by J. N. Chaney
“Satisfied!” he said. “You’re such a perfect asshole!”
“Can’t tell much from the back of your head.” I stood and backed up.
Reluctantly, he climbed to his feet and faced me.
“Bug?”
“Yeah. That’s me, but no one calls me that anymore. I’m thirty years old. Haven’t been that kid from Dreadmax for a long time.”
I shook my head, disappointed and confused. “Why would you give me such a hard time? You tried to kill me! After all we’ve been through?”
“You slaughtered my squad, my friends, your own family,” he said. “And you aren’t you anymore.”
“Hate to break it to you, kid, but I’m the real enchilada—the very last Reaper.”
“Prove it.”
“Look at me,” I demanded.
“You look like all the others,” he said, then pointed at my left arm. “The real Halek Cain had a cybernetic left arm. What did you do, grow it back? Get tired of using the blade to cut down your enemies?”
“Sarcasm detected,” X-37 said.
“Yeah, X, I caught that.” I stepped closer to Bug. “We can talk this out after we hide from the Hagg. You ran me all day, and it’s going to be dark soon.”
“Won’t need to worry about the Hagg at night. Not around here,” he said. “But there are predators you haven’t seen yet. We better get inside and start a fire.”
“No more trying to kill each other?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t have any weapons, and you already manhandled me. Maybe later I can drive a truck over you or something.”
“Very reassuring. Why don’t you say ‘truce, let’s work together and get some answers,’” I asked.
He leveled a flat stare on me. “Truce, let’s work together and get some answers.”
I waved him toward a building with the pistol. “I don’t remember you being this difficult, kid.”
“I’m a grown man.”
I gestured again with the gun. “You’re a kid to me. Get in there and find a place to hunker down.”
He complied but acted bemused.
“What?” I asked.
“You look younger than me. No scars, just a lot of cuts and scrapes that are going to be scars,” he said.
I followed him through several buildings until he settled on the third floor of an office complex with an empty balcony pool. “What kind of business did they do in a place like this?”
“It’s the Martin building. Never figured out what they did but smoke Maglan Gold cigars and throw parties,” he said.
“At least they had good taste,” I said.
Bug didn’t laugh. “I’ll start a fire.”
“No fires.”
He shook his head. “Everyone in this district uses fires to keep away the razor monkeys.”
“Never heard of them. Don’t get clever. I’m not letting my guard down,” I said.
“The razor monkeys came with the Hagg—and don’t ask me what they’re really called. Nothing scares the Hagg soldiers more than a group of these things, so they won’t search for us around here.”
“I thought you said the pokey pandas or whatever came with the Hagg.”
“Like rats on a ship. Stowaways. Really aggressive. Carnivorous. Probably would even eat an HC clone,” Bug said.
“Don’t quit your day job, Bug. That was about as funny as a disease.”
“You should hear the one about the Reaper, the Renegade, and the Union scientist who walk into a bar,” he said.
I checked my wounds and watched him build a fire in the middle of the balcony, allowing it because it was obvious everyone who came here started a fire near the dried up pool before moving on. He worked steadily, never looking my way or attempting to flee. Maybe he wanted answers as much as I did, or at least more than he claimed.
Before long there were fires on other balconies, in alleys, between circles of derelict cars, and glowing up through sewer grates. My old friend hadn’t been lying about that part. The survivors, invisible for most of my time here, trusted fire even in places it seemed like a bad idea.
“I’m surprised they haven’t burnt down more of these buildings,” I said.
Bug shrugged.
“Can I trust you with a pistol?” I asked as we settled in to eat some of his rations.
“Keep it. I’ll take my weapons off your corpse.”
“Big talk,” I said.
He shrugged. “One of us will die. You’re stubborn and not as smart as you think you are, so I’m betting you’ll take the first dirt nap. If I go first, then it doesn’t matter.”
“You fought well, nearly killed me several times but you’re not a Reaper,” I said.
“Neither are you, not really. You’re like all the others. Dangerous, but poor imitations. That is why the newer HC models fight in mechs—like whoever grew you assholes was jealous of the Archangel armor but screwed up their own versions. Every time the real Halek Cain killed a squad of them, they came back with upgraded gear.”
I ignored his real Halek Cain crack. “Mechs?”
“That’s what I said.” He spooned mystery pasta and sauce into his mouth, then chased it with a swig of water from a disposable pouch.
“How are they screwed up? Just curious. Sounds like you’re making this up,” I said.
“The HC mechs work fine—they’re fast, heavily armed and armored, and operate for days on a single charge. Some have power plants that might be nuclear but I can’t prove it.”
“Sounds like they nailed the design.”
“Sure, if your pilot is suicidal. They can’t get out of them. Imagine a real Reaper’s cybernetic arm, then turn that into an entire mech. They’re fused to their weapons—or their weapons are fused to them, I don’t really know…” He reeled back his temper. “They’re all crazy and blindly obedient to their master.”
I finished my own food packet, chased it with water, and opened another.
“I only have so many of those,” Bug complained.
