Blade of the Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (The Last Reaper Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  I waited expectantly, keeping my expression neutral.

  "You should try to find the facility where the mask was made. You'll never be able to be rid of the ghost images until then."

  “You never told him the device was a mask,” X-37 pointed out.

  No shit, I thought.

  "Will the images affect my performance, or be dangerous?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Probably not. But we don't really know, do we? In a worst-case scenario, the next time you connect with this device that caused the images, everything locks up and turns you into a vegetable."

  "You just want me to bring you the device so you can poke around in it," I accused.

  He held up his hands defensively. "Not at all. But don't come running to me when your mind has turned to mush. I would like to see the device, that's true. But it won't give me the answers I need to help you. To do that, you need to go to the place it was made.”

  "And where would this place be?" I asked.

  "I wish I knew,” he said. "But alas, freedom is only a dream. We should discuss payment."

  "What do you mean freedom is only a dream? Aren't you happy with your palace?" I asked. His odd statement felt like a secret signal.

  He waved his hand dismissively. "None of my success will matter if I die. I am a scientist and an engineer at heart. Perhaps I am longing for something more fulfilling than wealth."

  "Don't bullshit me," I said.

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Cain.”

  "What do you want? The contract said 15,000 credits," I said.

  "You have 15,000 credits?" he asked.

  "I can get it," I said, studying his reaction.

  He smiled, a new light of respect in his eyes. "You came here without the money knowing the transaction wasn't about the money."

  "I had my suspicions," I said. "But I was also ready to motivate you with violence if necessary."

  "Of course. You are the last Reaper after all," he said.

  Crossing my arms, I made certain my Reaper hardware showed at the cuff of my jacket.

  "Well then, let's get down to business. I've been attempting to leave Roxo III for years. The local authorities, various crime organizations, and my half-assed real estate agent have been keeping me here,” he explained.

  "Why is that?" I asked.

  "Various reasons. Some very important people here have cybernetic augmentations and want to keep me on standby. The government believes I owe them taxes. But gambling is my real problem," he said. "Can I be this open with you? I'm assuming you accepted the confidentiality clause in the contract."

  Who was I going to tell his secrets? "You owe people money?"

  "Not exactly. I won our last game, earning enough to pay for all of this," he said, waving at his mansion. "But, as it happens, they want a rematch and I doubt that I can win twice in a row."

  "If you win twice, they will accuse you of cheating and break your legs," I said. "Or have someone like me come and break your legs.”

  "Unfortunately, I know you're right," he said.

  "So what's your price?" I asked.

  "Get me off Roxo III," he said simply.

  “How do I do that?" I asked.

  "I'm not asking for use of your ship. I have my own. Although it would be interesting to see if you find the source of your ghosts," he said. "I need you to escort me to my yacht. After that, you owe me nothing."

  "Won't your guests see you leaving?" I asked, already forming a plan in my head.

  "They are normally oblivious. Half of them are drunk or drugged. The rest have been paid for tonight's services in advance. All that we need to do is get your people here, then leave out the back way. I can disguise myself easily,” he said, picking up a hat, sunglasses, and a trench coat. “Is this too conspicuous? I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “It’s sketchy. But your eyes—and that shirt—don’t give us a lot of choices,” I said. “Wear the costume and try to act natural. It’s time to go.”

  "There's one more thing,” he said. “I held back some of my repairs against your good behavior. Don't get angry. It's just good business. When we arrive at my ship, I can give you the codes that will handle the remaining sixty percent of what I can do to re-calibrate your eye with your nerve-ware.”

  "Don't double cross me, Henshaw," I said coldly. "Because I'm a hundred times worse than any enforcer a crime lord or senator can send after you."

  "That's why I selected you," he said. "Who would mess with someone like Halek Cain?”

  6

  I asked Tom to take the lead with Path. The guide remained quiet and inscrutable. The loudness of his appearance—braided hair and glow-stick body piercings—contrasted with his thoughtful demeanor and easy movements.

  Elise and Tom didn’t like what we were doing. They watched James Henshaw like he was a liar and a cheat. He put off a very strong irresponsible gambler vibe—it was hard to say why. Maybe it was just the expensive silk shirt under the trench coat and his mirrored sunglasses.

  The ocular engineer fiddled with his hat, sunglasses, and trench coat. More often than not, he was looking at his feet and muttering to himself. Now that we were leaving, he seemed unreasonably nervous.

  "What are we doing with this guy?" Elise asked. "Why do we care if he can find his yacht or not?"

  "I cannot complete my work on the Last Reaper here. We must go to my ship, where I have the tools and a proper workshop," Henshaw said.

  "Don't call me that," I said.

  He swallowed nervously.

  I pressed for advantage. “And I thought you said it was just a matter of transferring codes.”

  He squirmed. “Well, I might have abbreviated the explanation of what was involved just a bit.”

  “I’m going to abbreviate your life,” I said, looming over him.

  "Path got us here," Elise insisted, equally distrustful of the ocular engineer. "Why hasn't Henshaw just paid him for an escort? He seems to know his way around. That sword should scare away most troublemakers."

