visor. This close, my blade was every bit as deadly as my D3D or my pistol.

“Fight me, you assholes!” Rage distorted my vision. Rational thought went out the window during a fight like this. Decima and Bug had a better chance of helping me than the other way around, but I was fully committed to the attack now. Nothing made sense… and I loved it. Chaos washed away doubts, rewarded action, and filled my body with dopamine like a drug addict getting a fix.

Half of the officers retreated in disarray. JFT troopers tightened the perimeter outside, while two Obsidians charged into the train car. A confused cop tripped and fell on his face. The Obsidians ran over his prone form. One of the heavy boots came down hard on the back of his neck. The crunching sound turned my stomach—not something that happened often.

I transitioned to the D3D, then shot the first Obsidian and another cop who hadn’t abandoned the fight and was intent on blowing my head off with a tactical rifle. Naaman caught the second Obsidian with his whip, yanked him sideways, then shot him with his shotgun pistol. Lights flashed above and below the barrel that made me think it wasn’t an ordinary weapon. Was that heat venting, optical distraction, or something more exotic like variable shield pulses? I didn’t have time to wonder about the full technological capabilities of Sethorn right now. Peripheral concerns flashed in and out of my head leaving only the afterglow of memory.

Obsidian reinforcements charged in. One of them was Tempest Cain by the markings on his armor. He stayed behind his goons, using them for cover as he advanced with a sword in one hand and a stun club in the other.

“Now, Bug!” Decima shouted.

Bug and Decima unleashed hell into the cramped battlefield. Their previous attack had been little more than a warm-up for the real thing. Lights flashed. Bullets ricocheted. The last of the local cops, wounded Obsidians, and now JFT shouted. Chaos bloomed like it was springtime in hell.

Blood surged through my veins. This was what I was meant for. “Tempest! Let’s get this over with!”

My enemy moved forward, every step intentional, every move part of his well-considered plan. Decima and Bug fired from the flank, striking his armor repeatedly. He adjusted effortlessly, again using one of his bodyguards as a walking bunker, protecting him from the flank attack.

I blasted his chest armor with my D3D, shouting profane insults the moment I knew I’d hurt him. “Take that, you fucking dick. And that. Aaannd that!”

Naaman grappled with the only uninjured Obsidian. Bug and Decima suppressed the JFT teams.

I leapt on Tempest… and was slammed on my back with a perfect shoulder throw. Air whooshed out of my lungs.

“Get up, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Or he will terminate you.”

23

Stars filled my vision as I fended off strikes with my left arm and pushed up from the floor with my right. Big Cain dragged a JFT off me. I fought to get free of the melee.

I couldn’t find my friends or enemies as my world spun like a top. “A little help!”

“For Sethorn!” Naaman executed a spinning back kick, driving his heel against Tempest’s torso and hurling him through a window. Looking at this from the floor was an experience. The red cloak flared out. For a moment, the full extent of Naaman’s hard skin technology was apparent. The man was protected from head to toe, but also wore light body armor with glowing dots near each joint. There were other pieces of gear on his belt I only saw for a second.

I popped to my feet as my adversary landed on the train station platform. JFT and Obsidians on the perimeter stared in momentary confusion.

“Let’s go!” Decima shouted, grabbing my shoulder to guide me. I was a little off balance from hitting the ground and getting stomped on.

Bug shouted, “Grenade out!”

An explosion rocked the train platform, forcing Tempest and his team away from us. Decima released my shoulder and sprinted ahead. I followed the moment I knew Bug and Naaman were coming.

I shook my vision clear and lobbed my own grenade to cover our retreat. The detonation halted our pursuers. Tempest and his mixed team gave pursuit the moment the shrapnel stopped flying.

Naaman pulled a handful of small discs from inside of his cloak and flung them toward Tempest. Each disc expanded and whirled fire like the tips of a cutting torch gone wild. Tempest and the others veered around them, falling further behind.

Decima led the way into a stairwell—with Big Cain close behind her.

“What the hell is he doing?” I grunted.

“My analysis suggests he is staying alive. You might try performing the same task as I hear it is a very useful activity when attempting to successfully complete a mission,” X-37 said.

I dropped to the back of our line and slammed the door shut, then dropped a crossbar. Naaman pulled a tool from his belt and quickly welded the metal together. When it was done, he cast the tool aside.

“Single use cutting torch. Very useful,” he said.

We charged up the stairs. Big Cain, despite his bulk and apparent lack of conditioning, often led the way, plodding forward with long strides that looked slow but weren’t. Each time we came to a door, Naaman sealed it behind us.

“I’d blow this entire stairwell if I could,” I said.

Big Cain gave me a shitty look.

Who the hell was he to judge me?

“That would negatively affect the local residents who likely need to use this for their day-to-day existence,” X-37 pointed out.

“Not now, X,” I said. “You know we’re running out of options.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. You could assume that a score of decent paying jobs would be generated by the need to rebuild this vital section of infrastructure. Does that help your conscience?”

“Relax, X. I haven’t blown it up yet.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” X persisted.

“Sure, X. I’m all happy inside now.”

We reached a fortified platform that seemed to be above the surface. Ice crusted over the windows, ruining visibility, but I could hear wind and feel sleet pounding outside of the structure.

“We’re on the surface,” Decima said. “We’ll need to take a tube to a garage with vehicles. I don’t think there will be staff after hours.”

“Perfect,” I replied. “I was hoping to steal one anyway. No use getting civilians involved. You okay with that?”

Big Cain snorted. “Ecstatic.”

The fate of the local cops still bothered me even though more than a few of them had continued to fight after we’d given them a chance to escape, which meant they got what was coming to them. The fact that I was even thinking about this showed I had softened since my time in the Reaper Corps. Hopefully, that wouldn’t get all of my friends and family killed.

Silence ruled in the tube. Small windows in the ceiling allowed in constant light to illuminate our passage, but other than that, it was like being underground.

“These walls have several meters of insulation to keep out the cold,” Decima explained. “The exterior is armored like a starship.”

I’d been to other worlds with a similar setup. “Heto 5 won’t be a destination resort anytime soon.”

Decima gave me a strange look like she had never heard of the concept. I let it drop, preferring to plan the next stage of our escape. “X, can you contact the Jellybird?”

“By code only,” X-37 said. “There is insufficient bandwidth for audio or video communication. We can, however, reach her as an LAI to a ship AI. Before you ask, she cannot fly to this destination.”

“She could take off, orbit the moon, and touch down near the vehicle hanger we’re heading towards,” I said.

“We discussed this option, but there are a significant number of Oroth ships in orbit. Leaving the atmosphere of Heto 5 will be risky and should probably be reserved for our departure. We must get to the spaceport ourselves.”

“How many JFT and Obsidian troops are guarding her?” I asked.

“They have the entire spaceport on lockdown but are not in direct control of any single ship. Local groups, both legitimate and criminal, have prevented this. That situation may not hold, however. Please prepare for any eventuality, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I summoned Decima and Naaman to walk beside me while Bug scouted ahead, his HDK rifle held ready for action, and my oversized clone lagging behind. I hoped he was covering our back trail but didn’t see any evidence he was moving tactically—or even had a weapon.

“We have to assume Tempest Cain and the others will catch up to us, so we better move fast,” I said.

Decima was ready. “Agreed.”

“Have you been to the surface before?” I wasn’t taking any chances. Assumptions got people killed.

Naaman nodded. “I have performed many missions to pay my expenses. Some were above ground. Living in exile isn’t free. The surface is harsh, but with the correct vehicle and equipment, it can be survived.”

“Tempest and the others will follow us,” I said. “And we can count on a welcoming party at the spaceport.”

Neither of my new friends commented. Big Cain was as unhelpful as ever.

“They can’t come after us if we destroy the other vehicles.” I thought this was obvious, but the tech wizard was already dragging his feet.

“That would benefit us,” Naaman replied. “But at what point do we become worse than the Oroth oppressors? Every vehicle, every piece of infrastructure on this moon provides for someone’s survival. Blowing up the vehicle hanger will have repercussions, though not for us.”

“He is entirely correct, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“For the record, I like missions on abandoned or never explored worlds better. This bites.” Why couldn’t anything be easy? “We’ll sabotage the vehicles as much as we can without permanently damaging them. Will that work?”

“Should buy us some time,” Decima said. “What do you suggest?”

“Are these wheeled vehicles? I’m thinking we should take some of their parts with us, things that could be replaced but are critical to the functioning of any pursuit vehicles.”

Both Decima and Naaman smiled.

“This isn’t my first time out,” I said.

We arrived a short time later, convinced the security guard that he had fallen asleep and seen nothing, then removed wheels and other small components from the engines at random.

“Take the wheels with us, or hide them?” Bug asked, standing next to a tire that was nearly as tall as he was. “They’ll add a lot of weight and increase fuel consumption.”

I stepped forward, slipped my Reaper blade between the wheel and the rubber tire, and popped it loose. “Hide the pieces. We’ll take the small engine components with us.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Decima accused, but I could see she was in a better mood than she had been when we were cornered in the train car.

“I don’t often win without shedding a lot of blood,” I said. “This is like pulling a prank on them.”

Decima laughed and got to work. I checked out the massive eight-wheeled surface crawler that we were about to trust with our lives. Things were looking up, but talk of pranks made me think of Elise and all the times we had traversed slip tunnels. I’d become an expert in dodging pies thrown from a certain young woman wearing my stealth cloak. News of her fleet’s destruction didn’t sit well with me. In my heart, I couldn’t believe she was gone.

She had to be out there, one step ahead of her pursuers.

“Everybody in,” I said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

My clone tossed wheels into a loft where they would be hard to recover even if located. For about two seconds, I was impressed. The wheels weighed hundreds of kilograms each. Sure I could lift one, but throwing it? Godsdamn, that was something else.

I climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and went over the controls until I knew what each of them did.

“What are you waiting for?” Bug asked.

“Not sure,” I said.

“Now is the time to ditch the big guy,” Bug offered.

I waited until my oversized clone climbed in and found a seat. I faced my controls without commenting. The engine roared as I sped out of the vehicle hanger into a deadly blizzard.

24

The driver’s seat was small, with armrests that pressed into my hips, forcing me to twist my holster into an awkward position or lose quick access to it. This was going to be a long trip. The ceiling was low, the windows so thick looking through them was basically useless, especially with the white out conditions surrounding us. To top things off, the steering wheel was small. I could touch my thumbs together while holding both sides of it.

“Interesting ergonomic choices.” I checked the simple navigation system. “This thing must have been made for kids.”

“Big on the outside, and tiny on the inside,” Bug said.

We bounced across terrain we couldn’t see, driving mostly by radar and luck. The sound of ice pellets smacking the thick glass lulled me toward sleep, but I resisted. Looking back into the main cabin, I soon realized I was the only one awake.

“I have linked into the vehicle computer to monitor fuel, navigation, and the relative condition of wheels, suspension, and other critical components,” X-37 said.

“Sounds exciting. Any sign of pursuit?”

“None, Reaper Cain. I have been unable to communicate with the Jellybird, however.”

An icon flashed on my instrument panel. Something was overheating in the drivetrain. “That doesn’t look good, X.”

“Reduce speed,” X-37 advised. “A vehicle breakdown in this environment will be fatal or require us to request rescue. Since our enemies are in control of the rescue vehicles, that would be a poor option. They are most likely still looking for the parts we stole from said vehicles. Finding a stranded surface crawler would be much easier than one on the move, even if slowly.”

I eased off the accelerator pedal, which made the ride feel even rougher. We had been gliding across some of the smaller obstructions. The right side tires hit a hole hard enough to wake my friends.

Decima looked at me through sleep bleary eyes. “I must have nodded off. Where did you learn to drive, Halek?”

Bug muttered nonsense before rolling to face the wall of the vehicle and going back to sleep in his uncomfortable chair. Naaman put his face in his hands and massaged his temples.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Wearing the hard skin taxes my metabolism. I’d take it off and rest, but reapplying it takes days—hours in a perfect scenario, which this clearly isn’t.”

“Good to know.” I had no idea how to help the man so didn’t offer advice.

He settled into his chair and pulled his hood down over his face. Before long, it seemed he had joined Bug in dreamland. My imposter sat as far to the rear of the vehicle as possible. I couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep with the lights off. He wasn’t looking at me, I knew that much. X-37 would have detected even small reflections from the whites of his eyes. They were either closed, or he was curled toward the wall just like Bug. He also wore a very plain hood that was pulled up.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Halek,” Decima said. She moved to the copilot seat and squeezed in. “These are small.”

“X-37 tells me it’s a safety feature. The tighter the fit, the less you get knocked around if the vehicle rolls,” I said, then tapped my safety harness to indicate she should strap in. “Apparently there are storms capable of picking up this monster and hurling it significant distances.”

“What about our passengers?” she asked. “They aren’t strapped in like we are.”

“Getting tossed into a wall is what they get for sleeping while we’re doing all the hard work,” I said. “They have seatbelts but would rather sleep than use them.”

“What about you, Halek, do you ever rest?”

“Sure, whenever we’re in a slip tunnel. Lots of sleep then.” I checked my instruments and saw several icons I didn’t like.

“Those are moving too fast to be ground vehicles,” Decima said, instantly alert.

“X, I thought you told me Jelly couldn’t fly in these conditions. How is it that our enemies are in the air?”

“Those could be smugglers,” X-37 said. “Such individuals are often desperate and take ill-advised risks. They may be flying above the storm—easy target for Oroth patrols. Like I said, flying in this situation is a gamble for anyone.”

My LAI wasn’t wrong. I’d worked with more than a few smugglers, and they were fearless or half mad, kind of like Reapers. Unfortunately, Tempest Cain’s determination to catch us changed the equation. “I don’t think these are smugglers. Godsdammit, I wish they were.”

Decima woke up her cousin and Bug. They strapped in and waited for whatever came next. False Cain shifted in the back of the passenger compartment, obviously awake but not open to conversation.

“The radar in this vehicle is rudimentary,” X-37 said. “I have analyzed all available data and must conclude that those are JFT scout ships utilizing a search grid in an effort to locate our presence. The only question is, what will they do when they find us? Maintain surveillance, direct Tempest Cain’s team in on the ground—if they can get moving—or request an orbital strike from one of their warships.”

“We’re doing all this to go around them, and so far they’ve caught us at the train station and managed to deploy ships into a storm that should ground everything with wings,” I said. “How likely is an orbital strike? Because that wouldn’t surprise me at this point.”

“They will use it as a last resort, unless capture is a higher priority than my data suggests it is,” X-37 said.

“Cross Heto 5 off my list of places I’ll ever go to again.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. That is a rather long list, but I must point out that you often violate your own directive on this type of ultimatum,” X-37 said.

My witty response was cut short by movement from the back of the passenger compartment. False Cain picked his way around Bug and Naaman.

“Can I talk to you, Reaper?” he asked.

“Sure.” I had no idea what to do with the man.

“People call me Tank. I don’t use a Cain derivative of my name,” he said.

“Works for me. What’s your story?” I cued X-37 to dedicate one hundred percent of his processing power to analyzing this conversation.

“I’m a clone, but you know that. Scheid’s biggest problem is that we’re all like the biological source of our DNA, curious, reckless, and prone to bucking authority. He made tweaks that were supposed to make us malleable,” Tank said.

“How’s that working out?”

“He terminated the ones who didn’t respond well to the modifications,” Tank said.

“Except you.”

“A few of us had other changes to our DNA, experimental stuff. I was lucky. Shit happened that gave me a chance to escape. I went on the run.”

“Honesty detected,” X-37 said.

“What experimental stuff?” I asked.

“I refused the LAI. All of them have a very dumbed down version of your limited artificial intelligence, mostly a tool for him to control his minions. Tempest got an overpowered version which he further modified against Scheid’s orders. No one really knows what happened to Tempest’s LAI or how powerful it is. Some say it is a true AI but that it’s as fucking crazy as he is.”

I measured Tank’s every word and studied his body language. The man was a good role player, an actor who could be a petty criminal on Heto 5 or a renegade Reaper on the run from his creator. His name should be Dangerous Asshole, not Tank, though both fit.

“Listen, Bio,” Tank said. “All of that is bad, but that isn’t the reason you need to run the other way. Tempest went deep into Darkness territory and came back. No one, Reaper clone or otherwise, has done that. It did something to him.”

“What about his followers?” I asked.

“The dumbasses with the armbands? They’re fanatics. Scheid is a fool for not purging them from the Obsidians, and the Oroth Council should be hunting them instead of me. There is nothing they won’t do.”

“Like a Reaper?”

“Worse than that, Bio. They treat Tempest like their god. I’ll stay with you until you start taking Tempest Cain and his minions seriously. The second I think you’re going to bow to him, I’m out.”

“You don’t know me very well, Tank.”

He held my gaze for a long time. “I hope I do. Wouldn’t have wasted this much time on you if I didn’t think you had the guts to resist the Darkness.”

“Did you get all that, X?” I asked.

“Of course, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “We are nearing the spaceport. It is time to formulate a new plan.”

Naaman joined us. “There are ways to access the landing zone from outside, ways not accessible from where we started.” He touched the cable plugged into the simple vehicle computer. Three-dimensional maps appeared on the navigation screen.

Tank retreated but shot me a knowing look. I understood the man better than I should, which pissed me off. No one asked my permission to clone me. I shouldn’t have all these brothers. Hopefully, Tank was one of the good ones. They couldn’t all be psychopaths—or at least not more psychopathic than me.

