The Last Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure

by J. N. Chaney

  The hatch led to a system of rooms rather than a passage like I had hoped.

  "I don't have time to predict whether or not you will find resistance in these rooms," X 37 said.

  "And I don't have time to clear them. This is what we call panicked flight. It's surprisingly liberating." I ran through several rooms, only stopping when I realized I was passing a break room.

  "Is that refrigerator running?"

  "It is, but I don't recommend—"

  Yanking it open, I saw several sealed plastic tubs. The contents were one uniform color. "I don't see an expiration date."

  "If you are actually in a break room or kitchen, and the refrigeration has been on continuously, you can probably survive eating whatever is in that container. If this is part of a medical laboratory, on the other hand, I strongly advise not taking the risk," X-37 said.

  I glanced around the room and decided it was a break room or lounge, despite looking a lot like a generic room with no ovens, microwaves, or dishwashers. It had sinks and metal tables, and there were several coffee cups that had been cast aside long ago.

  "It's a kitchen."

  "Confirmation unavailable."

  "It's definitely a kitchen." I popped open one of the plastic tubs and poured the contents into my mouth. There wasn't a lot of texture or flavor, so I didn't bother chewing.

  "How was it? My sensors indicate your stomach is convulsing."

  "Tastes like chicken, or chicken Jell-O maybe." I opened the second container and downed it. “Ah, that was nasty. Let's go."

  "You're not going to take the last one with you for later?"

  "Ha, ha, very funny."

  One room led to another and I eventually found another hatch taking me back to the top deck. Which was good, because I didn't want to go below on my own. There had to be a reason most of the people on Dreadmax existed on the top deck when its environment was the most likely part of the station to fail.

  I opened the door a crack and peeked through. Even without my advanced optics, I could see there was trouble. In one direction, RSGs were fighting with NGs. In another, there was a large group of the latter screaming and yelling as they searched everything they could rip open to look inside of.

  The access trenches in this area were both narrow and deep. This kept the RSG vehicles and their gun crews away but didn’t help me escape. I could hear them patrolling the perimeter, wasting bullets and smashing into things. Two of the vehicles boomed music so loud, it distorted. One crew enjoyed booming bass and nearly wordless rhymes, while the other broadcast distorted synth guitars and screamed a lot.

  "What are my chances of fighting through this?"

  X-37 made several humming and clicking noises. "That's a stupid question. I refuse to answer it on principle."

  “Here goes nothing.” I headed into the rusty wasteland of the Dreadmax top deck, crawling behind clusters of pipes, stripped construction vehicles, and the shells of point-defense turrets.

  The Dreadmax gangs strutted through the area looking for a fight, while the vehicles slow-rolled wider streets on the perimeter.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the hard-working shipwrights and their families. What did they think of the chaos all around them, or did they even notice the gangs were hunting for someone? Sound didn’t travel the same as it did on a planet and the fast and frequent transition from day to night was disorienting.

  Moving with all my Reaper skill, I left their little civilization farther and farther behind. The futility of their efforts wasn’t my problem.

  There was obviously fuel for small vehicles and firebombs, but I couldn't imagine they'd be able to make any of the larger starships work. There was no way to test them, and the moment they tried to leave the system, they’d be shot to shit.

  It warmed my heart that the Union didn't realize the extent of the operation, even if it was futile. Not everyone on this hellish place had given up.

  “How far to the pickup point?”

  X-37 took his time answering. “You are six point three kilometers from your destination. Farther than when you started.”

  “Story of my life. I’m going to have to run. There isn’t time for stealth.”

  “That’s my assessment. There are inherent dangers to that course of action. I’ll give you a thirty-two percent chance of success.”

  “Tell me what I need to do to boost those odds.”

  “I’ve plotted a course to likely locations where you can communicate with Bug. With my access to the original schematics and his real-time intelligence, I give you a nearly seventy-five percent chance to arrive at the pickup location in time for extraction. Is there anything else you would like? Something to complicate the situation and make my life difficult?”

  “It’s not just about you, X.”

  “Of course not. I don’t actually care. It’s beyond my capacity.”

  Panting as I ran across a walkway, I talked to my nerve-ware AI and looked for the next attack. Reapers learned to multitask or die. “What’s the chance they get one of the starships working?”

  “Insufficient data.”

  “Bullshit. Give me your best guess.”

  “I’m not built to guess.”

  “You guess all the time.”

  “If I were capable of taking offense, I’d be deeply insulted at that false assertion. You are approaching a talk box. As for your question, I have not seen anything that indicates they will be successful. Only the Union can save them.”

  “Please never say that again, X.”

  “Of course. How impolite of me.”

  A quick scan of the doorway next to the speaker box revealed only shadows, the smell of rust, and the stink of urine. “This place is all class. Cain for Bug, how copy?”

  The kid was laughing when he answered. “Sorry, that just seemed funny. You’re so serious. Your name’s Cain? I guess that’s cool. Probably better than Bug.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Water’s safer that way. Don’t want to get sick.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen. What’s it to you?”

  He was probably twelve, if that, but I supposed it didn't matter on Dreadmax. Not when the place was going to lose power, atmosphere, and gravity soon.