  "I haven't seen him actually fight," Henshaw said. "No offense to the Order of Sword Saints, but I'd trust a good firearm over a blade any day."

  "Have you ever been slashed or stabbed?" I asked. “Respect the blade.”

  I was tempted to snap out my arm blade, but it seemed melodramatic. I also didn't want to compete with Path. Arguing about who had the coolest weapon would be undignified and pointless.

  "We will get you to your ship, but you better be ready to fix what you said you could."

  "I have already fixed many of your problems," he argued. “You should experience a much improved functionality from the work I've already done. But like I promised, there is more I can do. If you want to survive long, I suggest you invest in your equipment and software."

  "I said I would get you to the port. Just do what I say when I say it," I said.

  "I've heard that before," Elise muttered.

  I pulled her into a private conference, keeping some distance between us and the ocular engineer. “This is my decision. If I can improve my Reaper nerve-ware even a few percentage points, it could make all the difference next time we run into the Union.”

  "We should worry more about running and less about fighting them head on. Getting Henshaw through this city is going to be trouble. It's not worth it," Elise said. "We have enough problems without borrowing grief from this guy."

  "He's withholding the rest of my repairs until we get there. I don't see a better option," I said, “and he may be telling the truth. His ship likely has better technology and a functioning AI that can assist him with his work. I don't really have a choice but to escort him through Roxo III."

  "There's always a choice," she said.

  She wasn't wrong.

  We made good time, not stopping for anything but a quick snack from a food cart and to use a public restroom. The problems came as we neared the lifts to the spaceport.

  What had been a moderately busy flow of pedestrian traffic
became a river of unhappy people. Some carried signs on their way to a protest. Others held clubs down at their sides. I saw more than a few people with bottles and wondered how many of those were full of flammable liquids.

  "They're going to have a riot," I said. "X, make sure everybody from our crew heard me."

  "I have relayed your evaluation of the situation," X-37 said. "I should also advise that I have been monitoring law-enforcement radio channels. They are preparing a heavy-handed response."

  "What do you mean by that?" Tom asked over our team link. “I thought they lost control after they declared martial law."

  "They did," I murmured.

  X-37 continued, ignoring our interruption. "Armored vehicles, gas guns, and less-lethal projectiles to be fired into crowds that refuse to disburse.”

  I pressed forward and touched our guide on the shoulder. "Path, can you take us around this crowd?"

  He nodded and changed direction. We moved through several of the covered streets, all with the same blue skies painted above them. The faux ceiling was stripped down to the wire framework in places. X-37 promised these sections were still functional.

  We rounded the final corner only to find the mob and the police had formed new battle lines right where we needed to go. Hundreds of men and women faced each other, tension ready to boil over at any second.

  "We can work our way around the edges of the confrontation if you still desire to go to this section of the spaceport," Path said.

  Elise shook her head violently. "This isn't worth it. We should go to a different lift, just go back to our own ship and forget about his stupid yacht."

  Before we could make a decision, a new wave of rioters flowed in the lift plaza. The size of the confrontation tripled. Newly arriving riot cops jogged in step, quickly deploying their shields and shock batons.

  "Why don't you just kidnap Henshaw like you do everyone else and make him fix your eye? We have to get the hell out of here," Elise said, raising her voice.

  “I might have to, but let’s try taking the easy road for once,” I argued. “No one will even notice us. How’s this for covert?”

  "Now you care about being noticed?" She waved her hands at the crowd. "What about when you caused a scene on the lift? What about marching through Henshaw’s party with swords and guns?”

  Path sat down, crossing his legs and closing his eyes while we argued.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" Elise exclaimed. "He's going to meditate?”

  "He appears very serene,” X-37 observed.

  She shook her head, stepping away from the sword mystic. "I don't even care about him. You're the jerk who's going to get us killed.”

  "She's not wrong," X-37 said.

  I ignored my LAI, envying Path’s unique calm.

  "X, is that some sort of pre-combat ritual?" I asked.

  "On the contrary, I believe he is sleeping," X-37 said.

  "Whatever. You can't tell the difference," I grumbled.

  "I have over a hundred references to meditation and sleep studies. I believe I know the difference," X-37 said. "He is definitely taking a power nap."

  I wasn't that concerned with the psychedelic sword saint. He was just someone to point my eyes at while my mind worked through other problems. I needed Henshaw to complete his work, and for him to do that, I had to get us to his yacht. I also understood what was happening in Roxo. There had been missions in worse places.

  That didn’t mean I wanted to hang around until the bottom fell out of this mission.

  "Path," I said. "Wake up. Is there another way through here?"

  Path answered without opening his eyes or changing his position. “There is no other way into this lift. I could take you to another. Unfortunately, the street militia has arrived. You can tell by the song they sing."

  I heard a marching cadence, then turned toward its source. The street militia, as Path called them, outnumbered the police five to one. They were not dissimilar to paramilitary groups Elise and I had encountered on Dreadmax.

  “They have already blocked our egress from this location,” Path said, calm but attentive. If I had to guess, I would assume this was his “alarmed” expression.