“Is that a road?” I asked, pointing to a section of the map leading between sheared-off towers of ice near the spaceport.

“It is. Oroth engineers cut them down as a safety precaution. There used to be roads used during the summer. Closed now, but I have access,” Naaman said. “A reward for a favor I did an Oroth citizen.”

“Summer on this moon?” I asked.

“Still deadly, but roads were passable. Transporting goods overland was possible with the proper vehicles and safety gear,” Naaman said. “We can slip in the back way, then pose as locals to get closer to the flight line. After that, we may have to get creative.”

“Understood,” I said, then steered toward the ice towers.

25

Six out of eight wheels spun. Two had enough traction to pull us through the gully. The engine roared. I grabbed a lower gear and applied additional power. My Reaper hand easily controlled the small steering wheel. Meter by meter, the heavy vehicle crawled onto a ridge.

Naaman rode in the copilot seat, gripping the armrest with both hands. Bug, Decima, and Tank were strapped into the passenger compartment, survival gear ready in case we had to abandon the vehicle.

Driving over a ledge, then down a steep hill, I steered toward an area X-37 suggested was hard-packed gravel, all that remained of a road abandoned years ago. My LAI’s analysis of Naaman’s map had saved us from getting stuck several times. We were nearly out of fuel. Heat warnings flashed on the control panel no matter how slow I drove.

Towers of ice rose up around us, barely visible in the blizzard. The massive formations had been cut down by an industrial laser. I wondered where the top half of the ten-meter ice spikes had fallen. “Feels like weaving through a forest of really big trees.”

“It is a fascinating geological feature of this moon,” X-37 said. “Would you like an explanation from early surveys as to how they were formed?”

“Maybe later, X, when I’m trying to get to sleep during a slip tunnel passage,” I said as the headlights reflected from a deep gulch full of broken spires. Some were clear as pure water, others were milky and full of ash. Part of me had assumed the spires had been harvested and put to good use. But of course that wasn’t true. Things of rare beauty, they’d been dumped in a hole.

“Noted,” X-37 said.

I followed the suggested route, careful to avoid sliding into the gulch, and soon came to the mouth of the cave sealed with huge metal doors. “Those haven’t been open for a while.”

“True,” Naaman said. “I know for a certainty they were open two years ago and suspect they have been used at least a couple of times a year since then.”

“If they’re stuck, we’re screwed,” I said. No one contradicted my brilliant analysis.

The closer I moved, the better the floodlights illuminated the panels. Five meters high and six meters wide, the bottom edge was buried in drifts of snow and ice. Rust showed on the hinges and around the edges. Each door had a large ring that showed signs of wear and tear.

“I will attach the tow cables to drag it open with the crawler,” Naaman said. “It’s a simple process, but even short exposure to this weather is dangerous.”

“I’ll do it,” Bug said. “I’m already geared up.”

Naaman nodded assent.

“I’m surprised you didn’t insist on doing it yourself, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I gave my LAI a rude hand signal.

“I was merely attempting to keep it real, Reaper Cain.” X-37 pulled up a list of the equipment Bug would use to set up the towing procedure, two heavy chains from the front of the crawler, each with their own hook on the free end.

At first, I couldn’t see my friend work because he was below the headlights. Ten minutes later, I saw him dragging one of the chains toward the door. Each link was bigger than one of his hands. He leaned forward to pull the heavy weight. His survival suit was already coated in ice. I kept expecting him to slip and fall, but he didn’t.

“How close to the spaceport can we get in this vehicle? I need details,” I said.

“We will arrive near a warehouse about two standard blocks from the spaceport, but there are a series of back alleyways often used by spaceport employees who don’t like to clock in and out of work or want to sneak their girlfriends or boyfriends in for a long shift,” Naaman said. “I’ve never seen Oroth soldiers, not even their elite JFT, patrolling the back ways.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t be watching it this time,” I said.

“Agreed,” Decima added. “We should move in pairs, or individually to reduce suspicion and lessen the chance we are all captured.”

“Works for me,” I said. “But stay in visual range at all times.”

Bug attached the second chain and paused to rest. Hands on his knees, it looked like he was breathing hard. His boots and lower legs had picked up a pound of snow and ice during the procedure. He made his way back to the vehicle and dusted himself off before climbing in the cargo ramp.

I pulled the doors open without a problem but nearly dumped my passengers as the engine revved and the vehicle’s suspension tipped side to side.

“That sucks,” Bug said. “I should’ve known better than to volunteer.”

Tank laughed.

Naaman patted Bug on the shoulder. “True, but I thank you. Let me help you brush off the rest of that snow.”

Bug waved him back, swearing as I drove forward. “I got it. Just give me a minute.”

I stopped twenty meters inside. The cavern was artificial, obviously cut from solid rock. Some of the debris I had seen mixed in with the fallen ice spires was from the excavation of this tunnel.

“What are you waiting for, Halek?” Decima asked.

“I’m deciding if we should close the doors,” I said. “We’re being pursued, and if an aerial patrol sees them open, it would point right to us.”

“I will handle this,” Naaman said.

“No, I’ll do it. No one can say I do things halfway,” Bug said.

Tank stood, shoulders back and head held high. “I’ll go with you this time. Speed things up.”

Bug looked him over. “Close your visor. I don’t care how strong you are. You won’t be moving anything when your eyeballs freeze.”

Tank snapped his helmet shut, then led the way down the ramp. The man was a monster. I wasn’t going to underestimate him again, not after our conversation about what Scheid did to his genetic code. He looked soft, but I wasn’t about to challenge him to a test of strength.

“There are tow chains on the back of this thing as well as the front. Take the right one,” Bug said.

Tank gave him a thumbs-up and went to work. Bug pulled out the other chain.

The engine rumbled evenly. Powerful headlights reflected from the walls, ceiling, and floor of the passage ahead as snowflakes drifted lazily. I felt Bug and Tank climb into the vehicle once they’d stowed the chains. They closed the hatch and stomped loose more clumps of packed snow.

“We are ready,” Decima said.

I drove slowly at first, monitoring the width of the tunnel and the height of the ceiling. Everything seemed too close, like we would be trapped. My gut feared being buried alive, but my tactical knowledge warned me again and again this was a terrible place to be caught in an ambush.

None of my friends spoke. They knew.

Ten minutes later, the passage ascended a steep slope, then leveled off. The hallway grew wider, strips of lighting appeared on the walls, and we arrived in a cavern that was partially engineered and partially natural. Where houses fill the open spaces. Workers moved along streets and sidewalks, not giving us a second glance.

“Smugglers pay a lot of money to make people inattentive,” Naaman said. “It’s a way of life in a place like this.”

“You know a lot about Heto 5,” I said. “Why is that? Why are you here?”

“Several reasons,” Naaman said. “Until recently, it was a good place to avoid Oroth officials.”

I selected a random warehouse and parked behind it, out of view of the main thoroughfare. There were guards at the next intersection. They didn’t look like high-speed operatives, but I wasn’t taking chances. With my luck they would be low-level cult members loyal to Tempest Cain. Eyes and ears would be everywhere in this place if my theory about my most toxic clone was right.

“We’ll go the rest of the way on foot,” I said. “There will be a security alert for this vehicle. It doesn’t look like we drew attention, but I guarantee someone is calling in a tip and hoping to get a reward.”

No one argued.

“Let’s pack our gear into crates and find a forklift or freight transport,” I said. “Naaman, what kind of vehicle is the most common? I’d like to draw as little attention as possible.”

“Flats. Simple platforms with wheels and an electric motor. They require one pilot to guide them, but the term is a bit grandiose. Transport pilots walk alongside the flats and steer with a simple joystick,” Naaman said. “I can show someone in a few minutes.”

“Why don’t you do the grunt labor,” Bug asked.

“I’ll go a different way. Your disguises won’t work for me.” Naaman waved a hand in front of his hard skin face.

“I don’t like it,” I said. “You’re supposed to be our guide.”

“I’ll drive the pallet,” Tank said. “I’ve done it for extra income. People actually know me here and won’t look twice. Mostly because the last time someone did, words were exchanged.” He lifted his big fists to emphasize his point. “Mr. Red Cloak is only half right about the single pilot rule. It’s not uncommon for a group of workers to follow along behind a pallet flat. The three of you can tag along, as long as you act uninterested and lazy. Straggle behind a bit, and no one will give our passage a second thought.”

I ticked off his points in my head, evaluating his modification to the plan. X-37 placed suggestions in my HUD. A powerful wave of nostalgia flowed through me. For a second, I had imagined doing this with Elise and Path. I pushed the feeling away. “That will work until we get to a real security checkpoint. Spread out, straggle like a bunch of slackers, but stay close enough to form up into a squad and fight our way through to the Jellybird.”

Once everyone agreed on the details, we changed into jumpsuits. Tank’s barely fit, but he was able to squeeze in if he left it open at the collar and stretched the hood. I moved my arms through a series of drills, testing the limits of the fabric. My Reaper arm could easily tear loose without me noticing. I’d learned that lesson the hard way on previous missions.

We moved through the warehouse district quickly but slowed when we got to the docks. Local police and Oroth soldiers were everywhere, some more alert than others. There were JFT squads at each major intersection, and they missed nothing. One soldier checked the identification of every third or fourth person in the crowd. The number of workers still trying to load goods onto a variety of ships was the only thing in our favor.

“We’re getting close,” Decima said.

I kept my eyes on Tank. The man moved slower than I would like, but I had to admit his act was convincing. He looked like a stubborn mule, walking wherever he wanted and neither slowing down nor speeding up. Several times, other pedestrians shouted at him to get out of the way, and he ignored them.

Once, I saw Naaman move along the side street. He wasn’t doing anything fancy, just striding along as though it was a normal day. A menacing vibe kept people from looking at him for long. I could feel it, and I was a Reaper.

Two JFT squads guarded the final entrance to the flight zone. Six other ships occupied the space around the Jellybird. Most were freighters, but one looked like a pleasure yacht, probably from the Oroth citizen we saw earlier.

“I don’t see Obsidians,” I said quietly.

“Neither do I,” X-37 said. “They must be staged out of sight.”

I tapped two fingers together, indicating that I agreed.

“They’re around here somewhere,” Decima said, not hearing my conversation with X. “Once we commit, we will need to move quickly.”

“Do you have comms with Jelly, X?” I asked.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. She advises the guards change every ninety minutes and says that she has not seen evidence of Obsidians since we boarded the train. She was able to confirm, however, that there was a lot of commotion when someone figured out we had left Zone 3.”

“Any sign of our pursuers? Have they reached the smugglers tunnel entrance?” I asked.

“Unknown,” X-37 said. “She hasn’t been able to crack all of their encryption and says that the storm is increasing. All ships will be grounded in less than one hour due to weather. That will cause a twenty-seven hour flight delay for everyone. Now is the time to get the hell off this rock, Reaper Cain.”

I passed the information to Bug and Decima. Tank was too far ahead of us to communicate. I missed wearing tactical gear. “Remind me to get Tank an earbud or a helmet so we can talk to him easier in the future.”

“I have placed it on your rather long list of things to do,” X-37 said.

“All right, let’s move up. If Tank can’t sweet talk his way past the JFT squads, we better seize the initiative and attack.” Butterflies danced in my gut, but I was accustomed to the feeling. I wondered if cyborg Cain had felt this nervous before a fight.

It didn’t matter. I had to do this.

The JFT squad leader stepped forward, holding up one hand for Tank to stop.

“Identification,” the man said. “And I’ll need your pass to load. Didn’t you read the security directive? The flight line’s closed.”

Tank pointed at several people loading goods onto ships. “I thought it had been lifted when I saw them working. But I get it. Those assholes have enough money for bribes. They get to work, and the rest of us schmucks have to starve to death.”

“Watch your tone,” the JFT squad leader said while looking at his identification card. “Theodore Adam Norkirk.” He chuckled and faced his team. “I can’t get over the ignorant sounding names they have on this place.”

“Parents must have hated him, when he had any,” one of the JFT men said.

Tank looked back, catching my eye.

If he had parents…

Tank shook his head and began again. “Listen, times have been tough. With all those rebel attacks interfering with trade, I really need to deliver this load. I’ve got two cats at home that have to eat.”

“Cats?” the squad leader asked, clearly not amused.

“What, you don’t like cats?” A threatening tone filled Tank’s voice.

“Move up,” I said quietly to Bug and Decima. “Hopefully Naaman is seeing this.”

Other workers edged away from the scene. I thought I saw something red working through the crowd.

“Cats? Are you for real? Of course I like cats.” The squad leader smirked. “I just can’t eat one by myself.”

Both JFT squads laughed.

“I’ve heard that lame joke before and never liked it.” Tank edged forward, dangerously close to the squad leader. I couldn’t think for a second that the soldier would tolerate this for more than an instant. “Take it back. Apologize to Fluffy and Froufrou.”

The squad leader shoved Tank with both hands, attempting to create distance. The oversized Reaper didn’t move. He shoved back, launching the squad leader into his men.

I ripped my D3D from one of the crates and opened fire on the other squad, scattering them. One fell to the ground and didn’t get up. Bug and Decima armed themselves and engaged, well-placed shots dropping two more of the perimeter guards.

“Let’s go!” I grabbed the flat and dragged it toward the Jellybird a hundred meters ahead of us.

Tank ripped the squad leader’s weapon from his hands and flung it away. One of the JFT recovered more quickly than the others and aimed a heavy rifle at Tank’s back.

The sound of the whip cracked. Tank’s attacker was yanked off his feet as he fired, sending rounds through the air. Bug and Decima engaged the others who had fled, driving them back, wounding one badly and sending the others running for cover.

“Give me a hand with this!” I shouted.

Tank grabbed the other side of the flat, and we sprinted toward the flight line. Decima, Bug, and Naaman covered our retreat.

“Well done, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Unfortunately, a strong contingent of Obsidians has arrived in force and will be on scene momentarily.”

“Is Tempest with them?”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. Why would we catch a break?” X-37 asked.

“That’s my line, X.”

“Your heart rate suggests you are quite busy, so I thought I would fill in. Someone has to whine and complain.”

“You’re killing me, X,” I panted as the Jellybird’s ramp lowered 20 meters ahead of us. Engines powered up and the small point defense guns came to life, aiming over my head.

“Keep moving, Hal,” Tom said via X-37’s commlink with Jelly. “I added guns to the ship, but they are not much. Just a collection of scavenged parts I managed to make relatively dangerous. I can’t say how accurate they are, so you better duck.”

26

Windows on the top story of a warehouse swung open, drawing my attention. Less than a second later, a beam of energy flashed over the flight line. The Jellybird was a sitting duck while powered down.

“Jelly—incoming fire!” I shouted.

Her response was squelch and radio static, but the ship wasn’t destroyed. Other than the smell of ozone, I wasn’t sure what the beam was doing as it grew brighter.

“Stay low, Hal,” Tom said via X-37’s team link.

I flinched as Tom returned fire with Jelly’s meager point defense gun, silencing the attack.

“What the hell was that?” I shouted, scanning for the ground assault I knew was coming. So far, nothing.

Vehicles throughout the area cruised to a stop. Drivers jumped out and cursed, shaking their fists toward the battle.

Decima pushed me toward the ramp where Tank was dragging the flat.

Bug raced to help him. “Hurry! That was an electromagnetic pulse—one of the JFT’s new tactics. Your ship won’t suffer much damage, but she could be offline. We need to get in there and jump start her.”

“Looks like it did damage.” I wasn’t an engineer like Tom, but the fresh scorch marks looked serious. Jelly leaned on one landing gear more than the other.

Decima shook her head. “The Green Beam was designed as a super weapon but never delivered. Only the EMP part does much of anything. But that can be devastating. My brother knows all about them—he presented a briefing in our tactical college after one of his missions. There is a JFT team hidden in that warehouse, and they know exactly what they’re doing. All they need is to stop us from leaving until their boss gets here.”

Tom ran down the ramp, waving us out of the way. “Someone get on the gun. I need to fix engine two. A lot of fried circuitry. I really hate this place.”

Path kept pace with Tom. The sword saint wore armor, a rare thing for him. His naked blade was ready to kill. “I will protect the mechanic.”

Gunfire erupted from the edge of the spaceport. Slugs ricocheted off the Jellybird’s exterior. Tom dashed around the other side.

An airship raced over the tops of warehouses, then flared engines to slow their speed at the edge of the spaceport flight line, landing dangerously close to a refueling station.

“Those aren’t supposed to fly in here,” Decima shouted. “Damn Obsidians!”

Spectators fled in all directions. The situation had gone from interesting to deadly. Their reaction was a good gauge of how seriously screwed up this was going to get. Normally, people had to stand and point—until the onlookers were in immediate danger.

I fired at the yawning deployment ramps, not sure which of my enemies would emerge. Smoke covered the area right before Obsidians charged down the ramps with such fervor that JFT squads jumped out of their way, stunned at the violence of the assault.

“That fucking figures.” Tank snorted. “I never should have got off that train car.”

“Okay, so I’ll admit. You didn’t join us at a good time,” I said, using Jelly’s landing gear for cover.

“I’d ditch this scene right now if I could,” Tank said. His rifle was an older model, locally made and nothing like the HDK I expected to see in the hands of a Reaper. It fired slowly but packed a heavy punch. One of the Obsidians staggered and held his chest armor.

The leader of this force stood out among the others—Tempest Cain.

He charged forward, pointing with his sword. I couldn’t hear what he was shouting, but the JFT squads quickly followed behind the Obsidian advance. Most of them wore black armbands decorated with lightning.

