by J. N. Chaney
"Are you scared?" Elise asked with a mischievous smile.
"Terrified," I said. "X, can you open this?"
"I cannot, Reaper Cain. You must use your override protocols. I will help guide you and hopefully prevent you from the Nightmare’s counter-theft mechanisms."
"Great," I said. Feigning confidence, I placed my cybernetic left palm against the frame of the blast door. The micro cables snaked out of my hand, working their way into cracks almost too small to see between the pieces of the doorframe.
"Steady as you go," X-37 said. "I am analyzing your past effort and the circuitry that we are now weaving our way through."
"Do you remember when I told you how sensitive these wires are?" I asked Elise.
She nodded. "I hope you don't get shocked again. That looked like it really hurt."
I squirmed as I guided the wires through several complex twists and turns of the locking mechanism. "That's not helpful."
"Is there anything I could do that would be helpful?" she asked, probably knowing what my response would be.
"You could be quiet for five seconds," I said.
"Okay, okay—I’ll try." Elise paced the hallway. It almost seemed like she was worried about me.
"Good news, Reaper Cain," X-37 announced.
I wrestled with the security measures of the Nightmare that were still active and was unable to see the details I needed. X-37 and I had been through a lot together. I trusted him. I really did, even when I was about to get shocked to hell and back.
"If you will hold still," X-37 advised, "I can deactivate the door locks."
I went as motionless as a sniper until X-37 told me it was safe. When I stepped back, the wires rolled into my cybernetic hand. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Elise giggled. "Were you worried?"
"Maybe just a little," I answered, realizing that I was sweating from the intense concentration and anticipation of another round of shock therapy.
We entered the armory, and I reaffirmed my belief that we didn't have time for this. There were rows of Archangel armor, most of it gleamed with a golden sheen. It didn't look stealthy. The appearance of these units was a hint of how Vice Admiral Nebs viewed his private army.
"X, let's make sure we get control of this area, and then we seriously need to head for the BF and do what we came to this fucked up system for."
"Agreed, Reaper Cain. I am reprogramming all security systems for this area as we speak," X-37 said. "Which will be part of my plan to partition the Archangels from your eventual showdown with Nebs."
"Sounds badass, X. You’re the man," I said, not really giving a shit right now. "Less talk and more action. We’ve got innocent lives to save."
"And new gear." Elise clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes as she looked over all the high-tech gear. "I can't wait to try the stuff out. Let’s stick it to these Union assholes."
"I'm glad you like it. Your enthusiasm is infectious," I said. "Now let's go save some Dreadmax refugees."
"If you touch the suits, you die," Necron boomed from the intercom.
"What the fuck?" Elise snarled, twisting in surprise.
I flinched, then drew my HDK Dominator around to the front of my armor.
Elise and I turned back to the shimmering gear—ready for a fight, even though we realized who we were dealing with now—and hoped the AI couldn’t make the suits dance like metal and ceramic death zombies.
"Are you talking to me, Necron?" I demanded. "Because we already kicked your ass once. How long will it be before we find the rest of your weak spots and shut them down?"
Necron didn’t respond.
"What’s the matter, Necron?" Elise said, sauntering forward, her uniquely confrontational attitude on full display. "Reaper got your tongue?"
"You are in violation of ship law," Necron said. "I will expel you and the rest of the non-Union personnel from the ship."
"Why, so you can go back to being pushed around by Nebs?" Elise countered.
"If you are attempting to anger me further, I must remind you I was not programmed with the capacity for emotion," Necron said. "You will immediately conform to ship law or you will be quarantined from all ship facilities and resources including access to food, water, and air."
I crossed my arms and stared into the camera next to the speaker box Necron was using to threaten us.
"You have been warned," Necron said.
"If you could kill us that way, you would’ve done it days ago," I said.
X-37 spoke a private warning in my ear. "Necron has attempted to carry out this threat several times. I have barely been able to stop him. Please proceed with caution."
