by J. N. Chaney
“It’s unlikely, to say the least,” X-37 said. “Do you believe in magic? Because any technology that could accomplish such a feat would look and feel like magic to us.”
“You know the Greendale bounty has to be Elise,” I said.
“That would be a logical conclusion.” X-37 didn’t really sound like he gave a damn—because he was a soulless machine that didn’t understand how guilty I felt right now.
“Jelly, get us away from this star port and find a slip tunnel to Greendale,” I ordered.
“I will have to damage the docking clamps to break free. There will be fines and we’ll be banned from returning, assuming the Union doesn’t impound me and put you back on death row,” Jelly said.
“Then you better not let us get caught,” I said.
9
The Jellybird didn't look like much, but she flew like a dream. She had the aggressive external styling of a Union ship, but some of the effect was gone without a full complement of weapons to give her profile that “I'm here to dominate the system” look.
Getting those replaced was on my list of things to do. During the slower moments of the transit through the slip tunnels, I fantasized about having a cloaking device. The missions I could accomplish with that kind of technology were endless. I knew they existed but doubted I would ever have one.
We shot through one slip tunnel after the next, the electric-green walls our constant companion. The view stunned me into a seductive meditative state. Despite everything I’d been through, being surrounded by a slip tunnel sparked deep emotions.
Even for the last Reaper. Even for a man so broken down and lonely that going on didn’t seem worth the trouble. I loved staring at the spectacular view but never dwelled too long. Some mysteries were better left as mysteries.
I couldn't claim the navigational perfection of our trek was due to my prowess as a captain. I had received all manner of flight training in spec ops, dark ops, and again when I became a Reaper. I'd say I was a solid pilot, dependable under pressure but not likely to defeat a fighter jock in a dog fight or navigate an asteroid field without significant help from my ship AI.
I spent my downtime exploring the ship and practicing in the simulator. She had more than a few hidden compartments from her smuggling days but retained the efficiency of a Union vessel.
"How are we doing, Jelly?" I asked.
"There is one more jump to reach Greendale," she said. "Are you certain of this course of action? X-37 has advised me that a better choice would be to have your eye fixed on Roxo III.”
"This won't take long. I just need to contact Frank, put eyes on Elise for a bit to make certain she’s okay, and then get out of there," I said.
"Unless she is the focus of the contracts you discussed at some length with X-37. Should that be the case, it would be best if you were operating at your full potential," Jelly said.
I shook my head. "I'd rather be on time and damaged than late. If someone is trying to kill her, I'd like to do something besides attend her funeral."
"From what X-37 has told me, I doubt there would be a funeral. He said that the bodies are usually disposed of under these kinds of circumstances," Jelly said.
"Thanks for the pep talk. Let's hope that the contract killer board on Layton 5 was either a hoax or just a coincidence," I said.
Normally, I had good instincts for these types of things. At first I’d been terrified that Elise was in mortal danger. Now I was merely uneasy.
"If you're not worried about her, then why not just go to Roxo?" Jelly asked.
"Drop it, Jelly,” I said, changing my destination. "I'd like to see the planet when we arrive."
"Do you also wish to view the final slip tunnel? It's short, unless you wish to jump to a different system," Jelly advised.
"You see, we're practically there. No reason to reverse my decision now," I said and went to the bridge.
“Jelly, take us down,” I said, already feeling the pull of gravity as she cut into the atmosphere. New planets held exciting and terrifying prospects at the same time.
“Right away, Captain,” Jelly said. “I have to say, X did an excellent job securing our landing berth. It seems unmonitored by official entities.”
“That’s what a Reaper AI does,” I said, “find secret places to do secret things.”
“Limited AI, Reaper Cain. You’re going to get me turned off with talk like that,” X-37 said.
“We’re outlaws, in case you haven’t noticed.” I was in a decent mood. Three weeks without a major nerve-ware glitch and plenty of good sleep did that. “I could get used to traveling like this.”
We flew over the surface of Greendale, which wasn’t especially green right now.
The planet had one continent. During the spring, it was nothing but perfect farmland and rolling hills fit for vacation resorts and digital postcards. Summers and winters turned the place drab colors, not that it mattered to me—I liked the snow. I was headed to Zag City, the only metropolitan area on the planet.
Zag was a deep crater almost ninety kilometers across. The spaceport rimmed the edges and was noisy with anti-gravity fields and all the technology needed to service starships.
The city had been built on the floor so that the tallest buildings thrust up from the center—barely visible from the pristine fields of the agricultural zones. From the lowest streets of Zag, the prefabricated metal structures looked like dark towers with highways of bridges and walkways connecting them. The rim of the crater kept much of the city in shadow. Days were short in Zag City and neon signs became the sun for the lowest levels. Noon was nothing but harsh white light that didn’t last long.
Fat snowflakes made their way through the darkness to land on my face as I disembarked. The parking space that X-37 had secured for the ship was in an older part of the town surrounded by a bad neighborhood. There was no enclosed hangar or security presence. A chain-link fence surrounded the field, with tenement buildings on three sides and a factory on the fourth.