  A dozen of the newcomers split off from the others and surrounded us.

  "That is alarming," X-37 said. "They have singled you out from the others for some reason.”

  I looked at our guide. "Have you encountered the street militia before?" I asked, playing a hunch.

  "We've met, yes," Path said, standing and readying himself for action.

  "Perhaps he will use the sword," X-37 said privately. "This will be a useful data point for my profile of the man."

  “I wouldn't count on it, X." I didn't want to get into a fight. The situation was too volatile. My only goal was delivering Henshaw to his ship so I could have my repairs completed. Taking on a small army wasn't what I had in mind.

  "Path! I see you," one of the militia leaders said. "Let's see how good you are with that sword now."

  Path stepped into the middle of the circle, picking up a stick-like piece of debris from the ground. “I don't want to fight with you, Blaze."

  "Aren't you going to do something?" Elise asked me.

  "No, that's not what he wants," I said. “And I don't think he needs my help."

  Path wasn't the only person being singled out. There were other grudges being settled throughout the street. Four or five different clusters of people turned into all-out brawls. I swept the crowd and asked X-37 to make a note of troublemakers we might have to deal with later.

  "Pull that sword," Blaze challenged. His hair and body piercings were every bit as crazy as what Path had on display. They seemed like two people from the neighborhood whose lives had taken them down widely divergent roads.

  Path saluted with a plastic slat from a barricade that had been destroyed during the last confrontation between citizens and the police as though it were a sword and stood ready.

  "For real? You think you can mock me and not pay the price?" the bully asked, advancing with a bat. Thick bodied and balding, the man was built like he was meant to push things—or people. He held his weapon like this was a strike ball game rather than a martial contest.

  I kept my eye on Elise. She balled her fists and shifted her weight like she would jump into the middle of the confrontation. I'd never seen her like this.

  She shot me a look, then she shook her head and turned her back on me to face the rioters. "Why don't you leave him alone?”

  Blaze hesitated. "Who the hell are you?"

  "You want us to handle her, boss?" a pair of his goons asked.

  He waved his hand dismissively and the men rushed Elise.

  "I am confused about your hesitation to get involved," X-37 said.

  "Wait for it," I said. "She's not going to learn unless she takes some bumps and bruises."

  That wasn't the real reason for my hesitation. I suspected there was a greater threat. When I saw it, I would act. I wasn't going to expose my abilities until it was time.

  Elise retreated. Tom rushed to her side and put up his fists. The two bullies warily circled Elise and Tom while the fight between their boss and Path continued.

  Blaze swung his club at his opponent with both hands. Path stepped aside, not even bothering to raise his own stick to parry. Blaze attacked again and again but was unable to land a blow.

  I pulled a cigar from the pocket case, nursed it to life, and exhaled a large cloud of smoke as I watched. Another group of brawlers stumbled into me. I pushed their leader with one hand, barely looking at them. Maybe they wanted to come at me again but were swept away in the commotion.

  Tom and Elise grabbed broken trash bin lids and swung them at their attackers.

  Blaze lunged at Path, missing him and nearly falling to the ground.

  "Has Path tried to strike him yet?" I asked.

  "Not yet,” X-37 answered. “I believe he is what he says he is. His reaction time and his ability to think several st
eps ahead of his opponent are indicative of a master martial artist. He may win the fight without delivering a single blow.”

  Elise screamed and tackled one of her opponents, surprising the man who was bigger than she was. She savaged him with punches and elbow strikes. Tom and the other bullies were so surprised, they stood transfixed.

  The Roxo III police and street militia fired tear gas at each other. Additional fights broke out in every direction. From where I stood, it looked like allies turned on each other to settle old grudges that could never be forgotten.

  "Are you about done?" I yelled at Path.

  "I do not wish to hurt him," Path said.

  This infuriated Blaze, who swore vile curses and renewed his attack. Each swing grew weaker than the one before it as he tired, until he was panting for air and could barely lift his weapon.

  I watched for a while longer, then decided the situation was getting out of control. Elise had nearly subdued her opponent with raw aggression and skill, despite their size disparity. He broke free of the choke hold she was applying, twisting to face her when he couldn’t quite shoulder toss her in front of him. She glared like she would go for his throat.

  Holding my cigar in my right hand, I stepped between them and punched the man with my left fist hard enough to knock him off his feet.

  He didn't get back up.

  I walked over to Blaze and kicked him so hard he flew backward into the crowd, leaving Path free to calmly lower his makeshift weapon. Facing the rest of his crew and holding my cigar in my teeth, I spread my arms in invitation. My Reaper blade snapped out from my left arm as I gripped the pistol Frank gave me back on Greendale in my right. Part of my HDK short rifle showed where it hung under my coat. "Does anyone else have a problem?"

  They retreated into the crowd and disappeared.

  “You could've done that at the beginning!" Elise accused, her voice hoarse, a trickle of blood leaking from the side of her split lip.

  I retracted the blade, holstered the pistol, and rescued my imitation Starbrand.

  Inhaling for a several seconds, I eventually discharged a cloud of smoke. "I could've done a lot of things. Where's Henshaw?"