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

by J. N. Chaney

“Can you hear any of what they’re saying?” I asked, hoping the sword saint had some secret technique learned from a warrior monk on a mountain top.

  “No,” he said.

  “Before you ask, Reaper Cain, I can only make inferences from body language and the context of this encounter. It might be useful to note, however, that the man yelling at them seems to be Vaus Cain.”

  “The silver helmet is a giveaway,” I agreed. “Looks like he upgraded after I took his old one.”

  “You know that man?” Path asked.

  “Yeah, and I assume the middle vehicle carries General Scheid himself. And the first is a group of hard hitting bodyguards.”

  The lead vehicles backed up to join their rear guard, and sure enough, Scheid emerged in resplendent black armor and a flowing red cloak. He strode to the Hagg column, seized one of the alien soldiers who had gestured rudely at the column, and dragged him closer to the armored car.

  “What the actual hell?” I asked, though it wasn’t really a question. The Hagg conscript (probably) was about to have a seriously bad day.

  “Can we stop this, X?” I asked.

  “Reaper Cain, I am embarrassed that you asked. Even if we could defeat Scheid’s elite bodyguards, we could not escape the wrath of the Obsidian mechs who would surely respond to his distress call.” X-37 made several clicking noises, indicators he was processing large amounts of information or resisting a cyber attack. “We must allow this to play out.”

  “Hate that option,” I said, then filled Path in on what X told me.

  He returned his attention to the scene before us.

  Scheid crossed his arms as Vaus punched the soldier in the gut. The others lurched forward, but the armored car gunners aimed their weapons. One blasted a warning shot of flame over their heads.

  Resentful, the Hagg men took a step back.

  Scheid ranted for several minutes, his words having a visible effect on the alien army. Second by second, they fell back into marching order, then tightened their lines. The more he shouted at them, the more they stared forward and ignored their captured companion.

  I scanned for women among the troops, wondering if Saw-say was still alive. If she was, I hoped she had stayed away from this assignment. We’d negotiated, nothing more. I didn’t owe the Hagg woman a thing. But I didn’t want anyone subjected to Scheid’s wrath.

  He stood over the prisoner, then pointed to the armored car. Vaus Cain, aka Silver Helmet, dragged the soldier in front of the heavy wheels and held him there as the driver ran over his face. None of the black armored soldiers laughed or cursed.

  “I don’t think they liked that, not even the clones,” Path said.

  “They didn’t stop it,” I said. “So screw them.”

  Scheid mounted his vehicle, standing on the roof to issue a grand proclamation to the alien army.

  “Give me an analysis, X,” I said.

  “General Scheid gave them orders, informed them of consequences that struck fear deep into their hearts, and then restated the orders,” X-37 said. “He has found some way to control their primitive military.”

  “Fucking outstanding,” I said.

  An hour passed as we watched from our dangerously close hiding place inside the Obsidian perimeter. The horror show with the Hagg troops wasn’t the worst thing we witnessed. During a slow, cautious trip through their middle perimeter, I counted three giant corrals of dragon horses and dozens of cages full of Razors.

  “We need to find Tom and Bug and get out of here,” I said.

  “I am not inclined to argue, clone,” Path said.

  “You’re stuck on that.” I counted to ten—a calming technique that rarely worked, but why not give it a try. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m different from all of these boring as hell copies?”

  “You are different.” He hesitated. “But I don’t know what that means.”

  I was about to hit him with something clever when a glint of metal inside Scheid’s fence caught my eye. “Scheid returned to base. I’ve got his armored cars, and it looks like they have my escape pod.”

  “How do you know it’s yours?”

  I didn’t answer. Regardless of where it came from, they were treating it differently than before. I’d seen the Obsidians and JFT argue over the piece of junk. It was useless once deployed to the surface, yet they had brought it all this way and fought over it.