  “You’d probably get drunk too, if you knew Climbdown Day was coming.”

  I ducked into a doorway and watched my back trail to be sure I wasn’t being followed. The chances were slim, but that was how I’d stayed alive this long—by managing my paranoia.

  “What’s Climbdown Day?”

  “That’s when the sky falls and we all have to go down to the farms or die. It’ll be bad. Slab and his gangsters think they have enough guns, but even if they win, the place will be stinking with dead bodies when the battle is over. Nasty. Not really sure I want to be part of that.”

  “It seems the inhabitants of Dreadmax are aware of their impending doom,” X-37 said.

  It made sense. Half the people were partying like there was no tomorrow and the other half were looking for ways to survive.

  “Hey, Mister Cain, you’re moving into the Nightfall Gangsters’ neighborhood,” Bug said.

  Of course I was. "Thanks for the reminder. I was getting complacent."

  "No you weren't, Cain. I can tell because you're not dead."

  "Bug seems to have better situational awareness than you do right now,” X-37 said.

  "No comment." Movement caught my eye on one of the building tops. For whatever reason, neither the RSG nor the NG liked going on roofs. Probably afraid they'd get sucked into the void if they got too high. Or fall to their death, which I totally understood. Heights were never my favorite thing.

  "Are you seeing what I'm seeing, X?"

  "That appears to be a Union spec ops team, but I don't recognize any of their infrared markers and they weren’t mentioned in the briefing," X-37 said.

  "I was afraid you'd say that."

  "There's a problem with the course I plotted," X-37
admitted while I was still watching the spec ops team.

  "Give me the bad news. We don't have time to sugarcoat it. I mean, stop coddling me.”

  “Sarcasm detected. There is only one way to cross without exposing yourself—a trench identified as Tango 35, a narrow metal footbridge originally made for small drones to cross on rails."

  "So exactly the same as the last five I've crossed."

  "No. This one has collapsed. Only a cable remains. There's a note in the schematics. Apparently, it was scheduled for repair when the last survey was done."

  I dropped away from my observation post and followed the course my Reaper nerve-ware AI had chosen. There was probably a reason there were no gang members or other threats in my immediate vicinity. The way was nearly impassable. If I'd had the doctor with me, we would have had to take an alternate route.

  "This isn't a maintenance trench," I said when I reached the edge. The cable was so long that it drooped almost a full meter in the middle.

  "I never said it was. This is an exhaust vent for the engines, rarely used, even when it was fully operational because the fuel requirements for moving something this big were far beyond their technology at the time it was built. On the bright side, if you're able to crawl to the other side, you will have avoided ninety-nine percent of your pursuers. Very few will be willing to risk this crossing."

  "That sounds fantastic," I said sarcastically. "Can you tell if Grady was able to get the doctor and his daughter on the train. Will this put me closer to them?"

  “Without accessing the security network, I can only postulate on the sensory information you provide and my knowledge of their intentions.”

  “Cut to the chase, X.”

  “This will place you much closer to their estimated position.”

  "Then let's get to it." I moved boldly to the edge and gripped the cable with both hands. Next, I weaved my ankles around the cable and started pushing and pulling my way across. Blood rushed to my head. Lactic acid built up from my fingertips to my armpits. I wasn’t even halfway when my legs started to shake. My augmented arm was strong but limited by what the rest of me could endure.

  Watching where I was going or where I came from was nearly impossible, but I snatched a glance here and there, fully expecting to see a firing line of RSG soldiers betting how long it would take to shoot me off the cable. Below me, darkness and damnation.

  Something, possibly the rotational force of the ring that was the main section of Dreadmax, caused the cable to sway side to side. I traveled ten or fifteen meters one direction then swung back the other way, all the while holding on for dear life.

  "Talk to me, X. I need something to distract me." Going faster would be a bad idea and I knew it. I was too far from the other side to make it on sheer determination.

  "Pace yourself," X-37 said. "Dreadmax originally served as a mobile dry-dock and foundry for three carriers that each had their own wing of smaller vessels. In addition to this, there were several squadrons of frigates, corvettes, and fighter wings."

  "Must have cost… a shit ton… of credits.”

  "Fortunes were made long before the construction of this battle station was completed."

  I looked down, unable to see any variance to the blackness. As far as I could tell, this trench went all the way to the core of the station, bypassing hundreds of levels. Just when I’d given up on seeing where I’d fall if I slipped, a bead of light went up the side of the abyss and disappeared into a wall.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Speed lift. There is a notation that teenagers sometimes died riding in them. Something called a dare? The schematics show they deliver small items to and from the spine that supports the rings. Is that the sort of detail you're interested in?”

  "I prefer information that will keep me alive, like maybe how much farther I have to go to reach the other side of this pit.”

  X-37 hesitated. "I'm not sure that information would be helpful.”

  Pain cut through my right hand and the muscles of my forearms. I hugged the cable to my body to give my grip a rest. This felt pretty good for about five seconds, and then became more work than it was worth. When I re-grabbed the cable, I missed with one hand and nearly fell.