“Bring me the Bio Cain! Bring me Halek! Kill everyone else and take the ship as your spoils,” he ordered.

“Bug, get in there and use the ship’s gun. Put Decima on the second one if it’s working,” I shouted.

They disappeared into the ship without answering.

“What about me, Bio?” Tank asked. “Can I get a cushy job inside where I won’t get my face blown off?”

“You complain a lot for such a big guy,” I shot back.

A blast hit my cover, throwing sparks into my face and forcing me to stagger. This wasn’t going to be a long fight if I couldn’t get into my armor. There was a big difference between a covert mission and a head-to-head battle. We were pinned down with limited movement options.

“Jelly, tell me the ship is ready,” I said, then fired another volley to slow our attackers. They moved from one stack of freight to another, heedless of the damage we were causing to someone’s property. Crews of other ships braved the maelstrom of gunfire to drag valuable goods toward their own loading ramps.

“Tom is working as fast as he can,” Jelly said. “Unfortunately, a flanking team has engaged Path and is interfering with the mechanic’s work. Can you assist or send one of your new companions? Without these repairs, we will not be able to take off.”

Naaman aimed his shotgun pistol, then grabbed the front of the barrel and stretched it forward until it looked more like a powerful long gun. “I will defend the ramp. The false Reaper can protect my flank. Go help the mechanic.”

I dove to the next landing gear, rolled to my feet, then sprinted around the other side of the ship to find Tom and Path engaged in a furious fight to the death. Path’s blade flashed right and left to defend against Obsidian swords, axes, and hammers. He struck aside their weapons as he advanced, constantly looking for a killing strike.

“Adjusting algorithms for close quarters battle, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I charged into the chaos, shooting one of the Obsidians in the back before slinging my rifle and extending my arm blade. The way it locked into place sent a thrill up my spine. The Obsidian I shot twisted in agony, one hand holding the wound on his back and the other slashing at my face with his sword.

Inside the helmet was my face. He was built exactly like me, only appearing bigger because of his armor. I leapt through the air and kicked him in the throat. Not my go to move, but it worked. He collapsed onto his back. I landed on him and dropped my knee into his visor for emphasis.

Another Obsidian charged. I sliced upward and diagonally, aiming for his groin but catching him on the outside of one hip instead. My blade dragged across his torso as I stood up and shoved him hard with my right hand against one of his comrades who was busy deflecting Path’s blows.

I needed to know where Tempest was right now. He was the real threat. If I could take him out, half of my problems would be solved.

I was so close to having everything I needed to help Elise and the rest of my friends and family from Maglan. Every second that passed seemed an eternity. News broadcasts had claimed her fleet had been destroyed in the Kyroth system, but I couldn’t believe that, because without that slim hope, everything was pointless.

I kicked the feet out from under my opponent, then jumped over him to help Path.

An Obsidian the size of Tank swung a hammer at my head. I blocked it with my left arm and was driven downward. Slashing for the weak spot in his knee armor, I took off his leg and rolled away. Blood sprayed everywhere. The giant released his weapon and clutched his wound, roaring in pain and anger.

Path had only killed two of our attackers, which meant he was either off his game or had finally met his match. The sword saint should’ve eliminated them all by now.

“Tom, you better get the hell in gear!” I shouted. “Path, stop screwing around.”

“These opponents are worthy,” Path grunted as he renewed his attack.

X-37 added his opinion on our shared commlink. “Reaper Cain is correct, Tom. Everyone will die if you don’t get that fixed immediately.”

“No pressure,” Tom grunted. “Working on it.”

I couldn’t see what he was doing, but it sounded like he was trying to force a part into place. When I glanced that direction, I saw him welding something before slamming a hatch shut.

“Okay, that’s the best I can do. Jelly, are we good?” Tom asked.

I deflected sword strikes from two Obsidians as a third aimed a pistol at my head. Slashing with all my might, I pulled my D3D and fired it with one hand. The weapon jumped crazily from the recoil, but at least one round caught the gunman in the throat where his armor was weakest.

Path leapt into the fray and beheaded the man as he tried to stand. Other Obsidians were wounded too badly to fight or dead behind the sword saint. He grabbed Tom by the arm and rushed him toward the loading ramp. I retracted my Reaper blade and ran beside them, looking for enemies to shoot at. Tank and Naaman reloaded as we dashed past them into the ship.

Tempest and his best men charged, overtaking Tank’s position. I froze with one hand on the button to raise the ramp. The oversized clone wasn’t doing me a favor, I knew that. Despite the differences in our background, I understood how the man thought. He possessed my memories up to the point I joined the Reaper Corps—so we shared more than it seemed.

Tank fought because he had to. If I closed the ramp, he would make his way into Zone 3 or die. If I left the ramp open, Tempest and his followers would board the ship and kill everyone but me—because I would be tortured first.

“Fuck it.” I grabbed my helmet from the pallet of gear, slid it on, and charged down the ramp, emptying a magazine into the battle around Tank.

The rage of his fighting style would make a romantic think he was holding them off until we escaped. But that wasn’t what I would have been doing. Because I wasn’t an idiot, and neither was Tank. Yet…

“Are you currently deceiving yourself, Reaper Cain? Your biometrics are consistent with entirely too much internal dialogue—which I have no interest in hearing, by the way,” X-37 asked. “You should focus on escaping this situation. The clone can fend for himself.”

My LAI’s words rang in my head but I wasn’t paying attention. Tempest sensed my attack right as I swung for his head.

He slipped below the blade but my fist caught his helmet, forcing him to stagger backward.

“How’d you like that, fuck face?” I shouted. “That’s the reason you always fight from the rear. You suck!”

“Watch your mouth, Bio,” Tempest snarled. “My followers will remember your disrespect, and you will pay the ultimate price.”

“Good.” I kicked him in the groin. His armor absorbed the strike, but it had to hurt. Either way, he stopped running his mouth. “At least I have your attention.”

“Bio! Let’s get out of here,” Tank shouted.

Tempest’s followers helped him stand.

I sprinted up the ramp after Tank.

Bug raised the ramp, dumping both of us inside. Decima and Naaman dragged me away from the door while Tank scrambled clear, putting his back to an interior wall. He gasped for breath and looked around like he didn’t quite believe the fight was over.

Men were dangerous in this hypervigilant state. Reapers were worse, though the fact that he was so agitated told me he had never been much of a Reaper. Any training he’d had had been minimal.

“What?” he demanded.

“Thanks.” Best to keep it simple. “Jelly, get us the hell out of here.”

“With pleasure, Captain,” she said as the ship launched into the upper atmosphere.

I wasn’t the only one strapping into a flight seat at the last moment.

“I love winning,” I said.

Decima raised an eyebrow. “Is that what that was?”

“Absolutely.” My mood only improved as we left the moon behind us.

27

I took my place in the pilot’s chair the moment the ship wasn’t pulling so many G’s. The panoramic space view sucked. An armada-sized sphere of Oroth ships loomed nearby—not exactly what I wanted to see after Jelly climbed out of the gravity well of Heto 5.

Squadrons of void fighters aggressively patrolled the upper atmosphere of the moon. Mid-sized cruisers, each large enough to billet a company-sized ground force, broke away from the larger formation and raced toward orbit, most likely responding to a call from Tempest Cain.

I jammed a cigar in one corner of my mouth but didn’t light it. “Jelly, I think now would be an excellent time to activate the stealth cloak.”

“Right away, Captain,” the ship AI said. “Several smugglers are avoiding JFT inspection teams, buying us time. Very fortunate, if temporary.”

Naaman and Tank watched the viewscreen with particular interest. Decima already knew what Jelly could do in a pinch, but she definitely wasn’t bored. The light in her eyes was trouble. Her taste for high-risk adventures seemed to be growing. I knew where that led.

We sailed past an enemy frigate at about the time it deployed fighters that slipped away in the wrong direction.

“They’re strengthening the perimeter,” I said. “This won’t be so easy once they figure out the full extent of our technology.”

“What technology is that, exactly?” Naaman asked.

“Stealth cloak. Technology stolen from the Union,” I said. “The same people who made me what I am today.”

“I’d like to hear that story,” Naaman said.

Tank expressed no interest, but I knew he was listening. The man had to be curious about his heritage. I wondered if he remembered any of his time in Union space, or even the Deadlands. Doctor Scheid, General Scheid now, had thrown away rules and ethics when he experimented with my DNA.

Who really knew what he’d done to test subjects like Tank. Had he grown them during his voyage across the galaxy, or in a Union facility before he became an outlaw? Did it matter? Maybe.

Each of my friends started to wind down in their own way but never took their attention from the view screens. I enjoyed a cigar but tried to keep the smoke away from the others. Every move the enemy ships made drew my attention, even when we had slipped beyond their blockade of Heto 5.

Jelly and X-37 fed me updates. The Zakion system was thick with Oroth forces, as expected. I tracked what I could and listened to X-37’s lecture on the system in general. Maybe that was something I should have done before now.

“The planetary formation of Zakion is extremely interesting,” X-37 said as I swiped through pictures and videos. “There are three habitable planets sharing the same orbit around the local star, Oroth, Say’d, and Kiin. You remember the Hagg?”

“Sure, X. The super friendly humanoids who nearly killed me the day after I came out of the cryo-pod,” I said.

“Correct.” X-37 showed images of Say’d.

“Looks like a wasteland compared to Oroth.” I scanned deserts, ice fields, and primitive cities with few buildings taller than three stories.

“The history of Say’d has been rewritten by the Oroth Council, and it seems they have successfully squashed the Hagg attempt to preserve their own version of the last several centuries. I can postulate, however, that several destructive wars between Oroth and Say’d, followed by aggressive strip mining of the subjugated planet created a harsh environment on a world that was once similar to Oroth in most ways.”

“Nice.” It wasn’t nice, but X understood my sarcasm after so many years together. “What about Kiin?”

“Dense cloud cover hides the surface from view. None of the files I’ve raided show pictures. Suspicious. Oroth libraries have little to say about the third planet sharing the green zone orbit other than its fate was decided a millennia ago,” X-37 said.

“Now I have to go there.” I stared at images of dense cloud cover and wondered what kind of world was hidden beneath the turbulent sky. Why would the Oroth raid Say’d resources to the point of environmental collapse and ignore Kiin?

“I will place this on your agenda,” X-37 said.

“Captain, do you have a moment?” Jelly asked.

“Sure, Jelly. Please tell me we have arrived at the slip tunnel.” I knew this wasn’t the case, but I was all about positive thinking.

“We are close to leaving this system, but there is an impenetrable Oroth force searching all vessels coming or going,” Jelly said. “On the bright side, I can evade them using our stealth technology for several weeks if necessary.”

“We don’t have weeks,” I said. “Hide while I cook up a plan.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Do you have even the barest hint of a workable solution, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked.

“No, but I think I need to talk to Naaman. We took a huge risk finding him. It better pay off,” I said.

“Agreed, Reaper Cain.”

I waited until the moment was right, then offered Naaman a glass of whiskey. Decima was elsewhere, sleeping or bathing would be my guess. Bug was out cold, still in one of the main passenger seats. Tank was also in the main compartment but keeping to himself.

“Thank you, Halek.” Naaman took a sip. “That’s strong stuff. Have you thought about adding some fruit juice?”

“Ouch,” I said. “And no. Those are fighting words. Whiskey can be taken straight up or on the rocks.”

“Noted. This will take some getting used to.” He lowered his whiskey glass. “I still think a dash of fruit juice would be just the thing for this rocket fuel.”

“Jag and Decima convinced me you were the key to finding and helping Elise,” I said.

“Ah, to the point,” he said. An expression crossed his face that made me take notice. Resentment? Weariness? “They can’t do what you need—share technology and other secrets, namely. I am an embarrassment, maybe even a traitor, but also the best solution to most of Sethorn’s problems.”

“The hard skin could be useful to Elise’s followers, once her engineers are able to reproduce it,” I said. “Your weapons are unique and you use them well. But I don’t see how this changes the course of the war against the Oroth Council and their heavies. General Scheid and his Obsidians will turn on them when it suits him. The JFT are different each time I encounter them.”

“They have a long history. Jump Force Troopers are organized in five divisions, each with different political leanings. Some are truly elite. Others sell ranks to the highest bidder or give them away to children of Oroth Citizens wanting to have a little adventure before they settle into their lives of debauchery,” Naaman said.

“That explains a lot.” I considered what I had learned since coming here. “Some of the JFT follow Tempest Cain, who should be working for his creator Scheid rather than starting his own cult.”

“New development,” Naaman said, then took another sip. “I was surprised by the armbands. Flaunting an external allegiance like that could get a JFT court-martialed.”

“My first priority is finding Elise, but sooner or later I need to defeat my growing list of enemies,” I said. “The question is, what can you do for me?”

“Everything,” Naaman said. “But why would I?”

“You need help against the Oroth Council,” I suggested.

“As do you. That isn’t much of a negotiating point. Mutual interests require we stand united,” he said.

“Naaman is holding back, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned. “But you have a new problem. Jelly has decrypted a distress call from Sethorn. The Oroth Council has begun reprisals.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Sedition. Unlawful development of technology. Granting amnesty to refugees who asked for, and received, political asylum from Oroth,” X-37 said, reading from a list that scrolled up my HUD. “I suspect the real reason is that someone still believes you are hiding there and they want to turn the planet inside out to find you. That suggests Scheid, or his generals, is behind the invasion.”

“What is your tech telling you?” Naaman asked.

“Updates,” I deflected, not wanting to complicate the negotiations we had barely begun. “The best way to get what you want is to state it clearly.”

He nodded agreement.

“Great. Nothing like putting it all on the table,” I said. “This is what I want—help finding Elise. Allies willing to commit to the cause, as resistance fighters or traditional troops. If you share your technology, I’ll share mine. More importantly, I understand how Scheid and his Union followers think.”

“I will provide all of those things,” Naaman said. “When I call for your assistance, you must come to my aid no matter the price.”

“Do not accept this deal, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I stalled with a pull on my cigar, evaluating my potential ally carefully as I exhaled smoke. “I won’t harm Elise, her followers, or any of my friends.”

Naaman raised one hand in apparent agreement. “Of course. What good would you be to me if you lacked honor.”

“Let’s get to it,” I said. “How do we find Elise in the Kyroth system?”

“I must take you to my base first. We may exchange technology and test one another,” Naaman said.

“Slow down, champ. We don’t have the time or the need for games like that. The tech… sure, as long as we don’t take weeks to get up to speed,” I said. “I’ll take a gun I know well over one I am unfamiliar with any day.”

“A solid policy.” Naaman ignored smoke drifting into his face. “You fought well on Heto 5 and adequately led your team. I will waive the traditional challenges and the proving ground trials.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Insincerity detected, Reaper Cain. Are you trying to ruin this deal?” X-37 asked.

I ignored X for now. “There is one thing, Naaman. I want to talk to you without the hard skin covering your face.”

Naaman removed his goggles, then reached behind his neck and pulled hard. A seam split across the top of his head, then down the front. Fear and pain tortured his expression.

A sheen of blue liquid glistened on his face for a moment. The hard skin sucked the moisture up as it slid back—whisking it away so quickly I wasn’t sure I had seen it.

X-37, however, was faster and more confident in his observations. “The underlay seems to be an artificial form of blood used for lubrication and a list of restorative effects.”

I signaled X to fill me in later.

“I see no technological foundation for this technology, Reaper Cain,” X persisted. “It may be biological rather than technological.”

I studied my cigar to hide a shudder. Cybernetics, nerve-ware, a lifetime of assassination and enforcing for the Union—those things barely registered compared to the thought of a live organism covering every inch of my body. Who the hell was Naaman? Who created this biotech he wore?

The man’s face looked younger yet more distinguished. I wondered how long he had been wearing the hard skin because he wasn’t as old as I had assumed—more like Decima’s age than Jag’s. The artificial exterior had made him appear older, maybe in his forties. This version of the man was twenty something.

“The hard skin ages in my place, saving me from the indignity,” he said, then smiled with shy pride. “I have been testing a theory for a number of years. The scientists who created it hypothesized that protection from external damage could extend life. I am not sure if it does, but I feel like I’m in my prime.”

He looked it, but I wasn’t here to give compliments—or be impressed. I put out my cigar with one hand while I signaled X with the other. My LAI wouldn’t forget to delve into the origin of the hard skin tech. We needed to unravel this detail when we could converse more openly.

Decisions that mattered were hard. Good thing I had that Reaper ruthlessness to drive me forward. “Listen, Naaman, I’ve got to tell you something you’re not going to like. But first, I want to know why going to your base has to happen now. Why can’t we share technology and test each other after I find Elise and her fleet?”

“She may be gone, Halek,” he said. “Her followers have probably been destroyed or scattered across multiple star systems.”

I waved that off. “I love secret bases. Always great stuff. But no technology you might have will help Elise if I arrive too late.”

“My reasoning is simple,” he said. “I have tools that will assist us in the search, and it is on the way to the Kyroth system. If your protege is still there, we’ll find her.”

“Okay, I can get behind that.” I needed to tell him about Sethorn. How could I ask him to race across the galaxy to save my people when I knew his were in danger?

He waited, not so patiently as a sword saint like Path, but with unnerving intensity that reminded me of my friend from Roxo III. The man was watching my every move, his intense, youthful eyes holding my gaze with little effort.

“My LAI just presented me with an update about Oroth reprisals on Sethorn,” I began. “We don’t have time to rescue an entire planet, but I’m telling you as an act of good faith. Let’s locate Elise and her fleet, and use it to help your people. That’s the best plan. Simple and direct. What good will a Reaper and an outcast like you with forbidden technology do on a planetary scale?”