  A dozen civilians gathered around, directing a technician or mechanic to disassemble it piece by piece. Each step was photographed, video recorded, and logged on digital tablets. Scheid watched silently, but the scientists and engineers argued like the fate of the galaxy depended on their work.

  Path stared for a long time, patient as ever. “What do they seek?”

  “They’re looking for X-37, which means they know he escaped my predecessor,” I said.

  Path evaluated me carefully. “By predecessor you mean the Halek Cain who brought us all together—the true guardian of our new home.”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy,” I said, not wanting to get into this anymore. He would believe me someday, or he wouldn’t.

  “I struggle with your relation to him,” Path said. “You are not like the clones I have slain, nor are you the Halek Cain I followed across the galaxy.”

  “Our lineage is complicated.”

  “As it would be,” Path said and went back to watching the Obsidian patrol around the camp. “We should return to the vehicle before it is discovered.”

  I watched the scene until I was bored and thoroughly convinced this was a waste of time. Watching and waiting wasn’t freeing Tom and Bug, and it wasn’t getting me closer to finding a ship. “I’ll lead the way back.”

  33

  “What are you saying, X?” I demanded.

  “I cannot guarantee the location of this vehicle has remained hidden from their global positioning tracking system,” X said.

  “What the hell am I paying you for, X?” I scanned the terrain, looking for stealth elements. The Obsidians were the worst combination of every danger I could face. Not only did they have advanced technology, much of it new and unknown to me or X, but they had my DNA. What I didn’t know was how many memories and skills we shared. With my luck, they had all the good stuff and I was left with scraps.

  “You do not, in fact, pay me at all, Reaper Cain,” X said. “Stand by for an incoming transmission.”

  My blood ran cold. Warnings from my LAI always meant trouble, but this was happening fast. Path was on high alert as well, though it was difficult to tell with the sword saint. The man looked calm in the middle of a battle, or a storm, or when a spaceship was going down on a lost planet getting pounded with incoming fire from an enemy starship. The fact that I had that in my memory for reference said a lot about our relationship.

  I waited seconds that felt longer.

  “Do you hear me, Cain?” Scheid said. His voice sounded distant, like he was speaking from the afterlife. As crazy as this asshole was, that was likely on purpose. The guy probably had dark mood lights and costumes in his evil lair or command vehicle or whatever.

  “I hear you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to use one of your childish insults, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked. “I have an exhaustive list if you’re feeling a bit tongue-tied.”

  “Sure, X. Let’s go with number eighty-seven,” I said, not really paying attention to my LAI. A line of text immediately appeared in my native HUD: Your mom.

  I cringed. “Listen, X, I’m not ready to go nuclear with this guy. Not yet. Cancel the insult menu.”

  X-37 displayed more diplomatic options, but I ignored him. One thing they didn’t teach in the Reaper Corps was the ability to tune out your digital manager. Ignoring your LAI could save lives, starting with your own. Or it could get you killed—a real glass half empty type of situation.

  “Your limited artificial intelligence is outdated and highly modified. I’d expect you to be flying a junk starship by now, and using whatever pa
tched together armor and trash weapons you can find, but a malfunctioning LAI is dangerous,” Scheid said.

  “And I suppose you would gladly repair him if I just turn over my neural interface?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Cain. You’re making a mistake by fighting me. I was the Reaper Corps before you became a Reaper.” Static broke up the communication. It sounded like drones were flying around in the comms. “The Union would be unstoppable if they’d given me free rein and absolute command.”

  “I’m gonna call bullshit on that.” Could I have made my tone respectful? Sure, but that wasn’t what I was going for. At all.

  “This offer won’t come twice,” he said.

  “Maybe if you had asked permission before building a clone army out of my DNA.” My sarcasm game was strong, but this guy wasn’t picking up on the clues.

  “Your consent means nothing. Progress has always been blocked by the petty wants and needs of individuals,” he said. “Nothing great happens by the will of the masses. Progress requires one man with the courage and vision to change the rules. You’re like all the others, totally unaware of what is best for you and the rest of civilization.”