I watched a woman lean out from a ninth-story balcony to beat dust from a rug. She yelled at someone inside the apartment. I couldn’t make out her words from this distance, but the tone suggested she was tired of cleaning up after ungrateful children.
"Do they have refueling and repair facilities here?" I asked.
The Jellybird answered, “There is a refueling truck that comes twice a day, and all repairs are handled through contracts. We have everything in good order, so once I am fueled, we will be able to leave at a moment’s notice."
"I think we're going to work well together," I said.
"A note of caution," Jelly said. "This is a rough neighborhood. I balanced our need for services with our need for obscurity. X-37 didn't analyze the area, as it will affect your mission. You may have trouble with the young men waiting outside the gate."
A quick look around told me all I needed to know. This place was almost entirely automated to maximize profit—and allow “creative” shipping arrangements. There were several holes in the chain-link fence, but I wasn't worried about some street kid stealing my shit. Jelly could take care of herself as far as that went.
The tenement buildings were covered with graffiti wherever someone could reach the walls. The higher I looked, the less graffiti I saw—just a little bit around windows and balconies. The factory was noisy—constantly puking smoke as machines on the assembly lines banged into things. The exhaust ports of its power plants were charged black from lack of cleaning.
"Good to know,” I said, nursing a cigar to life as I counted the shadows moving just below on the automated gate. "You ready, X?"
"Yes, Reaper Cain. The Jellybird was kind enough to give me some processing power that I needed to complete my analysis of the city and the possible security strengths and weaknesses,” X-37 explained.
"Did you learn anything interesting?" I asked, striding toward the gate.
"Just the usual."
The local street toughs glared at me, emphasizing
the tattoos on their faces, but kept their mouths shut. I knew what was coming and was impressed by their patience—even if they were predictable. As soon as I passed their position, they would surround me and demand tribute.
“This place reminds me of my childhood,” I said.
“I’m sorry. Is this difficult for you? Shall I adjust our plans accordingly?” X-37 asked.
“Actually, it’s nice. Things weren't all bad. The crew I ran with had a lot of fun. What is about to happen is going to be a regular shit show, don’t get me wrong, but it’ll be like going home,” I said.
“If you know what is going to happen, why don't you do something to avoid it?" X-37 asked.
I could've explained, but I felt like being a jerk. Sometimes it was satisfying to make him guess. Walking straight into the trap, I turned at the last minute, intent on entering one of the apartments to circumvent the ambush site.
The place looked like subsidized housing. I suspected the locks were broken.
One firm push opened the door. Seconds later, I was striding through the hallway toward an exit that opened onto a different street.
A group of young men followed me, shouting for me to stop. I maintained my pace without looking back.
“I’m talking to you, old man!” the leader said.
I stopped, turned around, and looked him over. He had the lean, muscular look of a young man who fought daily to stay alive. He was the biggest in the group, which was how leadership roles were often decided in these types of situations. Under his left eye were three lopsided hashmarks, like broken sergeant chevrons. Under his right were a skull and crossbones.
"So you did hear me? Man, that ain't cool. You walk away from me like that and it's disrespectful," the leader said.
"I heard you," I said. "And I saw you and your stupid plan long before I left the gate. Do yourself a favor and go back to school. Learn a trade."
His crew made surprised sounds, egging him on.
“You think you can get what you want because you're big and have a fancy off-worlder’s coat? Well, that ain't how it works in Zag City," he said. “They call me Bones and it ain’t because of the tat on my face.”
“What, are you a doctor?” I asked.
He lunged forward, baring his teeth and clenching his fist but stopping short of an actual fight. “Fuck you, smartass. They call me Bones because I break bones. How about I break your bones. Hands first, then arms, then—”
I rolled up the sleeve on my trench coat to reveal my cybernetic left arm and made a metal fist. Silence spread through the group. Bones and his two toughest guys shifted nervously but didn't back down.
I extended the blade with a snap.
They started to back away, and I knew they would all be running within seconds. "What, you haven't seen a Union bayonet before?"
Several of the younger men in the back sprinted out of the building. The middle tier of the gang edged that direction, looking like they also wanted to make a run for it. Bones and his two lieutenants hung on the longest.
I lunged forward, inspiring them to take flight.
Once they were in full retreat, I went the other direction.
“I’m confused,” X-37 said. “Those young men are a threat. Why are we advancing in the opposite direction?”
“You’re a bloodthirsty little AI, aren’t you?” I asked, amused and worried at the same time that my digital conscience seemed to prefer murder.
“I didn’t like the look of them and predict they will seek opportunities to ambush us,” X-37 stated.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Now isn’t a good time to go on a killing spree.”
“When would be a good time?” X asked. “I am merely gathering data points for future analysis.”
“Sometimes you’re the stupidest computer I’ve ever met,” I said.
“On the contrary, I understand the repercussions of taking a human life. It is your inconsistency I’m am struggling to define,” X-37 said.