He lost composure for the first time, but only for a moment. “Tell me more.”

I put X-37 on speaker. “Give him the details, X.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain, though I doubt they will be comforting,” X said. “The crisis began several days ago with JFT raids on the following locations.” A map of Sethorn projected against the wall from my arm.

“Those are the households of Sethorn heroes, extremely important people in our culture,” Naaman said, obviously concerned.

I waited for his demand to alter course, but nothing came. We watched several videos of arrests and protests. The armed confrontation between Oroth forces and local warrior groups was different than anything I’d seen in the Union. Where I’d come from, protests were put down with ruthless efficiency. This was more like a running battle in the streets.

“Wait, what was that?” Naaman asked.

X-37 zoomed in on one of the figures running down the street and froze the picture. The man reminded me of Tempest Cain without his helmet. His skin was pale, and his face was covered with scars that weren’t scars.

“Roll the video, X,” I said, knowing exactly what I would see.

The Oroth soldier had taken off his helmet so he could shout at the crowds, repeatedly thrusting his fist toward the sky like some kind of fanatic. Several others followed him and mimicked his behavior. From time to time, one of them fell motionless and lay face first in the street, ignored by his or her companions.

What caused me to swear were how the scars occasionally shifted on the man’s face, writhing like worms.

Naaman pulled his hard skin into place, hastily activating it. He had said it was a long process, and I was certain that the way he rushed it this time caused him pain.

“The Darkness has arrived on my home world,” he said, voice low. “There is no choice now. We must go to Sethorn and begin the final battle.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Let’s not talk about final battles. We’ve both got shit to do. Tell me about the Darkness and what’s happening in this scene. Now is the time to fight smarter, not harder. I can’t let you charge in there to die a hero’s death when we might stop this from happening with a little bit of planning.”

Naaman faced me as his hard skin finally adjusted to his features. “You speak well, but I must go home. If you want me to help you, you must assist me in this.”

“Great,” I said. “I had hoped that your demand to help you would come after I found my friends.”

“This does not fulfill our bargain,” he said. “That obligation will remain. Turning back the Darkness is merely a necessity to both of us. Speak to Decima if you wish, but this is beyond our choosing. Fate is not gentle, Halek Cain.”

“Godsdammit, X, I didn’t want to do this now.” Something in my tone alerted Naaman.

“Do what?” he asked, one hand on his shotgun pistol.

“Confront you on your bullshit.” I squared up with him. “Tell me about your personal experience with the Darkness. No more games, no more holding back. Put it all on the table, or we’re done.”

“I did what my cousins and my people forbade, but on a far greater scale than they realized. How far have you traveled, Halek Cain? I’ve been to paradise and hell and everyplace in between. Technology helped me stay alive, but my mind, my soul, kept me sane.” He moved closer, spoke softly but clearly, and never wavered in his delivery. “Humans are delicate things in this universe. Only a fraction of the galaxy will suffer our kind to live.”

“I seriously doubt he has traveled to a representative sample of the entire galaxy,” X-37 said.

I ignored my LAI, even though the same thought had occurred to me. “Get to the point, Naaman. All of that is distraction. Tell me about the Darkness. What did it do to you?”

He flinched for the first time but quickly recovered. “There was no effect. I kept my distance and stayed inside my hard skin until you demanded I show my face.”

“How long was that?” I asked.

“Seven years,” he said. “Don’t mention this detail to Decima or Jag. They won’t believe you and will want me locked up in an insane asylum.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Doesn’t matter to me that you haven’t changed your underwear for nearly a decade.”

“Seven years isn’t a decade,” X-37 and Naaman said at the same time.

I waved away their comments. “Convince me it didn’t change you.”

“Did you see the worms under my skin?”

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t hidden deeper,” I said. “You could be infected asshole to elbows.”

“Please, Reaper Cain. Now is no time for such crudities,” X-37 said.

Naaman paced. “There were voices in the beginning. I silenced them. That is all the proof you need that I am not a slave to the voices from the void.”

I watched him. “If you weren’t affected, then your people should be able to avoid whatever this black plague is as well.”

He shook his head. “No. I was lucky. And no one will be able to keep it at a distance when it fills this sector of the galaxy.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep your day job. Stay off the motivational speaking circuit,” I said. “What good will going to Sethorn do? Why don’t we find Elise and use her ships to evacuate?”

“My people will never flee our home,” he said, then was silent for several minutes.

Waiting him out was hard, but I knew from experience that an interruption now would ruin everything. He wanted to get this off his chest but didn’t have the words or the courage. Hopefully, he would find both during this critical juncture.

Sounds of the ship I normally ignored became more evident—the creaking of the exterior hull, the thrum of the engines, and ventilation were nearly inaudible but seemed louder now. I resisted the urge to light a cigar, or cross my arms, or do anything that might draw Naaman’s attention or provide a distraction to the confession I knew was on his lips.

“There is a counter force to the Darkness,” he said.

“Light?”

“No, Halek. We call it the Darkness because of the evil it grows in the minds of its slaves,” he said. “I fled the Darkness for a year, jumping star system to star system, barely keeping ahead of it. The chase ended on a planet called Camis Shae in the Kyroth system. I chose a beautiful valley to die in. At that time, the Darkness was using strange, inhuman creatures from the far reaches of space. They circled the valley but never attacked. Their numbers diminished year by year until I was able to escape and find my way back to the Zakion system.”

“Lucky you.” I pulled a cigar but didn’t light it.

“Something in that valley repelled the servants of the evil spreading through one star system after another. I brought a sample to test,” he said.

I fired up my decent cigar, one I wouldn’t mind discarding if I had to. “Now I’m interested. Don’t see how you could carry enough of this mystery substance to protect an entire planet, but keep talking.”

“Nana helped me design an alloy to magnify the effect. On Sethorn, I will test the raw sample from Camis Shae and the alloy. Once the formula is proven, all that remains is crafting the alloy on every planet in the path of the Darkness,” he said. “It could be used in ship construction, and weapons, and planetary defense outposts.”

“Won’t work,” I said. “You can’t test both without invalidating your research. Gotta have a control subject and a variable subject at least,” I said.

“That is why I need you.”

“You walked into that one, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“Well fuck me.” I put out the cigar and stowed it in my secret compartment.

“It gets worse,” he said. “Once we know I have brought the solution, we will need to work together.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I grumbled with maximum sarcasm, because I knew where this was going.

“We can’t destroy the Oroth Council or their attack dog General Scheid. We’ll need all of them, and General Elise’s armada if humanity is to survive,” he said.

“I really hate making unholy alliances,” I said. “But I’ve done it before.”

“I suspected as much.” Naaman raised his hood until only the light from his tech goggles was visible.

“X, ask Jelly to set a course for Sethorn. I’m going to wake up Decima.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. Congratulations on your deal with the devil.”

What really sucked was that my LAI rarely nailed a metaphor. “Let’s not ever say that again, X.”

28

“No, I don’t need to rest,” I said. “Time enough for that when I die.”

“With an attitude like that, it could be sooner than you think,” X-37 said via the bridge speaker.

“Listen to X,” Tom suggested. “We can get past this blockade. Sooner or later they will leave a gap and we’ll be past them and into the slip tunnel. Our stealth tech still gives us the edge. Don’t forget that, Hal.”

I shook my head. “They’re waiting for us to try something, I can feel it. Let’s not over-rely on Jelly’s stealth.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tom said. “Now get some rest. Let patient minds handle this part.”

“I’m patient,” I said. “When have I charged in guns blazing without a plan? Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

He took the copilot’s seat. Decima sat quietly in the navigator’s chair, not interested in joining the argument. News of her home world’s plight had hit her hard. She hadn’t said much since I told her we were going to help and then find Elise and her fleet. I didn’t share the details of my discussion with Naaman. X-37 and I were still processing the information and planning what had to come next.

What I didn’t explain was that I had definite limitations on how much time I would spend fighting someone else’s battles despite what I now understood about Naaman, the Darkness, and the need for alliances no one wanted. After a day or two, I would have to go after Elise even if I went by myself. My closest friends would go with me, of course, but I was ready to go it alone like I had so many times in the past.

“No change in the blockade. It remains impenetrable,” Jelly said.

“Not surprised,” I said.

Jelly flashed a new alert on the main screen. “We are receiving a distress call. How shall we respond?”

I flipped over to read the summary. “Seriously? An Oroth citizen wants our help?”

“I am quite certain he wants anyone’s help,” Jelly said. “His ship is adrift and in need of repair. My calculations suggest they must deploy escape pods soon. On the bright side, I believe we can easily repair the damage to their hull with our tools and experience. Tom and Path have become quite good with these types of repairs during our time together.”

“Not my fault he got raided.” I evaluated the damage to a yacht that made the Lady Faith II look like a tugboat. “And that’s why he has life pods. Let the Oroth ships deal with him and his crew.”

“He claims that Tempest Cain attacked him,” Jelly advised. “The derelict vessel is not far from our current destination. If I’m being honest, Captain, I hate to see such a fine vessel needlessly lost.”

“We could use him as a hostage,” Decima said with very little emotion. Her eyes, however, betrayed a fierceness I understood well.

“Good point,” I said. “Jelly, set a course for this ship you have such a big crush on.”

“Of course, Captain, though I must point out that your colloquialism is wildly inaccurate. I’m a ship, not a human teenager. I will inform the rest of the crew, including Naaman and Path who seem to be meditating on the observation deck in preparation for battle.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Tom said. “I thought they might be kindred spirits the moment I saw them together.”

I grunted something unintelligible. Both men could be difficult enough on their own. I didn’t need their warrior ethos combining and mutating to cause me even more headaches.

“Oh, that is interesting,” Jelly said. “Bug has joined Path and Naaman and is sitting silently. I have limitations on my surveillance of the crew, and I endeavor to never violate their privacy, but I could tell you that I have seen Bug attempting to meditate with Path many times and failing. He seems to lack the attention and often falls asleep.”

“Maybe he’s tired,” I said. “Bring up the Oroth citizen’s ship as soon as we have visual.”

“Of course,” Jelly said. “Would you like for me to attempt communications?”

“Sure. I’m sure chatting up some self-entitled dick won’t ruin my day anymore than this mess already has.”

“Establishing comms,” Jelly said.

A man with fine features and shoulder length red gold hair spun to face the camera. “Thank the elders.”

“Or you could thank me and my crew,” I said.

“Of course, of course.” The man adjusted the wide-open collar of his silk shirt. He was well muscled, but I couldn’t tell if that was because of genetic manipulation or because he actually went to the gym. The bridge was elegant and stylish, if a bit delicate for a starship. His crew wore modest clothing and kept their eyes on the floor.

I already wanted to punch the guy in his pretentious face.

“We are in terrible distress,” he said. “Tempest Cain attacked our ship, accusing us of terrible things and making threats. He threw my navigator out of an airlock and did horrible things to my personal attendants. I didn’t waver, however. Citizens of Oroth are not easily intimidated.”

I muted the channel. “All right, I’m fucking done with this guy. He’s on his own.”

“You should debrief him on his encounter with Tempest Cain,” X-37 said. “Information wins wars.”

Tom, his face showing more anger than I had seen for a long time, reluctantly agreed with my LAI. “We’re going to have to do a lot of things we don’t like if we’re going to find Elise and the others.”

“Fuck me in a circle,” I grumbled. “Open up the line.”

“Are you there? We lost you for a second. Thank the elders you’re back,” the citizen said. “I am Ion Dawn, citizen of the second rank.”

Decima looked up, pure hatred in her eyes. She linked into a private channel the citizen couldn’t hear. “That means he holds dominion over several planetary systems, rarely venturing there or even pretending to govern them, but more than willing to spend their resources on his vices.”

“Great,” I said. “Not surprising. I’m going to beat some information out of him and then we’ll see what we can do for your home world.”

Decima looked down, saying nothing. I thought she probably didn’t want to show her emotions right now.

“Tom, can you slap Path into action and fix their hull breach?” I asked.

“On my way, Hal,” he said as he unbuckled and left the bridge.

Decima took his seat and leaned closer to the holo viewer. “We are sending a repair crew. Tell us what happened. We don’t have a lot of time. You’re lucky we even stopped.”

“I’m a citizen of Oroth!” Ion Dawn declared self-righteously.

I interrupted, holding up one hand, hoping Decima would take the hint and back off. “Listen, Ion, I’m not from around here. I’m sure you’re very important. But I’m kind of a big deal where I’m from. So let’s treat this like a straight business transfer. You understand what that means?”

Ion Dawn raised his chin slightly and sat straighter. “Of course. All citizens must understand commerce and governance.”

“Not the same thing,” I said.

“You are incorrect, but I will not argue with you. Tempest Cain attacked and said we were sheltering someone called the last Reaper. I truthfully denied this, but now I realize you must be this individual. How unfortunate,” he said.

“Depends on how you look at it, Ion,” I said. “You could be dying a slow death. Someone in your situation doesn’t have a lot of bargaining options. Tell me more about this raid on your ship.”

“Well, he killed a large portion of my crew,” Ion said. “Since you’re not from around here, I will give you some background information. Tempest Cain is the number one lieutenant of General Scheid. We have been concerned for several years that Scheid has lost control of Tempest and perhaps some of the other clones. This confirms it. The man has traveled to places no one should go and embraced the Darkness. Before you argue that this is not to be spoken of and that no one can confirm the existence of the Darkness, I will tell you that is simply nonsense. The Oroth Council has implemented a policy to suppress news of the threat because it will only make people afraid and prone to laziness. Our economy simply cannot function if people are too scared to continue. Doomsayers are cancerous to any reasonable civilization.”

I muted the link so I could swear for several seconds. “I really don’t like this guy.”

“He has given you many reasons to find him unpleasant, including mass censorship,” X-37 said. “My analysis suggests he does not see anyone other than citizens as fully human.”

I reestablished comms. “Tell me more about Tempest Cain. Where is he? How many ships did he have? I need details—fighting strength, weapons, last known location and direction, all of it.”

“I am sending an information packet now,” Ion said, “though it isn’t much. He appeared out of nowhere, ravaged my crew, and then left in a rage. I believe some of my people were infected and had to be put into life pods.”

“You launched them into space?” My hands shook with anger.

“No,” he said. “I merely used the life pods as a quarantine measure. Servants are very expensive to recruit and train properly. My medical staff is monitoring them carefully to assess if they can be reintroduced to my very depleted crew.”

I exhaled, wishing I had a cigar but not wanting to show my frustration more than I already had. Strange as it seemed, I didn’t want this disgusting person to know my vices.

“Are you judging me?” Ion asked.

“You better hope not,” I said. “Because that leads to dead bodies.”

“That is not actually true, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I signaled for my LAI to put a sock in it.

“Once you have repaired my ship,” Ion said, “you may do the Oroth Council a service. Tempest Cain must be stopped. I will contribute significant resources and personnel to this task if you agree.”

I wanted to tell the man he would contribute whatever I asked for or get left to die minus his crew, who I would somehow liberate. My plan was flawed, and I knew it. Just looking at the people staring at the floor made me realize they were a long way from being free even if I jettisoned their master. X-37 and I had seen this before. These people were brainwashed and would struggle with freedom. They would still have it, if I had anything to say about the matter, but they wouldn’t thank me, not at first.

“All right,” I said. “My people are heading over to your ship to make some repairs. You and I are going to talk face-to-face.”

“That is acceptable. I am looking forward to your hospitality.” Ion’s image disappeared from the holo viewer.

“I don’t think your hospitality is going to be what he thinks it is,” X-37 said.

I fired up a cigar. “Give me some credit. I’m a fantastic host.”

“No comment,” X-37 and Jelly said at the same time.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. If Tempest already searched Ion’s ship, Ion can use his citizen credentials to slide right through the slip tunnel blockade. If I have my way, the Jellybird will be parked in the hull of the… what’s the ship’s name?”

“The Dream of Many Suns,” Jelly said. “From what I have gleaned from the ship’s internal comms, most of the crew calls it the Dream behind Ion’s back. He really hates that.”

“Good work hacking in. Get everything you can on this moron and his crew,” I said. “We have finally caught a break.”

29

Tom and Path finished their work on the Dream’s hull in one shift and returned exhausted. Bug greeted them in the airlock and made sure they went straight to quarters to rest and recover. Neither man was a complainer. Left to their own devices, they would work themselves to death.

“I’d count them out until tomorrow at least,” Bug said via comms. “Tom looks worse than he did after rebuilding Jelly while you were still MIA, and Path looks tired, which I’ve never seen before.”

“Thanks, Bug. I’ll plan accordingly.” Information scrolled up my HUD, important stuff, but secondary to my mental process. Decisions were easy. Making the correct decisions… that was where things got stupid.

I could do this without my main mechanic and the single best fighter on the ship, Path. Citizen Ion Dawn was weak. His poor tactical thinking was evident even through the holo comm. Did that mean it was a good idea to take his ship without a full boarding team? Hell no.

Decima crossed her arms, waiting for my suggestion. Naaman and Tank occupied opposite sides of the room. I was pretty sure the latter was eating through my food reserves faster than they could be replenished. But that was a problem for another day.

“I’ll contact Ion Dawn and agree to a parlay on his ship,” I said.

“Risky,” Decima said. “We don’t have the numbers to assault the ship if he takes you hostage.”