  The pressure shifted to my legs was unbelievable. One more screw-up like that and I was done.

  I heard gang members shouting from the edge of the trench.

  "It appears you have been spotted," X-37 said.

  "How much farther?"

  "Twenty-five meters, at an incline."

  Cursing and grunting through the pain, I looked at nothing but the cable. It was rough and covered with rust, and it was the only thing I needed to stay alive for one more second, then the next, and all the way to the other side.

  When I finally reached my destination, I didn’t have the strength to pull myself onto the ledge. I could barely breathe and my vision was full of spots. X-37 seemed to be yelling at me, but I didn't care. Sounds were far away, unimportant, irrelevant to my throbbing hands and labored breathing. But it wasn’t just my hands. I had muscle cramps in every muscle from my feet to my neck.

  With slow, deliberate movements, I flung one hand up to the railing and seized it. Hanging there for what felt like an eternity, I thought about Doctor Hastings and his daughter, wondering what would happen to them if I fell to my death.

  And then I was up on the landing, finally piecing together the reasons X-37 was shouting at me. The RSG thugs were shooting at me. Bullets punched through the thinner parts of the metal structure and ricocheted off others.

  "Why exactly am I sitting here?"

  "That is a question I've been asking you for some time now; twenty-seven seconds to be precise."

  I rolled to my feet and ran in a crouch that was pure torture. My quads and lower back were on fire and I wished one of the bullets would hit me and make it stop.

  “Reapers never quit,” X-37 said.

  “Not helpful. Save the pep talks for someone who gives a fuck.”

  TIME PASSED SLOWLY as I removed my gloves and cleaned the broken blisters on my hand with alcohol wipes from my first aid kit. “Damn, I’m a mess.”

  “You’ll thank me later for prompting you to take care of that.”

  “Sure, X. Thanks. I think I should go back and cut the cable," I said, packing away my first aid kit. It was nearly empty and looking ragged.

  "My analysis suggests this is a waste of time and will likely get you killed."

  That was the best thing about X-37, complete honesty when the chips were down.

  "If you can increase your pace, you will be able to reach the railhead, where I believe Grady, the doctor, and the girl will have disembarked. From the visual and auditory input you have provided, combined with inferences to their last recorded direction of travel, I pieced together evidence they most likely found a working train car and hitched a ride on it."

  "Fantastic. I'm so glad they had an easy time of it." X-37 saw what I saw, basically, but always did more with it.

  "Sarcasm detected."

  When I spotted the train, I forgot about my own misery and all the times I'd thought of giving up. Grady had located a personnel transport, a tube-like train car that moved faster than the industrial flatbeds I'd seen up to this point. I checked my back trail one last time, then jogged toward what I hoped would be a happy reunion.

  "You see there, X, that's how it's done,” I said. “You tell me where to go, and I go. It’s like we’re a team or something. Kicking ass and taking names.”

  My mood improved the farther I moved from the cable crossing.

  "I will archive a transcript of this mission for future study. I'm sure that many young and impressionable recruits will be fascinated. Especially the part where you ate the dark gray gelatin out of the medical locker."

  "That was a kitchen, and the gray Jell-O was delicious."

  "It's been said that acceptance is the first step to recovery. However, it's probably best not to know what i
s working its way through your digestive system at this point."

  I was still hungry, but I didn't need to tell my Reaper AI that.

  12

  LONG BEFORE I became part of the Reaper Corps, I was taught to move cautiously, even when I was in a hurry. Patience and aggression could be first cousins, two sides of the same coin when needed. Sneak in, flip the switch, and kill everyone who resisted. It was a staple of the Reaper Corps during the last war with the Sarkonians. They made us shock troops for that engagement.

  "I'm not sure why Grady hasn't tried to contact me. I understand that he doesn't have his ship, but we should be within line of sight communications by now."

  "He could be sheltering in place, trying to establish contact with Commander Briggs. Most of the threats we've encountered are on the other side of the primary trench. I expect he followed his training regardless of how safe things looked," X-37 said.

  "Maybe," I said as I crept forward. "I'd like to know where the mystery spec ops team is right now. Tell me what you found on them.”

  "I performed a check of the briefing minutes and found no mention of an unnamed scheme. Perhaps these were men left behind."

  "I don't think so, X. Even from a distance, they seemed like a well-equipped unit with a sense of purpose." I crept along my back trail, hoping to catch these new players red-handed.

  A voice spoke from a walkway I had thought was clear when I moved beneath it.

  "You talk too much, Cain. Lazy habit. Of course, you’re old school. Just another broken-down has been. Someone who hasn't learned to direct HUD menus with hand and eye movements."

  I slid behind the pipe and looked up, seeing a large-framed soldier squatting down almost casually. Without my infrared eye, I wouldn't be able to see much, because he was in the shadows with the building behind him. Only an amateur would allow himself to be silhouetted against the stars.

  "Where's your team?" I asked.

  "Wouldn't you like to know." He jumped and landing right where I would've been standing if I hadn't flung myself out of the way.

  His armored boots slammed onto the deck a split second before he dropped his elbow on my shoulder.