"Why don’t we declare a truce?" I asked the Nightmare’s AI.
"You want to leave the ship to attend to the refueling of the Bold Freedom, an outlaw vessel wanted by the Union for immediate destruction," Necron said. "When you leave, I will regain control of the Nightmare."
"He has a point," X-37 said. "I should also note that abandoning control of the ship to Necron will interfere with efforts I am making to stack the odds in your favor for your inevitable showdown with Nebs and his golden goons."
"Golden goons, I like that," I said.
"That designation does not fit with Union unit designations," Necron complained.
"Give us some privacy, X," I said.
"Necron has been blocked and will not be able to listen for several minutes," X-37 informed.
"Get ahold of Henshaw and see if he can do something about this pain in the ass AI," I ordered.
Several seconds passed. "I have contacted the Lady Faith," X-37 said. "She is en route. Once she lands, she will be able to work with Henshaw to engage Necron and other nasty surprises waiting throughout the ship."
"We might as well unpack the Archangel armor while we’re waiting," I decided.
"I agree," Elise said. "Let’s get some new gear!"
"I was being sarcastic, kid," I grumbled. I should’ve known better than to give the girl an inch.
"This is premature," X-37 said. "I advise you to wait patiently and stick to my plan—which I admit hasn’t been fully formed or even partially revealed to you."
"You want us—of all the people on this ship—to wait patiently," I said, waving one hand toward Elise. We exchanged a look of concern over my LAI’s disjointed strategy. I gave her a little shake of my head, indicating I was on top of the problem and would deal with my LAI as soon as I could.
"It is a bit of a stretch, I admit. If you disregard my advice, there will be severe consequences," X-37 said.
"How long before the Bold Freedom is destroyed?" I asked.
"Ten to sixteen hours, plus or minus five," X-37 said. "Captain Slipdriver and his crew are continuously working to increase the time they can stay ahead of the comet, but their engines are losing efficiency. If they attempt to move out of its course prematurely, they will be caught in its wake."
"Great," I said. "I guess I’ll just stand here smoking a cigar. You want one, kid?"
Elise made a face. "Gross. That is a disgusting habit."
"You’re not wrong," I said as I fired up a Gronic Fats with my last heat tab.
8
Neither of us stood around as I smoked my cigar. Images of Dreadmax coming apart filled my imagination. I vividly remembered Bug eating cheese crackers and encouraging me to stay ahead of Marley Callus and the other Union assholes as the prison station came apart.
"You do realize that getting Slipdriver and his people to safety is only the start of your problems?" X-37 asked. "I should also remind you to include an ignition source for your cigars in your kit."
"Not super helpful, X," I said, heading for the door. "Except for the part about bringing a lighter. That’s solid advice."
Elise waved away the smoke from my stubby Gronic as we marched through the door, one rogue assassin and one escaped experiment from the Union. We headed for the shuttle bay as though we had ten minutes left to save the Bold Freedom rather than ten hours. For all I kne
w, it could be seconds. That was the way Reaper luck worked lately.
When we arrived, I saw Locke had a new volunteer. A Wallach woman stepped forward and presented her hand. "Name’s Carrie Decker. Specialist, 4th level."
"Specialist of what?" I asked.
Elise interjected. "Rude."
"We don’t have time for pleasantries," I insisted, keeping my eyes on the newest member of my team.
She was middle-aged and fit. Her short-cropped hair was mostly blonde—okay, there was gray in it, a lot of gray—but I had no doubt she could do whatever a level four specialist did in the Wallach military.
Some steel color shot through her light blue eyes. I sensed a generally happy person who enjoyed hard work, protected those she cared about, and spoke her mind regardless of the consequences. By those standards, we should be natural allies, but I wasn’t sure which way our first encounter was going.
She studied me intensely. I doubted that she knew what a Reaper was, and whatever her assumptions of my character were, they were based on different information than anyone familiar with the Union.