“No, but assaulting the ship shouldn’t be necessary. We’ll take over, but I’ll convince him it’s his idea. The only way through this blockade is by hiding the Jellybird on the Dream’s flight deck. We’ll need to evaluate their security element quickly, then occupy key points of the ship in case we have to hold it by force. Tank, I’ll need you to control his crew.”

He nodded. “I can do that. From what I’ve seen, they don’t have much spine.”

“The rest of us will go where needed until we have the ship locked down,” I said. “Diplomacy will be our best option, as long as Ion can be kept in line. Force is our last option, but we need to be ready. I’ll rely on Naaman and Decima to know when Ion is lying or about to betray us. I’m good at reading people, but there could be cultural tells I don’t pick up.”

No one was in disagreement.

“I am displaying a timeline with assignment details on the main screen, and also in your HUD, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Jelly is moving into position. All that’s needed now is for you to seal the deal with the citizen.”

“Put me through,” I said.

“Initiating comm link,” Jelly said. “It seems he has been waiting for you and is somewhat anxious—if I am any judge of human behavior.”

Ion Dawn appeared in the holo viewer, but he faced the other direction. In my old life, that would have been interpreted as a deliberate insult. A glance at Decima confirmed the same conclusion could be drawn here.

What was I supposed to do, beg for an audience? Please, citizen, may I speak? I thought about it for half a second. Nope. Not this Reaper.

I lit a cigar, watched Ion, and made no attempt to initiate a conversation. This was stupid. I blew a perfect smoke ring at the holo comm lens, wishing the strong aroma could be transmitted alongside audio and video.

“He’s playing the game as well, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“This isn’t about me, X. Relax.”

I made sure to have a shady half smile on my face, a cloud of smoke rising toward the ceiling, and my feet up when he finally turned. “Shouldn’t let people sneak up on you like that, citizen.”

“You are a very frustrating person,” he said. “And you didn’t sneak up on me, not really. We are in separate ships.”

“You’re right,” I said. “If you still want our help, I think I have my team on board with the idea. Took a bit of convincing you had anything to offer.”

His excitement showed through his façade. “That is very good news, Mr. Cain. What’s next? I’m more of an idea person than a tactical planner.”

This was too easy, unless he was trying to hustle me. “We’ll need to travel through the slip tunnel, and we don’t want interference from Tempest, his followers, or the Oroth blockade.”

“Can’t you just find him in this system and deal with him? That would fit my schedule so much better,” he said.

“I could, but he’d kill me and then come after you.” I sat up straighter, dropping my feet to the floor. “Let me grab a few of my friends, and I’ll deal with him posthaste.”

He hesitated. “I suppose that makes sense. And I know they will allow me to leave the system. His goons practically ordered me to do that, knowing it was an insult for a person of my rank.” Behind Ion Dawn, his crew sprang into action, working quickly on keyboards and screens. “I’ll have my cargo deck cleared. Your ship should be able to land easily. Refueling will be problematic because I’m not equipped as a true flight line, but my people are clever. I pay them more than other citizens to make sure only the best workers enter my employ.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said. “You have a lot of employees? That seems expensive.”

The question was an obvious dig for information, but he fell for it as braggers usually did. “I’ve maintained more than a hundred before the incident. Now I think it is about twenty-five, maybe a bit less. I’m not sure how many of the quarantined subjects have been cleared for work.”

“Can you run your ship on a crew that small?” I feigned interest like a pro.

“Not comfortably,” he said. “But I’m not throwing any parties this time. Please remember I’m normally a much better host, but this is a crisis, after all.”

“We don’t want to impose,” I said. “Our act might be more believable if your people continue to look downtrodden and hopeless.”

“No one on my crew is that dour. Who has been telling lies about me?” he asked.

“My mistake. On other ships, a crew might be discouraged after a harsh raid by someone as merciless as Tempest Cain.”

Skeptical, but too dense to figure out why, he watched me. “I think you insulted me, but maybe you’re not sophisticated enough to know how offensive your assumption is. I’ll let it pass this time. Please, park your ship, then let my officers know your plan. I’ll be in my quarters trying to relax.”

* * *

I landed Jelly manually just to get a feel for the Dream. Stress sharpened observations. Touching down on the deck of another ship that was still moving through the void despite appearing to be at relative rest never failed to spike my adrenaline—refreshing as splashing cold water on my face. “Godsdamn I love this shit.”

Decima eyed me critically, but didn’t hesitate. “We are ready to step out.”

“Good. Remember, you’re ready to fight but not looking like it,” I said. “What about you, Tank?”

“Jelly and I think we have located their security center. That’s my objective, by any means necessary,” he said. “But from what I’ve seen, it should be a simple walk through the hallways with some fast talking. I got pretty good at that sort of thing on Heto 5.”

“I’ll stay with Tank until we have the ship under control,” Bug said.

“Excellent. Tom and Path, you’re on standby. Do not self-deploy without a direct request for your help,” I said. “Rest while you can.”

“No worries there, Hal,” Tom said. “The sword saint may not be as sore as I am, but he looks tired. First time for everything, right?”

“There sure is,” I said, then headed for the cargo ramp to join the others.

Decima and Naaman were armed but kept their hands free. Naaman’s cloak concealed most of his gear, though his presence was intimidating enough with or without guns and whips. Tank was geared up with bona fide armor from Jelly’s hold. There were gaps between the protective plates, but the shotgun slung next to an industrial cutting torch across his back broadcast his intent clearly. I doubted any of Ion’s sycophants would stand in his way. Bug was in full armor, carrying his helmet under one arm but ready to put it on at a moment’s notice.

I knew something was wrong the second we spread out onto the cargo deck. Not one of the timid bridge workers I had seen on the holo viewer were here. Instead, a rough looking squad of mercenaries stared us down. Dressed like gladiators with shotguns and oversize pistols, I assumed this was a set up.

Tank stepped forward. “I’ve got this, Halek.”

I signaled Bug to go with him.

“All of you, with me. There’s trouble on the security deck!” Tank hurried toward an exit. The gladiator mercenaries hesitated, then sprinted to catch up.

Bug put on his helmet and jogged after them. “Doesn’t look like Ion hired them for their brains.”

“Lucky for us. That could have been a problem,” I said.

Naaman was unimpressed. “A minor delay, no more. But I’m glad we don’t have to shed blood.”

Decima led Naaman toward a different passage. “We’ll conduct a sweep of the ship and report back to you as soon as possible.”

“Great,” I said, then headed for the bridge. “I wonder if Ion really went to bed, or if he is on the bridge watching his plan go down the toilet. The guy is going to get punched in the face if he tries these games with me again.”

“I’m sure you’ll convey that warning to him when you meet,” X-37 said. “And now for a real time update of your allies elsewhere on the ship. Tank and Bug have enthralled the mercenaries and should have no problems, at least not in the short term. Decima and Naaman, unfortunately, are having quite the argument on deck two, passage five. I have hacked into several maintenance cameras—easier to manipulate than security devices used for the same purpose.”

“Nice, X. Remind me to give you a raise,” I said. “Give me audio if you can.”

“I have both audio and visual, but it would use less bandwidth if I just summarized what they were saying,” X-37 said. “I can patch you into a direct view if you need raw data on the situation.”

I picked up the pace. “Give me a summary.”

“Decima is, in your words, ripping Naaman a new one for leaving Sethorn without proper authorization and taking technology off planet against every law and custom of their people,” X-37 said. “Naaman is doing very little to defend himself.”

“Probably smart, especially since he’s guilty as fuck,” I said. “Keep tabs on them, and Tank, and let me know if anything changes.”

The door to the bridge was locked. I knocked hard with my Reaper fist. “Ion, we don’t have time for this stupid bullshit. The sooner you let me in, the sooner I can deal with Tempest Cain. Or maybe you want me to leave and just hope that he doesn’t kill you next time.”

“Why did your body double run off with my security team? That was entirely unnecessary,” Ion said. “They were supposed to escort you to the bridge and keep things honest.”

“Honesty? You mean like surrounding yourself with the most passive crew members you have, then greeting me with hired killers when I actually arrive? Maybe we need to agree on some definitions. We want the same thing. Let me in, and let’s talk.”

A long pause followed.

“Okay, but you must promise not to hurt me,” he said.

“Reaper’s honor.” This was the easiest mission of my career. Why did that give me a queasy sensation in my gut?

“I hope he doesn’t really think about that,” X-37 said in my ear. “As assurances go, that one is not in the top one thousand I have on record.”

“I’m opening the door. Remember, you promised,” Ion said.

I entered, scanned the room, and was surprised to find the same ultra-subservient people I had seen on the holo view surrounding him. The man hadn’t expected me to get this far. “Welcome to the Dream of Many Suns. Can I get you something to drink? A spa treatment? Maybe something to read, one of the classics of Oroth?”

“All of that, but not now. Let’s nail down our agreement. I don’t want to fight your people and Tempest. Tell them to do what Tank says. He’s their squad leader now.”

“Oh, right to business then. Of course,” he said, but accepted a drink from a tray. The server bowed and backed away. “I can’t surrender my bodyguards to your brute.”

“Your bodyguards suck,” I said. “Trust me, this works for everyone unless your goal is to have a bunch of dead pit fighters stinking up the ship.”

“By the elder’s mercy, you are uncivilized. Who would keep dead bodies on a starship?” he asked.

I stared him down like he would be the first body to get dumped into the void.

“Fine,” he said, then touched the comm device in his ear. “Brucilious, please look to the oversized Reaper clone for orders. No arguments. This is why I pay you.”

A pause followed. I assumed the former pit fighter turned bodyguard was talking.

Clasping his hands in front of his waist, he smiled as if to say, “Are you happy now?”

“Perfect. Thanks, citizen.” I mirrored his gesture, but kept it classy, then requested an update from X-37.

“Tank and Bug have disarmed the security team and given them the day off. They requested some of the women from the bridge, and Tank told them to fornicate with themselves instead,” X-37 said. “I believe he can lock the mercenaries in their quarters if necessary. Decima and Naaman have completed their sweep of the other decks and report no problems.”

Ion Dawn crossed his arms, already getting impatient and not realizing I was getting updates from X.

“Do you really want me to protect you from Tempest Cain?” I asked.

“Very much,” Ion said.

“Then I do things my way, which means killing him as soon as I can,” I said.

“That was exactly what I was hoping for, Mr. Cain,” Ion said.

“Great. Then let’s get through this slip tunnel.” I sat in the pilot’s seat, put my feet up, and locked my fingers behind my head. “Dream, can we talk?”

“Of course,” a woman’s smooth voice said. “I am in contact with Jelly. She has instructed me on how to best interact with biologicals such as you and Citizen Ion Dawn.”

“What the void is this? My ship is talking,” Ion exclaimed.

I pushed one hand toward my host. “Relax, Ion. I’ve got this.”

“You said you would kill Tempest Cain as soon as possible,” Ion complained.

“And I will. But that isn’t the same as right now.” I needed to find Elise and her fleet, and if Naaman was right, I had to use Tempest Cain and the other HC clones to stop the Darkness before dealing with them. That meant I needed a real conversation with Scheid, which I wasn’t looking forward to.

30

Ion Dawn told each checkpoint supervisor that he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to leave his holo comm turned off. The patrols delayed us for half an hour as they scanned the exterior of the Dream and complimented our repairs. I made a mental note to pass the attaboy onto Tom and Path who were dead asleep in their rooms last time I checked.

“That was easy,” Ion said. “I told you they wanted me to leave the system. None of Tempest’s goons gave me a good reason. I’m sure it was just to humiliate me and interrupt my travels. All of this unrest has been a terrible inconvenience.”

“Sounds horrible,” I said. “You should retire to your quarters for the slip tunnel travel.”

“I always do. My medical staff carefully monitors my sleep aids during slip tunnel travel. Without a good book, it is extraordinarily tedious. You wouldn’t have a literary selection on your crude little ship, would you?”

“Talk to my engineer, Tom, when he wakes up. He has a selection.”

“Well, good luck,” Ion said. “I’m going to my quarters to relax.”

I waved goodbye as he left the bridge.

“You should ask Citizen Ion Dawn if he enjoys cozy mysteries or technical manuals,” X-37 advised. “Though Tom has been reading a great deal of horror lately. His tastes are random.”

I signaled X-37 to drop it because I didn’t care if Ion’s entertainment needs were met. As long as he was out of my hair, we’d be good. “X, set up a training regimen for the rest of the slip tunnel passage.”

“Of course, Reaper Cain. Jelly and I have decided to include your own rest and recovery, as well as social time with the crew,” X-37 said.

“Really.” This wasn’t the first time my LAI had put my health above my own agenda. I doubted it would be the last.

“Don’t fight me on this, Reaper Cain. Tom, Path, and Bug are on board and willing to lock you in your quarters if necessary,” X-37 said.

“Calm down. As long as there’s beer and whiskey, I can be bribed.” I watched the slip tunnel for a long time after we entered the passage. Thoughts drifted through my consciousness. For a time, I thought I saw the situation in the Zakion and neighboring systems clearly.

* * *

Ion Dawn caused me no problems during the trip. The man was almost pleasant as long as I ignored ninety percent of what he said. He did care about being a good host and offered us everything. I even caught him looking after the welfare of his crew, which surprised me. The man didn’t seem to see them as fully human, or any of us, for that matter.

Well rested, fit from consistent exercise and quality sleep, I felt like I could face Tempest Cain, and the Darkness, and General Scheid all by myself. What I didn’t expect was to encounter the Lady Faith II and James Henshaw less than an hour after we returned to the Sethis system. His sabbatical on Sethorn had come to a conclusion, apparently.

“James Henshaw is requesting a private meeting with you, Captain,” Jelly said.

“How private?” I hadn’t thought about the man for a while and had no idea what he could want. Until I met Ion Dawn, I had thought the optical engineer turned cybernetic expert was the most pretentious human being in the galaxy. He clearly wasn’t.

“He requests your presence in his medical bay,” Jelly said.

“Pump the brakes,” X-37 and I said at the same time.

I gave my LAI an annoyed look, and he backed off. “I’ll need details. If there’s something wrong with my arm, he better be able to fix it quickly. I don’t have time for six weeks of recovery. That’s what slip tunnel travel is for, and I don’t know when we’ll be going through one again.”

“I’m sure we will need to make several jumps to reach Elise and her fleet,” Jelly said. “X-37 and I have been working diligently on that particular problem.”

“I’m sure you have. Now give me the quick version of what Henshaw wants this time,” I said.

“He claims to have mastered new developments in cybernetics and his technology that you will be interested in,” Jelly said. “I did some unauthorized snooping and believe that he wants to replace your right arm with a very powerful upgrade. Did I overstep, Captain?”

“No. You’re the tops, Jelly.” I was thanking the stars I had such a good LAI and ship AI, but most of my attention was on what the hell James Henshaw was thinking. I wasn’t his test subject.

Scheid was already doing that with clones. I couldn’t just punch a reset button every time Henshaw wanted to try a new trick on me. Yet, I was intrigued.

Looking down at my left hand, I couldn’t remember the last time it had malfunctioned. With my old arm, there had been a time when most of my energy was spent looking for fixes, either to my cybernetic arm or my eye. I even nearly lost X-37 at one point—twice if you counted my recent emergence as the biological original of all these clones. Finding the limited artificial intelligence and reintegrating him into my nerve-ware had been one of my hardest missions to date.

“Connect me with Henshaw and make it as private as possible. I don’t mind if you and X-37 eavesdrop. I doubt I could stop you if I wanted to,” I said.

“No comment,” X-37 said.

“I’m establishing the connection now, Captain,” Jelly said. “James Henshaw has been waiting at his terminal, highly unusual for a man lacking discipline.”

“Thank the gods, Hal.” He finished chewing on a fingernail, examined it, and then thrust his hand down to keep from repeating the nervous gesture. “Things are bad on Sethorn. We really should share our experiences, what you’ve been doing, and what I’ve been through. But I don’t know how much time you have and seem to remember you are always running and gunning.”

“You’re not wrong, Jimmy,” I said. “How the hell have you been?”

He stared, barely concealing his annoyance. “Now you’re just acting. I hate it when you do that. We both know you are burning with impatience to find Elise and deal with Doctor Scheid, General Scheid or whatever he’s calling himself now.”

“Let’s get to it, Jimmy. I know the Oroth Council has instituted reprisals against Sethorn for a bunch of made-up charges,” I said. “I have information that the Darkness may be a problem there as well.”

He nodded grimly. “Chaos, Hal. That’s the only way I can describe it. Jag and some of his warriors got me off the planet. That’s the only ray of sunshine in this disaster. They are incredible. Which brings me to my next point. You need to be on top of your game, and I think I have something to help you maximize your destructive personality.”

“Jimmy, I thought we were friends. I’m not destructive. I’m just… direct,” I said.

“How has your new arm served you?” he asked.

I lifted the appendage in question. “Perfect. I hate to admit it, so don’t let it go to your head.”

Henshaw didn’t even take time to gloat. “That’s good, Hal. If you transfer to my ship, I’ll put you in the medical bay and have the upgrade completed in less than a day.”

“No time for that, Jimmy. Let’s schedule it for later, if at all. I think you can land on the ship or just tag along. It’s time to work as a team. You don’t want to be MIA when I finally reunite with Elise.”

The look of discomfort on his face would have made me laugh if I didn’t feel bad for the guy. Whatever he’d done to annoy Elise Hastings, it must’ve been bad. I was something of an expert in that arena but still couldn’t imagine why he would be so loath to meet with her face-to-face. “I have a lot of new information. Some top alliances will need to be made, but Elise and her fleet is the key to everything. We don’t have time for drama, so you’ll come with us, and I will referee the reunion. It’ll be fun.”