“That way lies madness, X.” I fell into a routine of moving without being noticed while I noticed everything and everyone around me. Zag City was an intriguing mixture of light and shadow with skyscrapers that resembled monoliths all around me. Walkways and structural connections linked most of the buildings.
“Are you thinking of Dreadmax?” X-37 asked. “I’m tracking your gaze and find the items you focus on to be interesting.”
“Just taking it all in,” I said somberly. “Every new world, city, or landscape has its own look—its own archetype. Humans are wired to be awed by big things—sunrises, waterfalls, cityscapes.”
“Of course,” X-37 said, clearly not getting it. “There are many references to such spectacular post-card moments in the archives of human literature.”
I moved on without thinking about all the things I’d done or what had become of me. My arm spasmed. Static pulsed in my eye. Zag City loomed all around me like one giant machine with its own intelligence.
I’d known Frank Morton during my earliest days of spec ops. He’d always been what was referred to as a mid-rank Ranger, never drawing attention at the front of the pack but never falling behind either.
He had been a good soldier with a solid career, a leader regardless of his actual rank. Our unit commander listened when he talked and often put him in charge of missions and major projects.
Was he the type of person I thought would fight to the death to protect Elise?
Maybe, maybe not. He was a good man with limitations. According to X-37, he’d started a family and secured a foreman’s position at a factory that manufactured loading ramps for starships.
Frank’s apartment building was nearly identical to the place I had confronted Bones and his street thugs. I wanted to think it was slightly cleaner, and that the residents cared about their neighborhood. The differences were minor and probably didn’t matter.
The front door was open but had an attendant. The old man nodded at me respectfully, standing from his stool near the door but not approaching. He had a wary look in his eyes and seemed like he was exhausted by life but still pressing onward.
“Good morning, citizen,” he said. “I haven’t seen you around the building. Are you a guest or a process server?”
“What if I was just coming in here to rob somebody?” I asked.
He shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m here to see a friend,” I said. “I don’t think he’s expecting me, but I know the way.”
“You’ve never been here,” the man said with less humor and more confidence, though he still seemed vulnerable.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I assured him. “Go back to your stool. Forget I was ever here.”
His face flushed red, which suggested he hated my words. The man had probably heard them often and knew where they led. Debt collectors and enforcers were the most common users of this warning. And after they left, the police were usually not far behind to take a body to the morgue.
“Relax. I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I said, lowering my voice and hoping I sounded reassuring.
“That’s good to hear, citizen. Didn’t catch your name,” he said pointedly.
I was surprised. He knew better than to press for details but was too proud to let me just invade his turf, even though I could probably crush him without years of training or my Reaper gear.
“Don’t worry about it.” I went to the elevator and selected the fifth floor. There was a chip reader of some sort, but it had been tampered with, a chip permanently jammed into it to make it work any time somebody wanted to use it.
I found Frank’s apartment. “X, can you call Frank Morton and let them know I’m here.”
“Yes, I can do that,” X-37 said.
“I’m not getting a very good connection. I can barely hear you,” I said.
“Zag City was built in the crater of a meteorite. There are mineral deposits that affect my transmissions,” X-37 said. “There is also an unusually high level of ne
twork systems and electronic security routines watching each other. On a digital level, the people of Zag City are very paranoid.”
“You’re complaining because it’s a busy place?”
“Extremely busy. Compound that with the unusual presence of exotic minerals and my job is much more complicated than places like Gronic or even Roxo III,” X-37 said.
“Is this going to be a problem?” I asked.
“Not at all. I am very good at my job,” X-37 said, somewhat indignantly. “There may be sound quality issues, but I should be able to maintain a reliable connection.”
The door opened and Frank stepped out, closing it quietly behind him. He looked me up and down, then scanned the rest of the hallway. “Keep your voice down. The baby is asleep,” he said quietly.
I wasn’t sure how many kids he had, but thought it was several. “I won’t stay long. I came to check on Elise.”
He looked at his feet, just for a second. The man was proud but not arrogant.
I recognized the expression. It wasn’t shame or avoidance, he was just pausing before giving me bad news. Frank had the same mannerisms I remembered from his time as a steady and reliable noncommissioned officer for the Union.
He looked up and held my gaze without shame or fear. “She didn’t take well to family life. I told her she was always welcome to stay with us, but she filled out all of the forms for emancipation. Enrolled in school and got a job at a diner. I look in on her from time to time, but I don’t meddle in her affairs.”
“That’s all I asked for in the first place,” I said. “Do you have some time to show me around?”
“Sure. Let me get my coat and tell Sheri I’m going out.” He didn’t invite me in, which was fine with me.
10
We headed down to a neighborhood mini park off the main street. There were a few trees and a fountain contained by graffiti-covered walls. In one corner was a swing set and some other cheap playground equipment. The sounds of kids screaming with enthusiasm competed with traffic noises. Sooner or later, someone was going to get hurt.