"It’s fine," Carrie said without submitting to my abruptness. "If the CSL trusts you, I trust you. But the chick is right. Your manners need work."
I raised an eyebrow, wondering if this woman understood what kind of a mess she was getting into with a comment like that. It was a good time to remember the Wallach language wasn’t a flawless analog of my own dialect. "Perfect. What do you do? It might be important."
"Specialist is a rank in the Wallach military. In my case, it means that I can get into small places to do dangerous jobs," she said. "I’ve had advanced combat training, but it isn’t my normal assignment."
"Welcome to the team," I said. "Horvath, good to see you."
The stocky man nodded.
He looked better than the last time I had seen him, but still not perfectly composed. The man was grimly resigned to the loss of his friend. It was obvious he was serious about preventing anyone else from meeting a similar fate as his friend Gunner.
"Locke, this shuttle is already ten minutes late. What are we waiting for?" I demanded.
"We are ready when you are," Locke replied, his manner professional.
"Thanks," I said, then exhaled my cigar smoke away from him and the others. "Carrie’s a specialist, 4th level, and you’re General Karn’s CSL. Are we using ranks now? Do you miss being called by your rank?"
"I'll get plenty of that when I'm back with the rest of my people from Wallach," Locke said.
Specialist 4th level Carrie Decker approached Elise and shook her hand firmly. "Good to meet you. Elise, right?"
"Yeah, that’s me." Elise kept one hand back from the grip. It was one of the paranoid mannerisms that I suspected had helped her escape from many people in the past.
Carrie didn’t release her grip. "Why so skittish?"
"I’m a kid," Elise answered, twisting her hand free with one of Path’s more basic grip-defense techniques.
"You’re not a kid," Carrie said, appearing to be impressed by the subtle sparring match Elise had just won.
I interrupted. "We need to get Henshaw on board and set up before we can leave the Nightmare."
"That'll put us significantly behind schedule," Locke said. He updated his mission log on a handheld device that he then stuck back into his gear. It wasn't as slick as anything I recognized from the Union, but the technology seemed reliable.
Elise softened toward our new teammate, although she didn’t get too close. "You haven’t experienced enough Union bullshit to really appreciate what a bunch of ass-faces they are. After they’ve screwed you over a few times and killed people you care about, you’ll know why I don’t trust anyone."
"I believe you, Elise," Carrie assured the girl. "I probably remind you of them. All business."
"Sure, whatever. I trust Horvath," Elise said, pointing at him. "And for the record, it’s not really cool to call me a chick."
"Stop antagonizing our new friends. Let’s use the next few minutes wisely. What am I missing?" I asked.
"You don’t have a lighter or a heat tab," Elise said, not missing a beat.
"Balls," I muttered.
"Piss poor planning leads to…" Elise started.
"I get it, kid," I said, not even hoping anyone else had a lighter or a creative way to fire up a cigar. None of them looked like smokers. Open flame could be a safety hazard in spaceships. It was an act of purest optimism to hope one of my people would toss me one.
"We might as well load up and get ready," Elise suggested. "When Henshaw arrives, you can deal with him. Maybe he has a lighter and whatever else you forgot, Reaper."
"I didn’t forget anything else," I insisted. "X, help me out."
"You failed to make me aware of what you intended to carry on this mission. Therefore, I can’t tell you what is or isn’t missing from your kit."
"I’m dying here," I groaned. "You people are killing me. I’m dead."
"I’m not sure my grasp of their language is as good as I assumed," Carrie said to Locke. "Is that sarcasm or part of a ritual phrase?"
"Just ignore the nonsense," he advised. "And most of the profanity."
"When you say it that way, it sounds ugly." I moved to the landing area to await the arrival of the Lady Bird. I knew the yacht would fit. It had been parked here for a time after Nebs captured it.
The ocular engineer and former Union scientist wasn't my favorite person. However, he was a brilliant scientist, difficult, and the only person who could keep Necron in check.