“Doubtful,” he said. “Perhaps you would reconsider my offer during one of the slip tunnel passages we will need to make.”

“Do you know where she is?” It was a test question. How much did James Henshaw really know?

He looked alarmed. “I thought that was what you were doing, finding her?”

“Relax, I was just messing with you.”

“Captain, I have located a tunnel to the Kyroth system,” Jelly advised. “It is unguarded. Do you wish to alter course? I am certain Dream will comply. We have a very amiable agreement, one ship AI to another.”

I thought about it. Things were happening too fast. Naaman expected me to help his people on Sethorn, as did Decima. Going after Elise now, even though that was what I wanted and needed to do, might cause a rebellion.

“Has there been any news of Elise and her fleet?” I asked.

“None, Captain. X-37 has assisted me with scanning for news since the moment we emerged from the slip tunnel,” Jelly said.

“Head for the Kyroth slip tunnel, but keep it on the down low if you can. I need to break it to the rest of the crew,” I said. Naaman’s revelation played through my thoughts. He’d encountered the Darkness in the Kyroth system, but also a powerful anti-Darkness element on Camis Shae. Maybe I could have my cake and eat it too, Elise and everyone else I cared about plus a real chance of stopping whatever seemed to be eating star system after star system.

Naaman and the others would understand the change of plans.

Sure they would.

* * *

“This is a terrible place to tell Naaman and the others your intentions,” X-37 said as we marched toward the sparring room.

“Won’t be a perfect time or place,” I argued. “And I don’t want him close enough to the bridge to seize control.”

“An excellent point, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Shall I instruct Path and Bug to keep their real weapons close at hand in case this goes bad?”

“Naaman will see through that immediately, and Decima probably already knows what’s up just because I’m thinking about that contingency.” I pretended to be hungover and pissed off as I entered the room. The act wasn’t difficult because I knew this was going to be a huge pain in my ass.

“Illogical assumption detected,” X-37 said. “Decima can no more read minds than I can.”

There wasn’t really a point in answering, so I didn’t.

Naaman had his cloak off but his hard skin in place. I could tell Decima didn’t like the man’s insistence on wearing the high-tech armor day and night but had apparently relented. They hadn’t argued for several hours. Path practiced sword forms in a corner, ready as always. I’d warned him there might be trouble. His response was as calm and unreadable as ever.

Bug was also in on this confrontation, and the worst actor of the group. He pretended to get ready for sparring but hadn’t taken all his armor off. Decima should know how quickly he could suit up or gear down. We’d been part of the same team long enough to know each other’s capabilities. Fortunately, she was focused on her cousin and me.

“Are you ready, Halek?” Naaman asked.

“Need to warm up.” I selected a training weapon, wishing I could choose one with more reach than the carbon fiber sword the tech wizard had selected.

“It’s customary on Sethorn to warm up with light sparring,” he said and took position in the center of the mat.

“Deception detected,” X-37 said. “He may be onto you.”

I bowed to the mat, then took my time getting into position. Rolling my neck and shoulders, twisting my back right then left, and hefting the practice blade a few times bought me a moment to think but no more. Like every other screwed up mission in my life, this was moving too fast.

“Prepare,” Naaman said, then launched an attack.

I blocked twice, parried once, and stepped off his line of advance. He pivoted and came at me again, striking quickly but with little force.

I met each of his attempts, then counterattacked. “This is what you call light sparring?”

“Are either of us bleeding?” he asked.

“You may be in trouble, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I focused on my opponent, watching for subtle changes in his stance or his grip. His hard skin would protect him from all but the most serious blows from a practice weapon. I had several advantages in strength and speed because of my Reaper arm, and suddenly wished I had two of them. The best thing about the cybernetics was that they were always there when you needed them. As long as they worked.

The real fight began without a word spoken. He cracked me on the ribs with a blow that made me curse. Before I could recover, he swiped his blade upward, smacking against the side of my head. I moved back, snarling in defiance.

He came in again, this time feinting with his weapon, then launching a kick. I saw that one coming and closed the distance before he could fully extend his leg, stuffing the force and knocking him backward. He flinched when I cracked him over the head, hard skin or no hard skin.

Time passed slowly. and I was exhausted before we finally relented.

“You have something to tell me, Halek?” he asked.

“I promised Ion Dawn that I would take down Tempest Cain,” I said.

Naaman clenched his teeth and spoke without opening his mouth. “You better not tell me you’re making that a priority over helping my people.”

“Hey, I’m not the one gallivanting around the universe doing whatever the hell I want,” I said.

He feinted, then pulled back a strike I had already started to block. “Sethorn is where we need to be. The Darkness is rising. Trust me, it’s the last place I want to go. My crimes will require a reckoning, and there will be no mercy, yet it is what I must do to save my home world.”

“This is going about as well as we predicted,” X-37 said privately.

I weighed my options, cognizant that Decima was listening as well. “We have a phrase where I’m from. Never rush to failure.”

Naaman lowered his weapon, but I knew he was ready to deal me another hard blow. “Explain what that means. I’m sure I won’t like it, but let’s have this out in the open.”

“Racing directly to Sethorn is a mistake. We’ll become just a few more numbers on the casualty list. Don’t worry about what I told Ion Dawn. Tempest and I are destined for a showdown, but I haven’t forgotten what you said. Stopping the Darkness must be our first priority, but we can’t do that without Elise, so that’s where we’re going next.”

I wasn’t sure what happened after that, but it resulted in my unconsciousness. I came to with Bug snapping his fingers in front of my face and laughing at my misfortune.

“That went well, Hal.” He kept one hand on my shoulder to keep me from falling off the bench I was sitting on. “Naaman said he will consent to your plan but may kill you later if the delay dooms his people.”

“What about Decima?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t talk to me. Take my advice, give her some space. Jelly has Dream heading for the slip tunnel to the Kyroth system. Lady has joined us on the landing strip. Good thing, if you asked me. The accommodations on this Oroth mega yacht are way better than anything I’ve experienced during space travel,” Bug said.

Forcing myself to my feet, I tried to remember exactly what had happened and decided it didn’t matter. I rubbed the back of my neck, easing my headache as I paced around the training area. When I asked X where I’d gone wrong, he told me the question would take an unusually long amount of time to process.

All that mattered was we were finally going to search for Elise. Who cared how many times I had to get busted over the head to make that happen.

31

Naaman and Decima wouldn’t have anything to do with me after we entered the slip tunnel. She gave me hard stares and turned into a room whenever we met in a hallway. When that was awkward, she just strode past me like I wasn’t there. Ion Dawn I barely saw. Had he left his room since our confrontation on the bridge? How the hell would I know.

I trained with Bug and Path during the day and discussed engineering and history with Tom in the evenings.

I even spent some time with James Henshaw.

“I’m glad you finally accepted my hospitality,” Henshaw said, offering me a box of miracles—authentic Starbrand cigars. I wanted to argue that my Maglan Goldbands were better, but that wasn’t something I could lie about—not even out of loyalty to my own efforts to become a master tobacconist. Reapers like me were all about integrity. And these were the last of their kind. None of us could return to Union controlled space for more.

“It’s a pleasure, Jimmy.” Starbrand in one hand, feet on one of Jimmy’s vintage reading tables, I sipped a glass of wine. Vino wasn’t my thing, but this was good. Wine and cigars didn’t have the same synergy but I made do.

“Have you considered my offer,” he asked.

“Every day,” I said honestly. “What’s in it for you?”

“Survival.”

I waved my cigar at the Lady Faith II’s lounge. “Please, Jimmy. You can’t just survive. Luxury is more important to you than air.”

“You know what I mean.” He shifted nervously, which wasn’t like him. “The mean necessities must come first. When all this is said and done, and this delightful slice of the galaxy is stable, I might nurture some genuinely commercial ventures. Why shouldn’t I? All of my work has been small-time, restricted by unfair regulations and harsh masters.”

“Slow down.” I sipped, then watched the ceiling for a second. “I’m envisioning a Henshaw line of cybernetics getting pushed on every planet I save. Not sure that matches my vision of the future.”

“I wouldn’t make weapons, Hal. Non-militarized cybernetics are always in demand after a long war,” he said. “Missing limbs, lost eyes, things of that nature.”

Memories of a woman falling from a bridge hit me hard. “Change the subject, Jimmy.”

He pressed. “I need to show you what’s happening on Sethorn. You won’t like it.”

“Then don’t show it to me.”

“Warning, Reaper Cain. Whatever he is about to use to convince you to accept his cybernetic enhancements will be greatly upsetting,” X-37 said.

“Why do you sound so far away, X?”

“There is an unusual compound in your drink…”

“Forget about it, X. I’m feeling pretty good. Haven’t relaxed since… never,” I said, swirling the deep purple liquid in my glass.

Henshaw started to pour a refill, but I pulled my glass back and shook my head.

“There won’t be a vintage like this for a long time, Reaper,” he said, then shrugged as though it was my loss. “More for my personal stores, I suppose. The last thing I want is you stealing my best bottles and my cigars.”

“Show me Sethorn,” I said, not worried about a godsdamn thing. By the stars, I was feeling good.

He snapped his fingers. A holo viewer better than anything Ion Dawn’s ship possessed, which was saying something, activated. I set my drink on a small table and sat forward to watch battles like I’d never seen. Men and women sprinted through the streets, fighting with melee weapons, ranged weapons, or their bare hands. Children ambushed Oroth soldiers and sometimes won or ran away.

My eyes tracked an Obsidian that didn’t fight like those I’d met so far. “That’s Tempest Cain. When was this recorded?”

“Shortly after you left.”

“The son of a void rift has been sandbagging. Godsdammit! X, why didn’t you pick up on this?” Each encounter with Tempest Cain had further convinced me the man was a megalomaniacal leader pushing cannon fodder ahead of him.

But that was bullshit—something a devious asshole like Scheid would try.

Tempest fought like a demon—faster, stronger, and smarter than anyone I’d ever seen. Path wouldn’t survive long in a one-on-one battle with this jerk. I would have to cheat like it was my job to stay alive.

Every Obsidian on Tempest’s team wore the armbands. Soldiers in gear I didn’t recognize joined in the slaughter, their allegiance to the crazy fucker plain. A few even appeared to be Sethorn natives, and they really scared me.

I shook my head, denying everything. “Elise and her Archangels will even the odds. If we’re really fucking lucky, she kept the Black Phoenix.”

“No, Reaper. That’s a fantasy. The Black Phoenix was too dangerous to keep. It is gone, along with the Sansein,” Henshaw said. “We have to face reality and make new plans.”

Thoughts of operating Z1 nearly made me puke. I listed Wallach, Xad, and even Alon soldiers who might be working with Elise now.

“Reaper!” Henshaw shouted.

I stared.

“Sorry. I’m not good at yelling. It ruins my complexion. Won’t be able to sleep tonight.” He paced aggressively but stopped right in front of me, then poked my left arm. “I can give you two of these. You need every advantage you can get.”

Drunk, frustrated, and missing Elise and the others, I could feel my resolve slipping. X-37 sent me continuous HUD messages, but I wasn’t in the mood for my LAI’s warnings.

“Reaper Cain.” X-37’s voice finally penetrated the veil. “Leave this room immediately. Contact Tom, Path, or Bug. Anyone but Henshaw.”

“Sure, X. Right away.” I stared at the empty wine glass, pushed to my feet, then loomed over Henshaw. “Don’t ever try to manipulate me. It’s bad for your health.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Don’t.”

“Hal—”

My blade snapped out, stopping a finger’s width from his throat.

He backed away with his hands up, which gave me a perfect opportunity to steal one of the cigars he kept for himself. I took two since he was on my shit list.

Naaman surprised me as I staggered back to the Jellybird.

“Halek,” he said.

The man was a blur.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I slurred, pulling one of the Starbrands I’d liberated from Henshaw. “Take my advice. If Henshaw offers you wine, pass.” I staggered as I worked my lighter but steadied as I finally drew smoke into my mouth.

Naaman appeared uneasy. I’d seen this before. He was about to do something he didn’t want to but would press onward despite his doubts. I retreated a step and snapped out my blade.

“He is no threat, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

It took a second, but I retracted the blade and apologized. “Sorry, Naaman. I’m pretty drunk. Thought you might attack.”

He didn’t waver now. “You broke a sacred trust, which makes this more difficult. Take this and use it well.” He handed me a lightweight case the size of a camping backpack.

“This is the latest model, different from mine. Better in most ways, and not so… stigmatizing,” he said.

“Hard skin?” I said to his back.

“He is not going to answer,” X-37 said. “My analysis suggests you may not hear from him again until we leave this slip tunnel. He may believe that this gift will convince you to turn around and head back to Sethorn.”

“No way, X. All the technology in this sector couldn’t make me strong enough to fight Scheid, Tempest, the Oroth Council, and the Darkness without help.” My words slurred.

“Maturity detected,” X-37 said. “Unless your declaration is the product of extreme inebriation destined to be forgotten in the morning.”

I staggered. “What the hell is wrong with me, X? I’ve never been such a lightweight.”

“Henshaw put something in your drink. Thankfully, you managed to leave,” X said.

I resumed my walk of shame, thinking about the bundle Naaman had given me without a word of instruction. Was that desperation, or trust? Elise was the key. Naaman had never met her, or the rest of my friends. He would understand why this was the right call.

“Damn this is a good cigar. Probably the best I ever stole.” I examined it lovingly as I exhaled. My relaxed mood deepened. At this rate, I might actually be fun to be around soon.

“Reaper Cain, throw both Starbrands away now!” X-37 said.

“Don’t make it ugly, X.” I ambled onto the flight deck, not sure why James Henshaw was waiting with a motorized equipment sled.

“I’m sorry, Hal. You don’t understand the Darkness. It has Tempest Cain, it could have you. I can’t let that happen,” Henshaw said.

Stars swirled in my vision. The deck tipped sideways, forcing me to shuffle to my left or fall. One hand gripped the sled. Henshaw jumped from his seat with surprising agility and pushed me closer to the conveyance.

“Are you trying to kidnap a Reaper, Jimmy?” I asked.

The fear on his face answered a lot of questions.

Which I would deal with right after I dealt with the unconsciousness too deep even for X-37’s most powerful attempts to rouse me.

* * *

Bug, Tom, and Path were there when I awoke, but so was Decima, standing with her arms crossed on the other side of the medical bay.

“You’re alive,” she said, eyes wet, then stormed out of the room.

“Am I alive, Tom?”

“I think so, Hal, though I’m not sure Henshaw will be once you recover. He didn’t notify us until your right arm had been amputated. At that point, we had to help him with the rest of the surgery or let you die. Things didn’t go well,” Tom said.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

“X, where the hell were you? What kind of LAI lets his host get drugged and operated on?” I demanded. “Godsdamit, X. Tell Henshaw to put me under and remove my nerve-ware so I don’t have to deal with your fuck-ups.”

“If I had the capacity to feel emotion, that would hurt, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Your vices led you to this situation, not my lack of diligence. He clearly anticipated your theft of the Starbrands and laced them with powerful narcotics.”

I sat up, dragging tubes and wires with me.

“Hal, you need to rest,” Tom insisted.

Bug came to my side and helped me stand. “No, Tom, he needs to get the fuck up and learn to use his new gear.”

“He had major surgery,” Tom insisted.

“Well this is what he gets,” Bug said. “We should have been watching out for him, but he should have let us watch out for him. He’s got two Reaper arms now. There’s no going back.”

Path supported me on the other side. “Bug is correct. There is not enough time to reverse this decision.”

Raw embarrassment flooded through me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt it. Regret, indecision, shame… those were things the Reaper Corps drummed out of me a long time ago.

Bug was right, of course. I needed the arms. I needed the hard skin Naaman had given me. Basically, I needed every advantage I could secure if we were to come out of this one alive.

I stepped away from Bug and stood on my own for several seconds. Closing my eyes, I reviewed all the things I’d done wrong to screw up my life and risk the survival of everyone I cared about. Nothing had changed. We needed Elise. We needed the team back together, or better yet, an army like we had never assembled before.

“Call Henshaw,” I said. “Tell him I promise not to kill him. Naaman gave me a suit of hard skin. I need to know where it is and how to integrate it with all of this.” Lifting both arms felt wonderful despite the hell of recovery pain that burned through half my body.

32

My recovery was slower than I had hoped. All I could do for the first week were short walks. Keeping food down was nearly impossible. Recovering from my left arm upgrade had been easier, or maybe memories lied about trauma.

Keep telling yourself it’s an upgrade. I wasn’t sure how to feel about Henshaw or what he’d done, so I spent my energy learning to appreciate two completely badass arms and the upper body armor that supported them inside and out.

I’d always been a freak. Might as well go all in.

The hard skin turned out to be nearly impossible to put on, even when Naaman agreed to help. Decima figured out why it wouldn’t conform to my body, but none of us had been able to put her discovery to actual practice. In short, X-37 rejected the technology and turned my body against it. The LAI denied our accusations categorically because he was just as big a dick as his host.

Time was running out, and the Sethorn technology remained a useless pile of strange alloys in my quarters all because my nerve-ware manager, X, couldn’t play nicely with Sethorn tech.

The time needed to traverse a slip tunnel was hard to predict in advance. Back in the Union, where they were mapped, a navigator could plot a course and plan the length of a trip. That hadn’t been my reality for a long time.