  “I kind of hate you right now,” I said. “X, can we flip him the bird from here.”

  “Save your insults, Cain.” He covered his mic and snapped orders at someone I couldn’t hear over this commlink.

  “I don’t like where this is going, Reaper Cain. Perhaps you should use insult number eighty-seven on him,” X-37 said. “My analysis suggests this would anger him severely and cause a mistake.”

  “Trust me, I want to,” I said.

  Scheid returned to the conversation. “Who gave you the right to stall humanity’s advance through the galaxy?”

  “I can’t resist, X.”

  “Proceed, Reaper Cain. Insult eighty-seven will take the wind out of his space sails.”

  “What are you talking about to your LAI?” Scheid demanded.

  “Nothing. Can you repeat the question? I’m getting some interference from the power of love and compassion—things you wouldn’t understand.”

  “No more jokes, Cain,” he said.

  “Your mom,” I said.

  “That was horribly timed, Reaper Cain. Perhaps insult two hundred and thirty-nine would have been more appropriate.”

  If acid had a sound, it would have been Scheid’s voice. “What?”

  “You asked who gave me the right—”

  “Enough!” he shouted, his voice distorting the comms. “Put them out and set loose the dragon horses. Make sure the monsters have a taste of their blood first.”

  “I see something,” Path said.

  “Yeah.” My optics dialed in on Tom and Bug, stripped almost naked and beaten horribly. Obsidian regulars pushed them forward, jabbing at their backs with bayonets when they staggered or slowed. Two hundred meters farther around the perimeter, a group of soldiers opened the dragon horse corrals.

  The animals bolted straight for Tom and Bug, never seeking a better escape route or turning on their captors. These things were hungry, and they wanted my friends.

  Bug grabbed Tom by the arm and dragged him forward, forcing the older man to run at a young man’s pace.

  “Their hands are still bound in front,” Path said. “And they aren’t wearing boots.”

  “They aren’t wearing much of anything,” I said, then aimed my D3D.

  “You have no chance of stopping all of the hunters, and a one hundred percent chance of revealing your position to the Obsidians,” X-37 said. “Please note the mechs standing by for Scheid’s orders.”

  I pulled the weapon back. “Fuck and double fuck.”

  “Your friends are resourceful,” Scheid said, sounding like he was enjoying this now that the shock of my insults had worn off. “I better send the Hagg as well. They are a greedy race. I’ll offer them land on their home world and more wealth than they can spend in their lifetimes.”

  By the time Bug and Tom disappeared behind a mound of debris, Scheid’s combat engineers had turned into a battlefield fortification and the Hagg were double-timing it toward their position.

  “I hope your pawns destroy each other,” I blurted at Scheid.

  “Some will, but they are wary of each other and should avoid direct conflict.” Five seconds of silence followed. “I’ve ordered the release of the—what do the locals call them? Razor monkeys. Looks like it is getting dangerous out there. You should find your way to safety. Or, I know, turn yourself in. Then I can protect you and begin your re-education.”

  “Eat my shorts, Scheid.”

  He laughed. “You’re a pathetic brute. How have you made it this far?”

  “Insult number three was officially marked as discontinued, Reaper Cain. I believe it is from your childhood. I am running a check to determine if shorts eating pertains to our dilemma in any way,” X-37 said. “My analysis shows your friends have a limited chance to survive this situation.”

  “Path, it has been nice knowing you,” I said. “Get out of here. Find an OP and pretend you’re a sniper if you want to help.”

  “I am not a sniper,” he said. “I will go where you go.”

  “Fine. Let’s do this.” I put the armored car in gear and ripped free of our camouflage, aiming for the last place I had seen Bug and Tom.

  “Obsidians are headed our way,” X-37 warned.

  “That fast?” I checked my screens and saw X was on the money. Mechs and Obsidian clones converged on my position. “These guys are not getting invited over for cigars after this is over.”

