Soul of the Reaper: A military Scifi Epic (The Last Reaper Book 11)

by J. N. Chaney

“What are you trying to say, X?”

  “You have your less than mature moments.” X displayed a list of my behaviors in my HUD.

  “No time for that,” I said, barely looking at the proof. “Just help me get him away from the others so I can kick his punk ass.”

  “Please refer to item ninety-seven on the aforementioned list—juvenile insults and profanity.”

  “You’re killing me, X.”

  “No need. I am sure Silver Helmet and his team will do that without my help.”

  27

  “We are going to surround you, clone,” Silver Helmet shouted after me.

  I ducked between abandoned delivery trucks. “Watch who you call clone, clone.”

  “Find him. Bring him to me,” Silver Helmet said.

  “Yes, Commander Vaus,” the Halek Cain clones answered as one.

  I muttered under my breath. “That’s not right, X. No clone of mine should be that obedient.”

  “I fail to see your logic, Reaper Cain. And it is presumptuous to call them your clones.”

  “Let’s agree that I’m the original and they’re copies. Inferior copies,” I said.

  “That would protect your mental health,” X-37 said. “But why should you care if they are Scheid’s mindless pawns?”

  “Answer that question yourself, X. You know me. They’re already ruining my reputation.” I slipped behind another truck, this one with significant fire damage from years ago. “I need to get Silver Helmet Cain away from the others.”

  “I believe he is called Commander Vaus,” X-37 said.

  “Whatever.”

  “Perhaps now is the time for your childish insults. Draw him out. Challenge him to a fight. Call his mother names.”

  “That would be my mother, X. I think.” A headache throbbed behind my eyes. “Let’s not go there.”

  “Spread out. Drive him toward me,” Vaus ordered.

  I crawled to a bus someone had turned into a long term shelter. The buildings in this area leaned precariously, probably preventing people from living in them. Several were nothing more than debris piles. Despite my recently acquired dislike for such places, I saw an opportunity and took it.

  “Stay sharp, X. I don’t want to crawl into a dead end,” I said, then ducked through a twisting passage leading through a mountain of concrete and steel not dissimilar to the hellish trap I had spent days in, trapped and alone.

  “Do you want me to poke Vaus?” X-37 asked.

  “How?” I found two tunnels with low, rough ceilings, and walls lined with rebar and other sharp edges. The air was thick with dust.

  “I can attempt a secure commlink, but there is a risk he will be able to track us,” X-37 said.

  “As long as it is just him,” I said. “Can you weaponize it?”

  “Possibly,” X said. “Though he would sever the connection if I fill his ears with feedback. Your voice should be equally annoying and less likely to get tuned out.”

  “Thanks, X. I think.”

  “You’re welcome, Reaper Cain. I have several hundred examples of your trash talk annoying both friends and enemies. Would you like a transcript of the highlight reel?”

  “No. You made your point.” I crawled through a low passage, hating the idea of getting trapped again, then emerged into an almost normal hallway albeit severely damaged.

  “Stop here, Reaper Cain. If you go deeper, I won’t be able to establish a connection,” X-37 said.

  “I need to make sure this isn’t a dead end.” I continued until I could see an exit leading to the next street. Gazing from the dusty shadows, I confirmed there were no Obsidians or JFT waiting to ambush me, then went back to where X thought he could contact Vaus the Reaper wannabe. “Go for it.”

  “Who the hell is on this channel?” a near perfect imitation of my voice challenged.

  “The real Halek Cain. Surrender and I’ll go easy on you, clone,” I said.

  Silence.

  “I believe he is directing his team to surround this area. He may have an approximate lock on our location, which is always a risk with commlinks,” X-37 said.

  “What’s the matter, Vaus, can’t fight your own battles,” I said. “The cyborg Reaper fought halfway across the galaxy without any wannabe clones for back up.”

  “Go to hell,” Vaus snapped. “We killed him.”

  “How’d you manage that? Shoot him in the back?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond for several seconds.