It was nineteen days to reach the Kyroth system, most of it spent learning to walk while making amends to Naaman and Decima. I wasn’t sure either of them would trust me again. We were stuck together, but I couldn’t expect that to last much farther than the end of the slip tunnel. Basically, none of us trusted anyone. My core group were good, though they watched me constantly. Everyone agreed half a year would be a more reasonable recovery period—but the universe didn’t care. My LAI did everything he could to speed my recovery, of course.

I explained my concerns to X-37 after I completed my twenty-fifth workout in nineteen days. Toweling off in the luxurious locker room of the Dream, I tried to keep an open mind. Light strolling and shoulder rotations really worked up a sweat. Who knew?

“My analysis suggests they have come to understand the necessity for this course of action,” X-37 said. “My advice would be to not aggravate them further. Avoid patronizing them, and whatever you do, don’t apologize.”

“Were you worried I was going to apologize?” I was honestly curious. Admitting I was wrong wasn’t my go-to move, and I certainly didn’t attempt to make amends. Even the fiasco with Henshaw and his drug-induced surgical procedure was something I barely admitted happened. Easier to just rely on my reputation as a complete jerk and hide behind a wall of profanity, cigar smoke, and misdirection. No one was looking for rational, heartfelt confessions from me.

“No, Reaper Cain, but there is a first time for everything,” X said.

A tone sounded from the intercom. “Apologies do have tactical advantages in the realm of manipulation.”

“Just stop, X. That doesn’t make me feel better,” I said as a gentle melody sounded from the public address system. “Was that an alarm?”

“Dream tells me that we are nearing the end of the slip tunnel and should prepare to deploy,” X-37 said.

I used X-37 to interface with Bug’s earbud. “Get everyone to the Jellybird, except for Henshaw of course. Tank will stay on the Dream to watch Ion Dawn. Let him eat the citizen’s food stores. The guy can afford it.”

“Right away, Hal,” Bug answered.

“X, contact Lady and make sure Henshaw is back on his yacht,” I said. “I want Jelly and Lady in stealth mode the moment we leave the slip tunnel. Encrypt our comms so Ion Dawn can’t listen in. Something’s not right with that guy.”

“Correct,” X-37 said. “There are many things wrong with the citizen, and I for one don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“Very true, Reaper Cain.”

Everyone was in place before I hobbled onto Jelly’s bridge. My legs should be strong, but the pain from the second Reaper arm operation hurt me from head to toe and made me feel weaker than I was. I dreaded lowering myself into the captain’s chair. There wasn’t a muscle in my body that wasn’t sore. I was constantly exhausted.

“Approaching the exit,” Bug advised. “Jelly is taking us out of the Dream’s cargo bay. The Lady Faith II is following close behind.”

“Don’t touch the walls of the tunnel,” I said.

“I will not, Captain,” Jelly said. “Both Lady and I are proceeding with utmost caution in that regard.”

Silence held the bridge as the holo viewer displayed a large ring where the flowing green walls of the tunnel ended. Beyond were stars—and possibly old friends.

“Spread out. Standard post-tunnel security formation,” I said.

The Lady Faith II veered away from us. The Dream of Many Suns went the other way, apparently having received instruction from the other two ship AIs. Ion Dawn attempted to hail us, but I reduced the volume of his connection to a point where I could ignore it. His ship might be useful in the future, but had already provided the main reason we needed his help, getting past the Oroth blockade.

“Initiating system scan,” Jelly said. “This is an extremely large system due to the powerful gravity of the central star. I will warn you, Captain, nothing should be taken for granted. For example, I would not attempt to hide in one of the asteroid belts near the outer edge of this place.”

“Hopefully, that won’t be an issue.” I zoomed in on several debris fields I thought had been the sites of major battles. Both Jelly and X-37 confirmed my opinion. A lot of destructive nonsense had occurred here, and not long ago.

“I have not located Elise or anything that might be her fleet during the first scan,” Jelly said. “I will be running continuous search algorithms for the next several hours, of course.”

I manually inspected the results, as did Bug and Tom. Time crept by. Neither Naaman nor Decima said anything, though I could feel their intense attention to the holo viewer.

“Is this Camis Shae?” I asked, pointing to a very large, and very dark planetoid in the outer edge of the green zone around the star. In theory, the world should support life. I’d missed it at first because it was farther out from the sun than I had anticipated. It was also the first planet from the sun center of the system. The area between Camis Shae and the sun was remarkably clear of debris, like the star had eaten everything that got too close to it over the last billion years.

“I believe you are correct, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

Naaman pointed at the dark sphere in question. “That is the place. If there is anything to be gained in this system, it will be found there.”

“My sensor readings are jumbled,” I said, refreshing my search results in an attempt to interpret them.

“I don’t believe they are, Captain,” Jelly said. “My readings, as well as those from the Lady Faith II and the Dream of Many Suns indicate the entire planetoid is surrounded by a field of inert objects that are unable to be scanned.”

“Talk about the ultimate planetary blockade,” I said. “That’s why it looks so much bigger than it should be. What I’m seeing isn’t the actual planet but the Dyson sphere around it.”

“That is a close approximation but not a true Dyson sphere. What you’re trying to describe is a structure built around a sun to harness its energy—a theory that has long been known to be impractical even if possible. Please refrain from rushing to conclusions until we have more data,” X-37 said.

“You’re in a mood today, X,” I said, running through the same scan again and again. One thing was obvious. Elise’s fleet was nowhere to be seen, which meant it was in a different system or was trapped inside of that terrifying orb. I wanted to believe the former, but instinct had a way of ruining my day. “Can we penetrate the barrier around Camis Shae and explore the planet? Naaman’s mystery element is there. Kind of pointless to come all this way if we can’t retrieve it.”

“My calculations suggest the sphere is large enough to hold a large fleet of ships,” X-37 said. “Elise may have attempted to excavate the substance, assuming she learned of its importance, and been trapped.”

Naaman moved closer to the viewer. Everyone waited. Time dragged out. The man seemed to be facing the devil himself. “I’ve never seen it behave like that. The Darkness is many things, but normally it works in more subtle ways. This may be its true form—a void swarm of some sort. We shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah, but here we are,” I said like a sarcastic asshole. “Jelly, let’s take a closer look. Lady can hang back. I recommend that the Dream remains close to the slip tunnel. She’s not meant for this type of work, and neither is her crew. Send a message to Ion Dawn to placate him and keep him from running off on us. We don’t really need him or his ship, but then again, we might if we have to run another Oroth blockade.”

The Jellybird and the Lady Faith II accelerated toward Camis Shae, but the Dream barely changed course. She was supposed to head back, then wait for us near the tunnel.

“Jelly, can you see what the Dream’s problem is?” I asked.

“No, Captain. We have lost comms. I’ll notify you when they are restored,” Jelly said.

“Is she following us?” I asked.

“Yes, but at reduced speed. I suspect that the ship AI and her crew are nervous and following in search of security and leadership. Citizen Dawn is not much of a captain, if you ask me,” Jelly said.

“Nailed it.” I wasn’t satisfied but wasn’t worried either. As long as the amateurs stayed clear of the action, they could do whatever they wanted.

“Incoming transmission.” Jelly sounded as excited as a ship AI could. “The encryption is well known to me. I believe it is Elise’s flagship!”

I leaned forward. “Put it on speaker. You better not be pulling my chain.”

“Maglan’s Hope to approaching vessels, please identify.” The voice wasn’t Elise, but I recognized Amii Novasdaughter immediately.

“Jellybird for Maglan’s Hope, we read you,” I said. “Are you inside the sphere around Camis Shae?”

Silence.

“Jellybird for Maglan’s Hope, please respond.” The wait was killing me.

“Ship identity verified. Please identify yourself, sir,” Novasdaughter said.

“Halek Cain,” I said.

“Maglan’s Hope requesting visual confirmation.”

“Send it, Jelly,” I said.

“Right away, Captain.”

Seconds passed. Tom caught my attention. “Would you like me to take over? Or at least weigh in. They might have concerns about clones but can’t deny who you are if they know Bug and I are with you.”

“I can show the entire bridge,” Jelly suggested.

I waved for her to go ahead.

A minute later, Elise appeared in the holo with Novasdaughter and other people I recognized arrayed behind her. Still young, less than thirty, she had a streak of gray hair pulled back with the rest. Her uniform fatigues were starched to perfection. Rank insignia and combat ribbons were unglamorous black against the dark blue uniform.

She stood with her hands gripped behind her back, as did the rest of her crew. Locke led the security team—probably for the entire fleet. He would have undeniable seniority by now.

“Is that you, Reaper, or another fake?” Her words cut into me. I hadn’t actually met the young woman, but the memories from my cyborg clone were real enough to me. I didn’t want to mess this up.

I spread my cybernetic hands. “Sure, Elise. I’m the last Reaper. Ready for another screwed up mission with no chance of success.”

“We’re with him, General Elise,” Tom said. “Bug and I.”

Elise controlled her response. I only saw the variation in her breathing and stance because that was what I did best, read people, guess their intentions.

She ignored the mechanic from Greendale and the Dreadmax survivor. “Tell me about the Reaper mask.”

“What’s to know?” I asked. “You harassed me to use it when I didn’t want to. Nearly died the first time.”

“How did you nearly die?” she asked.

“Airlock.” I lit a cigar. If that didn’t convince her, nothing would. Tom had come around after noticing my vice. None of the clones poisoned themselves with carcinogens.

She wasn’t moved. Time stretched out. Her crew held firm behind her, though a few shifted nervously as the confrontation continued. Small things, a man glancing at a timer. A woman shifting from one foot to the other, barely noticeable but real.

“We can play twenty questions, stroll down our fucked up memory lane, or I can help you escape the Darkness blockade,” I said.

“What if I don’t need your help?” she asked.

“I’ll offer it anyway. You’ll call me an asshole. But I’ll still be there, getting all Reaper on these Darkness void sons,” I said as I lowered the cigar.

“Good,” she said. “We are about to use the Camis Shae to break through the planet trapper. This happens differently every time—no way to predict how they will respond. Be ready but stay clear until I call for your assistance.”

I gave a Wallach salute, something I’d seen Locke do often. “Say when.”

“That better be you, Reaper.” Her image disappeared along with the others.

Tom blew out a breath. “That went well.”

“Agreed,” Bug said. “I thought there would be a lot more profanity.”

My friends talked. I half listened. After all the fighting and worry, I had finally found the kid who started it all. Without her, I wouldn’t have been pulled from the Blue Sphere Maximum Security Prision. Dreadmax would have come apart before anyone escaped. The Wallach-Xad coalition wouldn’t exist. I’d be dead or, at best, a shadow of the man I was supposed to become.

“Perhaps some epic orchestral music while we wait?” Jelly asked.

“Maybe later.” Damn. It was good to see the kid all grown up and in charge of her own fleet. “Get as close as you can without violating her request.”

“Orders, you mean?” Jelly asked.

I didn’t dignify that with a clarification. All of my attention centered on a hole growing larger and larger in the sphere of dark objects surrounding Camis Shae.

The first squadron of Maglan fighters appeared a short time later, then larger war ships, and finally the main fleet.

“Damn they look good,” I said. Fleet battles weren’t my strong point, but I knew enough to realize Elise had fashioned the best void fighting force I’d ever seen, including the Elite dark ops group Admiral Nebs had used to pursue us years ago.

“There is a problem, Captain,” Jelly said. “Ships are emerging from the slip tunnel and homing in on the Dream of Many Suns.

“Godsdammit!” I zoomed in on one, two, five, twenty Obsidian ships racing toward us. “Remind me to break all the bones in Ion Dawn’s body the next time I see him.”

“He set us up,” Bug said. “Can’t believe you fell for that, Hal.”

“Not now, Bug. We have killing to do,” I said.

33

“Outrun them, Jelly, but lead them away from Camis Shae. I don’t want to complicate Elise’s operation,” I said.

“They are gaining. Do you wish me to push the engines and hull integrity beyond safe limits, Captain?” Jelly asked.

“Do what you can,” I said. “How much time before they overtake us?”

“One hour nearly exactly,” Jelly replied. “I have not seen these ship designs before. Only the Oroth and Obsidian signal markers render them recognizable at all. My suggestion is to assume they can do anything we can and more, just so we don’t get caught unaware. Better to overestimate than underestimate the enemy.”

“Good call, Jelly. Let’s try the stealth cloak. Coordinate with Lady and make sure she disappears at the same time.”

“Lady is ready when we are,” Jelly said.

“Tom, Bug, anyone—now is the time for suggestions.” I really wanted their input this time.

Naaman grabbed my still healing right shoulder, which was nearly the end of his life due to the flash of pain his grip caused. “Put on the hard skin. Make it work. Your ship will be boarded. That has been their plan all along—catch us far from home. We shouldn’t have responded to the citizen’s distress call, and we should have gone straight to Sethorn and fought beside my brothers and sisters.”

“Can’t change that now,” I said. “And the hard skin still doesn’t work.”

“Your LAI resists.” Naaman squeezed.

I counter-grabbed his hand, ready to tear it free. My left arm was in perfect working order. I was betting I could break his fingers if he kept being a dick. “What the hell are you doing?”

“A preview. Nothing more. Your LAI must protect you, it must allow the hard skin,” he said.

I shoved him back. He didn’t move as far as I expected, but it was enough.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bug intervened. “If we get boarded, we’re done. They have the numbers. Gonna be one hell of a fight, though.”

I searched the distant asteroid fields despite Jelly’s initial warning not to venture near them for any reason. We needed time.

“I’ll be in the armory getting ready,” Bug said.

Decima moved toward the door without explanation. Naaman stared me down as he followed her. “Make the right decision, Halek.”

“What, and break character?” My joke fell flat.

Tom relieved me of the captain’s seat. “I thought it was funny, Hal. Hard to laugh right now. It will be hilarious when we’re telling stories after this is over.”

I rubbed my shoulder and glared at the holo as more and more ships arrived in system. The JFT special teams and regular Oroth fleet lagged behind the Obsidian vanguard.

“I’ll man the bridge,” Tom said. “If they get this far, my fighting skills won’t make much difference against Obsidians of any rank. If you find a bunch of mechanics, I’ll be glad to take them on.”

“You would talk shop with them, Tom.”

That got a laugh.

I hailed the Lady Faith II. “Henshaw, do you see what’s happening?”

“Sure thing, Hal. I’m on the bridge—not in the sauna. Give me a little credit. I show up when the chips are down. The Obsidians aren’t following my course deviation, for your information,” he said.

“Good. Get out of here. Hide the first chance you get but don’t head into the asteroid field unless you have no other choice,” I said.

“Lady and I agree that no one should choose that option no matter how dire the circumstances,” Jelly chimed in.

“You get that, Jimmy?”

“I will cross it off my list of vacation destinations,” he said. “Good luck, Hal. Just say when to go invisible.”

“Now is as good a time as any,” X-37 suggested.

“Do it, Jelly. Let’s ditch this popsicle stand.” I braced for our image to change on the holo viewer.

“Done, Captain.”

“Change course.” My heart beat madly.

Jelly displayed the new vector and tracked the progress of our pursuers. “Altering course.”

“Can they see us?” I asked.

“Unknown,” Jelly said. “They behave as though we are not invisible.”

“Fuck.” I hurried to the armory.

* * *

“How are you doing, Hal?” Bug asked as he checked my gear.

“Everything hurts,” I said. “Same day, different disaster.”

“Look on the bright side. You will be too busy fighting to worry about anything but staying alive,” he said.

Naaman and Decima checked each other, then put their foreheads together, hands on each other’s shoulders in a ritual I’d never seen before. The moment they were done, he grabbed the hard skin from the workbench and pushed it at me. “Put it on.”

“Not now. Doesn’t work. I can’t mess with X right before a fight,” I said, annoyed he was still pushing this gear.

“I’ve been talking to Bug and Tom,” Decima said. “Your LAI’s most important job is to keep you alive. He can’t resist the hard skin now. It will give you a real chance to survive even if the rest of us die in the first wave.”

“She has a point, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “But I still maintain that I am not the problem. There is an error in the hard skin, not my acceptance or denial of its programming. Were they correct, I would be obligated to allow the use of any device that would increase your odds of survival.”

I took the hard skin and crossed to the other side of the armory for privacy. “Take it a step farther, X. What do you mean by programming?”

Silence.

“Ah, there it is. The hard skin has something akin to an LAI, different, but recognizable.” X-37 made the strange sound he thought was laughter. “Can I have a puppy, Reaper Cain?”

“Hard skin is not a pet,” Naaman said from across the room. “Is your LAI crazy?”

“Back off, Naaman.” I focused on the bundle of material, not sure how it could be that powerful. First off, it was light. Second, when I spread it out, it was clear in places.

“Entering negotiations and vocabulary comparison,” X-37 said.

“Jelly, give me an update,” I said via comms.

“Good news, Captain. Only the Obsidian ships have the speed to catch us,” she said.

“How long?”

“Fifteen minutes. My stealth cloak is either malfunctioning or they have defeated it.”

“Let me know when they are five minutes behind us,” I said, then lifted the hard skin to examine it one last time.

“Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

“Give it to me, X.”

“You may not be able to take off the hard skin very often,” X said, surprisingly direct and succinct.

“Sucks but survivable,” I said. “Tell me the rest. Will it work?”

“Yes, Reaper Cain. I think the hard skin will work very well, especially with your cybernetic arms.”

“Fuck it.” I slid the suit down over my head. This time, it went on almost too easily, like it was attempting to swallow me. As creepy feelings went, this one rated near the top.