“We’ll find more. Who do these HC clones report to?”
He glared at me. “You know.”
“I don’t. Listen, Bug, I woke up on a space station that had been attacked more than once. All the clone pods were shut off. I woke up because my predecessor tried to—never mind that part. But he was there and now I’m here.”
“Predecessor?” Bug asked, clearly skeptical of my sanity. “What’d he do, try to kill you?”
“That is what X calls him,” I said. “And I said don’t worry about what he was there to do.”
His expression softened with doubt. A second later, his hard exterior was back. “You don’t talk to X. The new ones have different nerve-ware, I think. X-1000 or some bullshit. Like bigger numbers make their mind control software better or something.”
“Ask me something only X-37 would know,” I said.
“Screw that. You all have cheat sheets. Lists of facts about the real Halek Cain. None of you convince anyone.
“Listen, kid.”
He stood and backed away but also balled his fists. “No, you listen. I’m not your friend, I’m not some kid who needs your help, and I’m never going to trust you.”
“What the hell did I do to you?”
“You killed my friends! Wiped out my entire squad. Tortured half of them!”
“For the last time, I didn’t kill your friends or torture anyone. That was a different clone.”
“So you admit you’re a clone?”
“Yeah, that much is obvious.” I lifted my non-cybernetic left arm and pointed at my organic left eye. “Those were evil clones. I’m the good one.”
“Prove it.”
We stared at each other for five minutes, or that was what it felt like. Someone screamed in the distance. Shouts and gunfire followed. I waited for more but heard only the wind.
“Go to sleep, Bug. I’ll take the first watch.”
“You’ll take the only watch,” he shot back. “Because once you go
to sleep, I’ll kill you or leave, maybe both.”
“You knew the real Halek Cain for a long time, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah. Better than you ever did no matter what you think. Clone memories aren’t even real. You’re a soulless freak built to serve some psycho scientist. It’s like the Union is back, after all we did to escape the assholes,” he said.
I ignored his taunts. “Do you remember the real Halek Cain having a lot of patience?”
Bug’s face reddened.
“Get some sleep. I don’t need any.”
“Whatever. Even Reapers need sleep. Don’t feed me to your clone buddies while I’m out.”
“Easier to toss you to the razor monkeys, then run for it.”
He didn’t like that.
“Just keeping it real. Don’t hate me because I have two arms and real eyes. X-37 trusts me. That should be good enough for you.”
“I can’t talk to X,” he said, then rolled away from me, pulling a thin survival blanket up to his chin. “Never could, not directly. Don’t bother me until morning. I’m not taking a watch.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I whispered privately.
Once his breathing slowed, I went to the balcony and watched the city from the shadows. So long as I didn’t move, I’d be hard to detect without advanced optics. If Bug were more cooperative, I might have asked him about the Hagg tech levels. From what I had seen, they looked basic, but that didn’t mean their higher level troops didn’t have better gear. So far I had only run into deserters and grunts.
Fires twinkled like orange stars on the ground. The night breeze died away to almost nothing. Maglan was nearly as beautiful as when we found it, so long as I ignored evidence of what had happened here.
A clicking sound drifted up from the street. I searched for the source and saw humanoid shapes moving slowly along the street. They spread out into a wedge formation though it looked more natural than something that had been learned through training.
I removed Bug’s spare battery, placed it in my HDK Dominator III Deathlance, or D3D, then loaded it with one of Bug’s spare magazines. Shooting the newcomers wasn’t my goal, but I’d be ready if necessary.
The bipedal figures swaggered side-to-side as they walked, like gorillas, or monkeys—provided that X-37’s lessons on ancient earth animals and creatures of the galaxy were accurate. I still wasn’t sure about his description of deer. My LAI insisted they had black and white stripes and huge antlers like the roaming herds found on Maglan when we arrived. I didn’t think these were the same as Earth deer of legends.
Maybe the razor monkeys were exactly that, or maybe not. They didn’t have blades or spikes attached to them—so that was obviously from someone’s fireside tale.
“How big are these things, X?” I asked.
“About a foot taller than you and very broad. Their legs are shorter than would be optimal for a human. Most of their bulk appears to be in their upper torso and necks.
I counted the group once they were all around the corner—about fifty of the monsters.
“I cannot confirm they are mammals, but they do not appear to be reptiles or amphibians. We would need to be much closer to be certain. I suggest you make no assumptions before gathering first hand evidence,” X-37 said.
“I’d rather not.” I flipped through the optics on the D3D. “They look cold, except right in their center. That looks really hot, but just in the one place. Doesn’t make sense.”
“You should provoke them,” X-37 said.
“No way, X.”
“I see no evidence of razors, or anything like razors. But there must be a reason for the name. I suspect they can extend or retract sharp claws. If you could startle them—throw a rock or something—they might react defensively and reveal their biological weaponry.”
“Maybe I will just wait and find out later,” I said.
“That is an option.”
“I can’t see their faces from this angle.”
X-37 said nothing.