  “You’re nothing special, clone, just an outlaw who can’t get with the program.”

  “Outlaw? Hell yeah, I’m an outlaw. That’s what it means to be the last Reaper. You really are a cheap copy,” I said. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

  “Enough of that,” he said. “Surrender yourself. I will deliver you to Lord Scheid for your assimilation into my team. Then I will give you orders.”

  “And I’ll tell you to go“—feedback broke the communication for a second—“yourself.”

  “Lord Scheid warned us the outlaws were crude and plagued with bad habits,” Vaus said, his words sounding remarkably clear.

  “He is moving toward us, Reaper Cain,” X said.

  “I’ll show you a bad habit. You and me, Vaus. Let’s fight for control of your unit.”

  “What do I get when I win?” He laughed confidently. “That is a rhetorical question. My reward will be the praise of Lord Scheid.”

  “This guy is pathetic,” I said to X.

  “Agreed. Highly unauthentic. Brainwashing detected,” X said.

  “I see you, Vaus. You’re alone, so not a punk ass coward like everyone says.”

  “You are a loud mouthed fool. Who is everyone? Are we back on the school yard of Boyer 5.”

  “You’ve never been to Boyer 5,” I said, not really thinking this was an insult, just flinging words to keep him off balance.

  Silence.

  “He has stopped moving,” X-37 said. “I am calculating his location and direction of travel based on the established secure link, plus background noise when he talks. Please engage him in further conversation.”

  “What are you waiting for, poser? Let’s do this. Winner gets to be the real Reaper,” I said.

  “You’re right, Cain. I’ve never been to Boyer 5… and you have. We all know the truth. But if I kill you, it won’t matter that you’re the template for us all. And to be honest, I’m sick of that hanging over our heads.” Vaus stepped into view.

  The first thing I realized was that the battlefield I’d chosen was small. This was going to be like fighting in a phone booth, and he had armor and I didn’t.

  I aimed both pistols and fired. He cranked off three rounds from his rifle, an HDK Dominator III Deathlance. Pain exploded in my left arm. Blood splattered the wall behind me. He followed up with a burst of flame that missed but warmed the entire room.

  “That was new!” All of my rounds hit him hard, knocking him off balance. Looking for the source of the flamethrower attack distracted me.

  Pain seared the left side of my face, and something bit me under my eye as I closed the distance. A gunfight was a losing proposition. Jamming both pistols through my belt, I latched onto his left arm, pulled him past me, and took his back like a cage fighter.

  He twisted free, and I lost my grip and the dominant position. His rifle barrel came up, so near my face I could feel the heat on my forehead. I smashed it aside, lunged forward, and lifted him into the air. As soon as he was off his feet, I slammed him down and dropped my weight on him.

  “Oooff!” He grunted on impact.

  “Remove the helmet,” X-37 suggested.

  “Working on it, X!”

  Vaus roared, voice still distorted from being crushed.

  I delivered a short, vicious left hook into the side of his helmet, then grabbed it with both hands and began to twist. His neck was going to break or it was going to come off—I didn’t care which.

  “Stop! What are you—” He gasped, then choked on his words. “You can
’t do this!”

  I twisted harder, driving one knee into his stomach to pin him against the uneven ground and increase my leverage on his neck and the other on his HDK D3D.

  He abandoned the weapon and unlatched the helmet. I tore it off and flung it away.

  The sight of his face stunned me. Everything around the left eye was scar tissue. In place of his eye was a polyhedron cluster of lenses. For half a second, he looked ashamed, like a dog that had been shaved and thrown back amongst the pack.

  “I got you, Vaus,” I said. “Let’s negotiate.”

  “Nothing to negotiate. Victory or death. It’s the Obsidian Trooper’s way,” he said.

  “What the hell did they do to your face?” I asked, feeling like a jerk despite every reason I had to hate this creature.