But I was already a dangerous freak. I’d done things no sane person would attempt, always to move my friends one step closer toward safety. Had I succeeded? For a short time, sure.

“You made the right decision,” Decima said as she moved to help me adjust all the pieces of gear the hard skin was stretching around.

“Wasn’t really a decision. That would imply I had a godsdamn choice.” I paced the room, stretching my arms, then dropping into a deep squat to further check my range of motion.

Information populated my HUD, but the script was now blue—easier on the eyes somehow. Important information became more three dimensional, available at a glance. “This material is covering everything. How am I going to reload or smoke a cigar?”

“Try it, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I pulled a magazine from my vest. It came free without resistance. When I put it back, it clicked into place with slightly more finality. Decima and Bug ran me through a fresh equipment check, practically giggling each time an amazing new detail emerged.

Bug poked me in the chest.

“What the hell?” I asked.

Bug punched me in the chest. “Nice! The harder I hit you, the more invisible you become at the point of impact. Might be the best drinking game ever if we survive this.”

“Great. Now my wounds are invisible. How could that be a problem for a combat medic?” I said, then waved them back.

“Impacts with higher kinetic yields will cause the entire suit to vanish, with you in it. Very advantageous in a fight like the one we’re going into. The effect fades with time.” X-37 explained. “Are you able to breathe adequately?”

“Yeah, but my face is tingly.”

“Very good,” X-37 said. “The exterior sheeting of the hard skin should provide several times the protection to your skeletal structure as the carbon fiber sheeting around your bones. The synergy between the hard skin and the armor of your two Reaper arms is quite impressive.”

“I have that? I thought that was only on the cyborg who woke me up,” I said.

“No, Reaper Cain. They installed many foundational enhancements while you were in cryo-sleep, your nerve-ware being the most important example,” X said. “We really should do a comprehensive test of all modifications.”

“Put it on the list,” I said. “Jelly, how are we on time?”

“Six minutes,” the ship AI responded. “Elise’s armada is free of the Darkness sphere but will be unable to assist. The… unidentified objects that made up the sphere are now swarming her ships.”

“Great.” I headed for the landing bay, the most likely location for a breach. “Bug, Decima, and Path, take the loading bay but be ready to move. Naaman and I will handle the landing area, and be ready to adjust depending on how they make their assault.”

“I have no data on Obsidian boarding tactics,” X-37 said. “If they follow Union protocol, they will try not to damage the ship more than necessary.”

“If they start cutting through the hull in other places, let me know,” I said. “Naaman, what else can these hard skin suits do?”

“Yours is much more advanced,” he said. “I basically took mine from a museum. Neither will have their full functionality until we reach Sethorn. That is where they work best. For now, you can rely on the armor characteristics and the confusion tech—the temporary invisibility during a close fight.”

“Now you tell me.” I readied my D3D and watched the bay door.

“Captain?” Jelly said. “Do you wish for me to open the door. My anti-boarding protocol has not been updated since my time in the Union. Standard procedure is to allow boarders onto the ship if it seems inevitable. This reduces damage to valuable infrastructure.”

“I don’t want them to tear you up, Jelly, but you may have to take one for the team. Can you slow them down?” I asked as something struck the exterior of the ship.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Let me open the doors. When they are partially inside, I will close them forcefully, possibly taking out a few but also separating them from the rest of their team. Will that give you and Naaman a better chance of victory.”

“Do it, Jelly. That’s perfect,” I said.

Naaman extended his shotgun pistol, then twisted the over-under barrels until a different one was on top. “Ready.”

The door opened. Four Obsidians rushed in. I opened fire a heartbeat ahead of Naaman and the boarders who seemed to prefer volume of fire over marksmanship.

* * *

“I’ll take the left half,” I said.

Naaman responded by shooting at targets on the right. One fell immediately, and the other staggered sideways holding a wound while also trying to fix his damaged weapon. Naaman rushed forward and kicked the struggling Obsidian in the face while he was bent over. His victim fell backward but drew and fired a pistol into his gut, causing Naaman to stagger.

I shot both of my targets in the throat, perfect hits. They fell to their knees, dropped the weapons, and held their death wounds. Even if the rounds didn’t penetrate, I probably crushed their tracheas.

“We’re holding them here,” Bug said, out of breath.

“I am completely surrounded,” Jelly said. “Enemy ships are forcing me to reduce relative speed.”

Another squad of Obsidians entered. The first group had been taken down too easily, probably by luck. Defending was easier than assaulting, but I still thought we were doing well.

Several grenades bounced across the deck ahead of the next assault team.

“Grenades!” I shouted.

Naaman looked at me questioningly.

I didn’t have time to swear at his ignorance. Diving to knock him back from the blast, I took most of the impact on my new armor. Sight and sound jumbled together as I rolled across the floor and slammed into the wall. I thrust my feet out to stand but realized I was upside down. This graceless maneuver led to me tumbling sideways and eventually scrambling up into a fighting position.

Naaman’s whip cracked, jerking an Obsidian away from me. I fired on a group of them without aiming. At this distance, it was hard to miss but their armor was strong.

None of that mattered, however. Tempest Cain rushed to the middle of his men, sword in one hand, and axe in the other. I fired, but quickly transitioned to my Reaper blade.

“Don’t forget the shield, Reaper Cain,” X-37 advised.

I twisted my right forearm sharply. Metal sheeting expanded from my wrist to elbow. The metal plate was several times larger than my arm. Angles designed to deflect impact further protected me. The hard skin stretched over it on all sides, including the arm underneath. Maybe it was an illusion, but it felt stronger than it should be, like it was part of my entire body rather than just something I would hold up in self-defense.

Tempest’s axe came down hard, driving me halfway to my knees.

“Damn, X. What was that?”

My LAI spared me the needless description for once. He could be taught. Not every question I asked needed to be answered.

I moved laterally, counterstriking with my Reaper blade.

Tempest deflected the blow with his sword, then raked the axe horizontally across my body.

I jumped back, narrowly missing the attack. No need to test the hard skin unnecessarily.

Tempest’s armor was heavier than that of his soldiers. I lunged, striking him where his lower rib cage should be, and felt my attack turned away like I had attempted to pierce a battle tank.

My opponent spun, catching me with the butt of his sword. Stars flashed through my vision. I hit the deck, rolled, and regained my feet as quickly as possible. Two Obsidians grabbed me. One held my left arm. Naaman shot the other one, blowing him free of the conflict.

“Retreating from cargo bay to the main cabin,” Bug updated.

He probably said other things, but I wasn’t able to listen for more than a second.

The ship rocked violently. If Jelly gave me an update as to why, I hadn’t heard that either.

“Elise is attempting to put distance between her fleet and the pursuing Darkness,” Jelly said.

I heard that, probably because it was about Elise.

Tempest slashed downward with both weapons, his sword striking my shoulder while his axe battered my shield.

I retreated, then punched my shield at his visor, scoring a direct hit. He stumbled. I pressed the attack, slashing, stabbing, and hacking with my Reaper blade as fast and hard as I could. I kneed him in the balls, not caring if he had the armor to minimize the effectiveness of the tactic. When he raised both weapons, I shot my face forward, head-butting him against his heavier armor.

Didn’t feel good, but it put them back another step.

Taking a page out of Bug’s book, I executed a spinning back fist, catching him totally off guard.

“You’re on a roll, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “Try not to ruin it.”

Tempest cast aside his melee weapons and raised a mean-looking D3D of his own, a combination of Union and Oroth technology.

I jerked up my shield and pushed forward even harder, pressing the hard skin-covered Reaper alloy right up to the barrel. Bullets jackhammered my shield and armor.

“Too much, Reaper Cain. Disengage!” X-37 said.

“Jelly, I need a door!” I shouted, ignoring my LAI.

“Blowing the wall from section 38-D17. I hope this is worth it, Captain. Prepare for decompression,” Jelly said.

I saw the panel blow open, thinking it didn’t look like an explosion compared to the grenade detonations and gunfire all around me, but it wouldn’t be flashy. Jelly had executed an infrequently used fire prevention protocol.

Which was godsdamn perfect for what I was trying to do.

Tempest attempted a reload as I drove him backward.

I stomped on his lead foot, breaking bones even through the armor.

He cursed as he lifted his smashed boot.

I rammed him closer to the gap in the hull.

“Scheid is stronger than I am, Bio, stronger than you and meaner,” he grunted.

“Don’t care. Get fucked.” Shoving Tempest into the void was the most satisfying thing I’d done for a long time—right up to the point I realized I was getting sucked out with him.

Naaman’s whip cracked, wrapping around my waist too fast to see.

Not questioning my luck, I retracted my blade and shield and aimed my D3D at Tempest Cain’s flailing form. “Is this too much?” I fired a stream of bullets into the asshole, only stopping when he quit waving his arms like he was freaking out.

“The fight is here, Halek!” Naaman shouted.

He pulled me back. I pitched a smoke grenade between us and the rest of the Obsidian boarding party. “Fall back to the main cabin. Link up with Bug and the others.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“You know it,” I said, then fell in beside him as we ran.

* * *

The Jellybird was a mess. Apparently, her disagreement with the Obsidian ships had come to blows and she exchanged gunfire. Brave little ship. Her shields flickered. Fires broke out in various sections, causing her to open more panels to the void.

Bug, Path, and Decima ambushed our pursuers, giving Naaman and I a chance to gather ourselves. I wasn’t bleeding from any of the wounds I had taken, but every part of my body was bruised and I wasn’t sure the carbon fiber protecting my bones was still intact. My recent surgery screamed fiery insults into my brain. Ignoring them was practically a full-time job that I didn’t have time for.

“Shut the door!” Bug shouted, then gave them hell with his D3D.

Path jumped toward the controls, separated an Obsidian’s head from his body with his sword, and jammed the button. The door came down hard, nearly catching one of them.

“That should buy us a few seconds,” Bug said, completely out of breath.

“Jelly, can you connect me to Scheid’s flagship?” I asked.

“Right away, Captain.” A few seconds passed. “Connection established. What would you like to tell him?”

“I’d like to tell him to fuck off,” I said.

“I heard that, Halek Cain,” Scheid said in my ear.

“I want to negotiate. My surrender for the release of my friends and Elise’s fleet.” I jerked one hand up to stall Bug and the others from arguing with me. Bug was right. The Obsidians had the numbers to defeat us no matter how well we fought.

Scheid laughed. “You have overestimated your value to me. If I thought you would actually become a willing servant, maybe that would be something I would consider. But we both know you’re an unmanageable liability in almost every situation.”

“This is a one-time offer, Scheid. Think about it,” I said, knowing I had lost completely.

“It is a one-time offer,” he said. “Because you’re about to die.”

“Do you boys mind if I join this conversation,” Elise said. “Because someone has left their flank exposed. Have you even fought a fleet battle before, Scheid?”

“You know that I have, child!” Scheid sounded like he was grinding his teeth as he spat the words.

“Not a child, asshole,” she said. “Weapons, fire everything you have into the Obsidian vanguard. Give the weapons free command to the rest of the fleet as well. I’m feeling feisty.”

Scheid laughed darkly. “You are problematic, General Elise. But this changes nothing. My boarding parties will soon have the last Reaper and his friends. My fleet will break yours.”

“You think?” Elise asked. “Because the JFT and Oroth regulars aren’t exactly rushing to your aid. If you asked me, I’d say they are thinking about going back through the slip tunnel. They don’t seem to like the idea of facing my fleet and the Darkness. But don’t mind me, I’m just a kid.”

“I believe that was a signal, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.

I rushed to the door Bug had closed, slammed the button to open it, and charged forward with my D3D up and ready. Only one of the Obsidians on the other side faced me. The others were preoccupied with a full squad of the most badass Archangels I’d ever seen. I depressed the trigger and felt the satisfying recoil of the weapon as I rushed into battle.

“I predict that Elise will never stop gloating about how she saved you this time,” X-37 said.

“She didn’t save me! I’m here to save her!” I transitioned to my blade and shield and engaged the ever-shrinking squad of Obsidian enemies. Bug followed me on my left, and Path was on my right. Naaman and Decima were in there somewhere as well, but I couldn’t track everybody. The chaos was incredible. I hoped we could repair the Jellybird afterward.

A video appeared in my HUD the moment the fight was over. Obsidians were still retreating into their assault ship as I looked at it.

“I pre-recorded this, Reaper. Little busy right now. Your pigheaded determination was what finally convinced me. We need to talk if you survive this.” Elise’s image disappeared.

Tom rushed into the landing bay wearing full EVA gear. “Good job,” he said. “Now put down those weapons and pick up welding torches. You’re all mechanics now, unless you want to join the bodies floating through space.”

“Who put you in charge, Tom?” Bug said with genuine humor in his voice.

I did what I could, but didn’t join in the post combat banter. All I could think about was Elise’s message. She was alive, and that was enough for me right now.

* * *

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 will return in LIGHT OF THE REAPER, available now on Amazon.

IMPORTANT TERMS AND CHARACTERS

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)

- 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

- OFAT—Ocean Floor Access Tower

- 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)

- YOHP—Yansden Ocean Harvesting Platform

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

* * *

Characters in Bastion of the Reaper

Acrondis

Emperor of the Alon.

Briggs

Former Union special operations commander, now a genetically modified monster called a Slayer. His human and Sansein DNA are constantly struggling for dominance, causing radical changes to his physique and mental abilities.

Cain

Halek Cain, the last Reaper.

Cain, Hannah

Hanna Cain, Halek Cain’s sister.

Cain, Olivia Anna

Olivia Anna Cain, Halek Cain’s mother.

Coranth

Sansein warrior.

Eggleton

Sergeant Davy Eggleton, a sniper observer for one of CSL Locke’s special teams. JWO Hamm’s partner.

Elise

Elise Hastings, protege of the last Reaper.

Envoy

Sansein leader and liaison to humanity.

Hamm

Junior Warrant Officer (JWO) Roger Hamm, a sniper for one of CSL Locke’s special teams.

Hutton

Admiral of the Wallach-Xad exodus fleet.

Henshaw

James Henshaw, ocular engineer and owner of the Lady Faith. An accomplished gambler who sometimes cheated with a simple LAI but who lost his LAI during Hunt of the Reaper while attempting to acquire the Black Phoenix device.

Isaac Meldon

Isaac Meldon of Yansden, leader of Yansden. Similar to a president in authority but with virtually no influence on their primary military force, the Kalon Regulars.

Jelly

AI of the Jellybird.

Jess

Alon First Sergeant Kiliana Jess

Novasdaughter

Captain Amii Novasdaughter, acting vice admiral of the Wallach-Xad defensive fleet and captain of the Nightmare.

Locke

Chief Squad Leader (CSL) of Wallach.

Loren

Commander Loren Jacem, leader of the Kalon Regulars—the most professional fighting force on Yansden.

Marcus

Captain Marcus Kellerman, Yasden

Oberland

Admiral Braxton Oberland of the 1344th Alon Grand Fleet.

Path

Grigori Path, a sword saint and weapons master who joined Cain’s crew after Roxo II

Pennington

Carl Pennington, supervisor of YOHP lower level

Rejon of Xad

Leader of the people of Xad.

Sarah

Junior supervisor in the YOHP lower level

Tatiana

Granddaughter of Melina, leader of the largest compound in Yansden City.

Tobias

Commander Peter Tobias of the 1237th Alon Grand Fleet.

Tom

Self-taught engineer and friend of the last Reaper.

* * *

Ships

RWS = Republic of Wallach Ship

AES Ever Victorious

Alon Empire Ship Ever Victorious. Flagship of all Alon fleets.

Bright Lance of Xad

- Flagship of the Xad fleet

- Captured from the Union in Flight of the Reaper, TLR 5

- Captain: Cynthia Thomas Younger

- Executive Officer: Commander Bernard Gile

- AI: Mavis

RWS Coronas 1

- Personal ship of President Amanda Coronas. Up-armored. State of the art escape pod.

Hunter of Xad

- With Jellybird scouting new system after Macabre

- Captain: Omon

Jellybird

- Halek Cain’s ship

- AI: Jelly

Lady Faith

- James Henshaw’s ship

- AI: Lady

RWS Battle Axe

- With Jellybird scouting new system after Macabre

- Captain: Don Hunger

RWS Jumping Fox

- Captain: Jaime Peterson

RWS Nightmare

- Captain: Amii Novasdaughter (acting Vice Admiral)

- AI: Necron

RWS Spirit of Wallach

- Flagship of the Republic of Wallach fleet

- Captain: Quincy Drysdale

- Ship the President of Wallach, Amanda Coronas, travels on. (She does not command the ship.)

- Ship that carries General Karn’s main army

Striker of Xad

- Captain Yolanda Dempsy

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RENEGADE STAR UNIVERSE

CLICK THE TITLES BELOW TO FIND THEM ONLINE

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.

The Renegade Series

Jace Hughes is a Renegade.

That means taking jobs and not asking questions, whether that involves smuggling, transporting runnaways, or performing other, far less wholesome work. Whatever the situation, Jace is willing to do what it takes to achieve his dream and live the life he’s always wanted.

That is, until he comes face to face with an item of unprecedented value—something that could give him everything he needs to pay off his debt and be free.

The only problem is that selling it would also shift the balance of power between the two largest empires in the galaxy.

And spark another intergalactic war.

Unfortunately for Jace, he won’t have long to decide. Renegades, assassins, and government cronies are after the item, too, and unlike Jace, they won’t hesitate to kill.

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 jnchaney.com.

He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

* * *

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 scottmoonwriter.com