I watched for a few more minutes, almost bored with their slow progress. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and that was probably a bad thing. A patient hunter was the worst kind. After ten minutes, I scanned the area with natural vision, then with magnification, and finally with advanced optics. There were a lot of fires but I couldn’t see how many people were huddled around them because the heat masked the optics.
“Maybe that’s why they use the fires,” I said.
“Doubtful. Fire discourages even the most aggressive predator,” X-37 said.
“Sure.” I shifted gears without letting up on my surveillance. “What do you know about the X-1000 models?”
“I have no direct knowledge except that your predecessor thought the naming protocol was ridiculous,” X-37 said. “What Bug said is likely true. The HC clones, and their gear, are mass produced. This suggests an inferior product.”
I didn’t want to ask the next question but I needed to know. “Would I be able to tell the difference, assuming I am no different from the other clones. I feel like the last Reaper, but am I really?”
“I thought I told you, Reaper Cain. You are the master copy. That is why your predecessor was determined to capture or eliminate you. Without your exact genetic profile, they cannot continue the replication process.”
“Great, that makes me feel so much better.”
“Your predecessor had another theory.”
“What was that, X? And do I need a whiskey to handle it?”
“You need less whiskey than you believe. As for your predecessor’s theory, he believed you were the original Reaper and he was the copy they experimented on—adding cybernetics and putting in impossible situations like the faked gang murders of his family.”
My blood went cold. I lost focus on the creature below, and the entire city for that matter. “What the hell are you saying, X?”
“That you are, in fact, Halek Cain.”
“Stop fucking with me.”
“Your predecessor’s theory makes sense. Why attempt dangerous cybernetic procedures on the original—assuming that you had the ability to make fully functioning copies?”
Neither of us spoke for a while. The company of monsters stopped right below us and made camp—or were planning their assault on this building.
“You’re wrong about the whiskey. I definitely need one or ten.”
“You probably also want cigars and a hot shower, but neither of those indulgences will be forthcoming,” X said.
“Don’t sound so smug.”
“Perhaps you should wake Bug up and give him a weapon. I am certain the razor monkeys are entering the building and you have nowhere to run. Slipping past them would be nearly impossible from what I have seen of their behavior,” X-37 said.
“I’m processing what you told me. Not in the mood to fight Razors.”
“Would you like to update their moniker as simply Razors instead of the four syllable description of razor monkeys. This would be more efficient during combat communications.”
“Sure, X.” I squatted near Bug. “Wake up. We have a problem.”
“Already?” He sounded completely awake. “I thought it would take them an hour to find us.”
“You knew they were coming this way?”
“How else would I convince you to give me back my rifle?”
I laughed. “I like you, Bug. Always have.”
He accepted his HDK Dominator II but stared at me suspiciously.
“You’re either going to shoot me in the back or you’re not. I lied earlier. I’ll need sleep eventually, and maybe you could give me a couple of days before betraying me,” I said.
He didn’t seem to like that last part. Bug had always been loyal to a fault.
“There are about fifty of the Razors surrounding the building.”
He hesitated at my new name for them but only for a second. “That’s a big group. We’ll need more than weapons. We’ll need a plan.”
“I’m w
orking on it,” I said.
17
“We need a ship,” I said once Bug had all of his gear, minus half the ammunition, food, and water.
“Oh, I forgot. There is a jump ship on the top floor. Executive model. Fast enough to go anywhere on the planet as the mood struck these rich corporate types,” Bug said.
“Bullshit.”
“You wanted to believe me,” he said, then looked over the balcony. “Most of them are inside now, but the guards they left outside are prickly.”
I joined him and saw five of the Razors on each corner of the building. Four of each group squatted like they might be asleep, but the fifth snapped blades out from his hands, retracted them, and did the same at his elbows.
“How many sets of blade-claws do they have?” I asked.
“Hands and upper arms, unless injured. But they have spikes that thrust out from their shoulders and their backs, all the way up their necks.”
I watched the guards play with their body weapons, sometimes grunting and snarling at each other on the corners while the sleepers ignored them.
“What most people don’t realize is that they have smaller spikes, almost like pointed studs, on the soles of their feet. I’m not sure if these are for climbing, but they could be.” He lifted his body armor and the shirt beneath it to show terrible road rash-like scars across his torso. “I’ll tell you from experience they are deadly with their feet and those small claws. Feel like cheese graters.”
“Can’t be too deadly. You’re still alive,” I said.
“That was when I still had a combat effective squad. Early days of the crisis. Never allowed one of them to grab me for more than a few seconds.”
Neither of us pursued that conversation. He’d already made it clear how he felt about other Reapers killing his friends. Hopefully, he would learn to see me differently.
“If we don’t have a ship, we need a rappelling line or cables.” I pointed to a balcony on the building across from us. We can climb four or five levels, then slide down to that balcony and escape out the back while they readjust.”
“Good plan. I have rappelling line but not enough for that. Maybe we should pick a side of this building, then drop down to the street. One of us can cover the other and vice versa,” he said.