  He hesitated, his voice cracking. “The optics took several tries. Lots of cutting, lots of scarring. You’re no better than me. Doctor Scheid hasn’t removed your human weaknesses, but maybe if you surrender, your surgeries and reeducation will go better.”

  I held him firm, trying to decide where to go with this screwed up conversation.

  He slammed his face against mine. I nearly lost my hold. He countered my leverage by twisting out to one side, trying to slip out from under me like a first year grappling student—but a good one.

  “Nope,” I said. “Not letting you go.”

  “Go to hell!” he shouted.

  “Hey, that’s more like it,” I said. “Next time try something like, go to hell you fucking ass hat. Then you’ll almost be me.”

  Hate poured from his eyes, the real one and the fake one.

  “I’m taking your stuff,” I said.

  “No!”

  I choked him unconscious, then tied him up before he could recover. His armor fit like a glove, though I couldn’t stand the smell of his helmet.

  “Take the helmet, Reaper Cain,” X said.

  “The guy has some foul breath,” I complained. “What the hell is Scheid feeding them, rat butthole casserole?”

  “That is most likely a by-product of the many experiments that have been performed on him,” X-37 said. “Put on your Big Reaper pants and take the helmet. I am sure the clones are fed meals ready to eat and other rations.”

  “Fine. But you owe me,” I said.

  “This statement makes no sense whatsoever,” X said. “Reinforcements are entering the tunnel.”

  “I was just leaving.” I gave Vaus the finger because I was an immature asshole with poor impulse control.

  He glared back, still only half conscious. “I’ll remember that.”

  “I’m counting on it, and could you please learn some swear words? Spice things up. Live a little.”

  “I regret sharing DNA with you,” he said, but I wasn’t listening.

  On the way out, I took one of his grenades and blew the tunnel behind me. The collapse nearly caught me before I emerged onto the deserted street, but it definitely slowed my pursuit. Who knew, maybe it took a few Obsidians out.

  “Regret detected, Reaper Cain,” X said. “Please explain.”

  “I left Vaus tied up down there. Better to have killed him than leave him trapped. Wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

  “Vaus isn’t your worst enemy,” X said.

  “You know what I mean.” I jogged away from the scene about the time I heard mechs racing to my location. The ground shook. Flocks of birds exploded into the air, and I thought I heard a pack of dogs fleeing their advance as well.

  “They are moving much faster than you, Reaper Cain.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” I turned a corner, evaluated buildings on both sides of the street, and decided to keep running on surface streets.

  “Analysis of your heart rate and Vo2 max suggest you can run point one percent faster than your current pace,” X-37 said.

  Gasping for air, I answered even though I shouldn’t have wasted my breath. “I like to hold a little in reserve. You know me, always cautious.”

  Spots filled my vision. My hands started to go numb, which I’d never felt before. The armor felt heavier than I thought it should. The design was advanced and made to improve performance, or that’s what it felt like putting it on. Now I just felt like I was breathing liquid misery.

  “This POS helmet,” I complained.

  “Keep it on, Reaper Cain. I am hacking it to send false signals to the Obsidian Troopers and the mechs. They should be headed the wrong way very soon. Your oxygen exchange rate is becoming more efficient. You are, effectively, just getting warmed up.”

  “Hey.” I grunted. “That’s great.” I eased my pace slightly. X was way off base with my potential speed right now. “Keep up. The. Good work.”

  “Reaper Cain, I highly recommend you listen to my advice and run faster.”

  “You’re. Not the one. Doing the running.”

  “I will not dignify that with an argument, Reaper Cain. Please review the waypoints I have placed in your HUD map. There is a fortified area three point one miles ahead.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “This section of Marsi was poor and largely shunned by the rest of society despite efforts to improve the local economy. With no military or industrial infrastructure, the tenement buildings were not bombed during the invasion. The survivors there have built walls across every street leading into their territory,” X-37 said.

  “Are they guarded?” I asked.

  “Unknown. This was lifted from an Obsidian reconnaissance report. The reporting team did not attempt to enter the slums,” X-37 said.