  “I will make a note, Reaper Cain,” X said.

  34

  Most of the terrain surrounding Scheid’s base had been cleared of rubble or bulldozed into hills for their observation posts—not the defensive tactic I would have chosen, but I wasn’t the madman running this circus.

  Trenches were a thing I learned about after almost driving into one.

  “Shit! Didn’t see that!” I cranked the wheel, nearly tipping the armored car onto its side. Tires skidded on the precipice of disaster. Brakes complained. The muffler bellowed like an angry beast as I gunned it a second later.

  “The trenches are camouflaged quite well,” X-37 said. “I am using drone images to map the locations now that I know what to look for.”

  “They must be expecting trouble from the JFT,” I said. “But trench warfare?”

  “The shock troops from Oroth are the only force dangerous enough to justify excavating such elaborate defenses. Stand by while I puzzle out a full explanation for these fortifications,” X-37 said. “Our immediate problem is three Obsidian vehicles pursuing us, though one has just taken another route with the intention of heading us off.”

  “You’re a mind reader now? Where’s your positive mental attitude?” I kept my foot to the floor to speed along the edge of the ten foot deep trench. The bottom of the crevasse appeared wide and well maintained, almost like a highway—better than the surface I was currently traversing. Driving down there would be a good way to avoid being seen but I didn’t see an access point.

  “Their intent is obvious, Reaper Cain.”

  Battle calm soothed me once I remembered to inhale through my nose, hold the air for a second, then release it slowly through my mouth. Severe danger, constant action, a fight I couldn’t win—this was like coming home. I was back in the game. Running gun-battles were where I felt like myself, even if I didn’t like what I was doing. “I’m going in.”

  “I don’t understand,” X said.

  Path grabbed his armrests but still didn’t curse or shout at what was about to happen.

  I steered into the trench, gunning the engine to keep the nose from falling. The last thing I wanted to do was brake right before going over nose-first. With luck, all four of the massive tires would hit the ground at the same time and I would continue to drive.

  Assuming this tank-like ground car had the suspension to handle this stunt.

  We went into free
fall for a second. My stomach floated into my chest, and I came out of the seat until the safety harness stopped me. Then we hit the ground like a sledgehammer.

  “This is a terrible plan, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “And I think you have knocked the sword saint unconscious.”

  “You’re not wrong, X.” Stars filled my vision, and I sounded drunk when I spoke. “Maybe I should’ve asked how much this thing weighed before making the jump. Path, wake up.”

  His eyes rolled as he fought for consciousness. He must have banged his head on something despite holding on to his seat for dear life. I had been gripping the wheel and was strapped in.

  As for the armored car… the noises it was making didn’t bode well for our long-term use of this vehicle. The transmission, or maybe the axle, who the hell knew, was grinding itself slowly but surely into nothing.

  “You said this was a maze, X. Now show me how to stay one step ahead of these Obsidians jackwagons. Ten steps would be better.”

  “Continue in this direction until you are beneath the camouflage netting, then turn left at the next intersection, if you can maneuver in such a tight space,” X said.

  “We’re fine. Plenty of room.”

  “Driving straight is not the same as turning corners,” X-37 said. “I should not have to explain this to you.”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  The intersection looked… tight. I veered as far as possible to the right and hit the wall, then cranked the vehicle to the left and scraped that side against the corner from bumper to bumper as we squeezed into the next corridor.

  Armor plating held, but for a second two of the tires lost traction, spinning ineffectively. I forced my way around the corner, keeping my foot to the floor as I cursed about the general unfairness of this entire ordeal. “Cheap ass tires.”

  “You would maintain better rolling friction by easing off the gas until the tires ceased spinning without grabbing,” X-37 said. “Also, the distraction of creative profanity reduces your driving efficiency by a full percentage point.”

  “Sue me. I got it done, didn’t I?”