"Are you sure you trust Henshaw?" X-37 addressed me privately.
"There isn’t a choice," I said. "We've been back-and-forth on this point, but I think he's on our side now. If nothing else, Nebs is pissed off enough at him that he’s safer with us."
"That wasn't my exact analysis, but it is similar," X-37 said.
"Have you heard from Jelly?" I asked.
"I have, Reaper Cain," X-37 said. "She advises me that she will maintain her stealth cloak until we are ready to land our shuttle from the Nightmare in cargo bay four. It’s the only space left after converting other available space for hauling fuel. She also says it will be good to have you on the ship and she looks forward to offloading her cargo and saving your friends from prison."
"She has jokes now?" I asked. "My friends from prison? Really? Maybe she means the innocent political prisoners we liberated from the Union?"
"Whatever you say, Reaper Cain," X-37 responded. "There were no humor algorithms activated during Jelly’s communication. My analysis suggests she was only providing you information and reassurance."
"In that case, I love it when a plan comes together," I said.
"It would be inaccurate to say that we have even started to execute the plan," X-37 said. "It may reassure you, however, that this mission is less likely to fail than seventy-three percent of the schemes you’ve hatched since leaving the Bluesphere Maximum Security Prison."
"I'm so glad you're back, X. What would I do without some voice in my head constantly busting my balls," I mock complained.
Time dragged, grating on my nerves. The enormous distances we had to deal with in space made everything take forever until we got close—then it would all go sideways.
I longed to light up another cigar but didn’t think borrowing a cutting torch from one of the landing bay emergency lockers would put my team at ease.
It was a pretty freaking good idea, though. Nothing wrong with filing it for later.
The Lady Faith drifted perfectly into the landing bay and set down. The wait for Henshaw to exit was another fingernail-biting thirty seconds, not that I had ever chewed my nails. That was for losers who thought they were going to be able to quit smoking.
I’m not a quitter.
Henshaw eventually sauntered down the ramp, oblivious of our impatience. He was a scientist, not a special operations soldier on a mission. What was the man trying to prove?
"This guy," I muttere
d.
He didn’t notice, and if he did, he ignored my impatience.
I couldn’t expect him to understand the urgency of our rapidly dwindling time window.
He stopped at the bottom of the ramp, brushing his gray hair back with a stylish flip. I didn't think he was trying to remind me that he had two cybernetic eyes—but maybe he was. A casual observer who wasn't looking closely might not see them until Henshaw came closer, but I noticed the differences immediately.
The coloring of his eyes was more uniform than a regular eye, as though the differences between the pupils and the sclera had been an afterthought. From time to time, a thin line of light circumvented his pupils in opposite directions.
I'd seen him dress in all manner of civilian clothing, including his most common style, which Elise called casual chic.
Today, he wore a perfectly tailored jumpsuit that somehow didn't look like a jumpsuit. The fabric was better quality than anything I’d ever seen on a military vessel. The lines complemented his not terribly athletic physique. He was lean because he forgot to eat, not because he exercised or managed his nutritional intake.
"Did X brief the Lady Faith on what we need?" I asked.
"We've been discussing the issue," Henshaw said. "I've actually been working on this exact problem for quite some time. As soon as I was certain we were going to come into conflict with Nebs, I began to work up countermeasures to deal with his artificial intelligence. The other two ships, interestingly, will have stronger AIs than his own flagship. The man doesn't trust anyone or anything and has an ego that even you can't match."
I put both hands to my chest in mock surprise. "Me? An ego? You wound me."
He shrugged without laughing. "Forgive me for my imprecision. You don't so much display an attitude as you display a really bad attitude. There's a difference."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said. "How long do you need me to remain on the Nightmare for you to get started working against Necron?"
"I need very little from you, Reaper," Henshaw said, reverting to what Elise called me. More and more often, I was just called Reaper—except for X-37 and other AI types. Even Tom slipped from time to time.