  “This is going to be like going home to Boyer 5,” I said, slowing to a comfortable jog. “Can’t wait.”

  “The mechs are still pursuing,” X-37 said.

  I looked at a cheap rail system above me. “How high is that?”

  “One hundred meters, but it goes higher to avoid business and industrial complexes,” X-37 said.

  “Can the mechs climb?”

  “No, they are far too heavy.”

  “Great. We’re going up.”

  “Are you sure, Reaper Cain? They can still shoot.”

  I scrambled up the first support structure I found, hoping this would work. Thoughts of getting blown off the rails filled my imagination until I reached the top and looked down.

  The mechs backed up, straining to get an angle on me. They started shooting, but they were built to be hard hitting ground units, not surface to air fighters.

  “They can still hit you, Reaper Cain. While I acknowledge that was a good call on your part, I must recommend you get moving.”

  “I’m on it like cheese on a cracker, X.”

  “I’m speechless, Reaper Cain. Is that a thing?”

  Explaining would have been easy, but figuring out the connection would keep my LAI busy until I reached the fortified slums of Marsi.

  28

  “Well shit.” I stared at the sudden end to the rail system. “I guess they didn’t want any more trains coming this way.”

  “You will need to climb down and approach one of the barricades on foot,” X-37 said.

  “Those are walls, X.”

  “Of course. I was merely mimicking your extraordinarily loose use of common language.” X-37 displayed several approach options on my HUD.

  I made my way down, stopping frequently to listen for mechs, drones, ships, or any of the monsters Maglan had somehow produced in the last ten years. The Oroth invaders were responsible for most of that, I thought, but I didn’t have solid proof.

  “This map doesn’t show a way in,” I said when I was finally on the ground again. “You have me walking right up to the biggest gate they have.”

  “That is the only way. I suggest you ask nicely,” X-37 said. “The smaller gates show signs of being sealed permanently, and they cross streets with poor lighting. You don’t want to surprise the guards and get shot.”

  The buildings were both old and grand, probably constructed before the Wallach-Xad coalition arrived an
d freed the Mother from her prison. Strangely beautiful, each structure was dark and moody, full of sweeping lines that didn’t make sense to human psychology. They also seemed to be constructed of one piece each. One of the reasons the new economy hadn’t welcomed them was that they couldn’t be modified and some refused to allow admittance.

  A lot of people had a problem with that. Who wanted a building that seemed to have its own will? The original inhabitants of Maglan had left long before humanity arrived. Tom and I had smoked more than a few cigars discussing what they left behind. Good old Tom mostly talked about the solid engineering of this place and other civilizations we had visited during our adventures.

  Old cars and storage containers had been stacked across every street leading into the old city, then topped with razor wire and guard posts—most of which were empty. Did it add to the dignified beauty of the place? No. But it worked.

  I spotted stuffed suits of outdated battle armor on more than a few of the makeshift towers and wondered if that worked to scare predators away. Apparent gaps in the structure proved to be false openings. Any attempt to wiggle inside without using the gate would get a person stuck or worse.

  I scouted three before approaching the first he suggested. Sometimes my LAI was right. A lot of times he was right. I probably needed to stop wasting my time double checking his work on simple stuff like this.

  “You there,” the guard said. “That’s close enough.”

  I studied the man, staring at him long enough for X to get a good scan. Middle aged, lean but strong, he carried a spear like he knew how to use it even if his stance and grip looked brutish. His head was either shaved or naturally bald. He wore dark goggles that hid his eyes and shielded him against the rising sun streaming down the street from behind me.

  Shadows were deep here, but they moved quickly when the sun climbed toward noon.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “There is another man concealed with a ranged weapon, possibly a crossbow,” X-37 warned.

  “Don’t got all day, buddy,” he said.

  Not asshole, or kid, or any number of hostile monikers he could have used to intimidate me—to try to intimidate me. This guy was confident, if a bit world weary.