Fear the Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (The Last Reaper Book 2)

by J. N. Chaney

  “This is going to be bad,” I murmured to X-37 once I was past them.

  “Leave my family alone. I’ll call the fucking police,” Frank shouted as he moved laterally to keep Michaels from grabbing his wife, who was doing the same thing to block their advance on the now terrified children.

  People darted away from the scene, crossing against the light, reversing directions, or even going into random buildings.

  “You fucking know why we’re here,” Michaels grunted.

  “I don’t know where he is, and if I did, I’d still tell you to go to hell,” Frank said, pointing aggressively at Michaels.

  I was almost there but could feel eyes—probably Briggs and Crank—watching me.

  X-37 beeped. “I highly recommend to turn away from this fight.”

  “It’s too late,” I said under my breath, picking up my pace to a near run, ready to burst across the final four or five meters to reach the Greendale contract killers.

  15

  Static exploded on the left side of my vision, spilling into my right and feeling like it was sizzling down my spine. The pain drove me to one knee.

  “Not now!” I grunted, then cursed.

  Michaels turned.

  I rushed him, tackling him as I screamed at the unfair fucking universe. We hit the ground so hard, we bounced. I use the momentum to get to my feet. With no loss of movement, I slammed into Olathe. He flew backward into the street and was nearly hit by a car.

  Horns honked. "Watch where you're falling, you dumb ass!" a driver shouted, shaking his fist out of a window.

  “That’s Cain!” Crank shouted from nearby.

  Briggs roared something else that I didn’t quite make out because I was already moving into my next action.

  Fights like this happened in a matter of seconds. It felt like we had been at it for minutes, or even hours. Michaels and Olathe came to their feet and rushed me, impressing me with their teamwork. I had to leap sideways to get clear of them, kicking Michaels in the knee.

  He twisted to minimize the damage, but I saw the mixture of anger and pain on his face.

  Olathe rushed around him. “Try punching me out when I’m ready for it, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  Twisting in place, I drove a back kick into his sternum, sending him into the street again. There were no cars to almost hit him this time.

  I barely saw the Greendale contract killers because I had bigger problems.

  On the upside, Frank was dragging his family into a public bus and screamed for the driver to get the hell out of there.

  On the downside, Crank was about to rock my world if I didn’t do something. The man was one of the best individual fighters I’d encountered in the Union military, and that was saying a lot.

  The Greendale contract killers also rallied and made a fresh assault. They lacked the training of professional soldiers but seemed ready to fight dirty.

  “Now would be a good time to get the fuck out of Dodge,” X-37 snapped.

  “What, no warning beep? How rude,” I said as I sprinted into traffic, causing cars to hit their brakes and swerve.

  Crank out-ran the others, closing the gap between us.

  I reached the opposite sidewalk, stepping onto a bus stop bench and bounding over it rather than weave between pedestrians waiting there. A couple shouted at me and others laughed, apparently oblivious to the fight that had happened just across the street.

  “You know I’ll catch you!” Crank shouted, sounding out of breath but determined.

  “Don’t slow down, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned. “He’s still gaining on you.”

  I dashed into an alleyway and poured on the speed. This was a dangerous choice. If I came to a dead end or if he proved to be faster than I anticipated, I’d wind up fighting him until his partner caught up.

  And I doubted his partner was far behind, maybe a few seconds at best.

  A chain-link fence materialized in the gloom. Trash littered the area near it, but nothing solid enough to serve as a ladder. Leaping into the air, I grabbed the cheap barrier halfway to the top and scrambled higher.

  Crank hit the fence about the time I was swinging over the top and tumbling to the other side. After tucking and rolling, I came to my feet and ran toward an intersection. The walls were so close together here that I could almost touch them and there wasn’t much light. A murky yellow ambiance glowed from one window where a man and woman argued.

  A shuttle streaked high above the buildings, engines reversing to slow for some nearby spaceport. Crank cursed. Behind him, Briggs shouted at me to stop or face the consequences.

  I turned the next corner, searching desperately for a way out of the alley maze. These buildings had been designed as a self-contained neighborhood with walkways between them and tiny courtyards seemingly placed at random. What I saw was trash piled up in corners and laundry hanging out of windows. And hungry dogs. And the occasional homeless person scooting deeper into temporary shelters that smelled like piss and alcohol.

  “How about a little help, X?” I grunted, getting winded and wondering if Crank was ever going to give up. He sounded like he was dying but just kept coming. His labored breathing was animal rage personified.

  “Relax, Reaper Cain,” X-37 advised.

  “Relax!” I turned another corner, not entirely sure I wasn’t moving in a circle.

  “You will come to a street after the next left turn,” X-37 promised.

  “Fucking thanks for the last-minute tip,” I gasped. “I was about to turn right.”

  The alley opened onto a busy street with cars parked seemingly chaotically. There had been a minor accident. The drivers stood near cops filling out accident forms on beat-up tablets.

  I climbed into the first car I came to, tapping at a palm reader. X-37 could give me a bypass code if we had time. Fortunately, the driver had been too lazy to disable the security protocols. It started immediately, electric motors coming to life.

  “X, how do I turn off the auto-drive?” I asked.

  “There is no auto drive on this vehicle. You made an excellent choice for an escape vehicle,” X-37 said, continuing with some other details I ignored.

  I steered into the street and raced through an intersection, narrowly avoiding cross traffic. The rearview screen showed Crank stealing his own ride—some kind of delivery vehicle that looked like it had been involved in the fender bender.

  Cranking the wheel, I drove through on-coming traffic for half a block, then moved onto a one-way street heading the direction I needed to go. Ideally, I would abandon the car near the diner, then go after Elise.

  A booming crash sounded behind me. I checked the screen and saw that Crank had slammed a vehicle out of his way, causing it to spin through an intersection.

  “I think he chose an even better vehicle. That thing looks rugged,” I said.

  “It has the weight and mass to push smaller vehicles aside. You have three ways to defeat his pursuit: raw speed, cutting through narrow alleys, or staying ahead until he accumulates enough damage to disable the van,” X-37 said.

  “Are you enjoying this?” I asked.

  “I’m a limited AI without emotion,” X-37 pointed out.

  “You sound like you’re enjoying it,” I said, swerving as a car came close to hitting me in an intersection. Moments later, I found the traffic ahead of me stalled.

  I pushed the nose of the small vehicle between lanes and accelerated, scraping the cars on both sides of mine. Horns honked. Men and women cursed and shook their fists at me.

  I took out a cigar and stuck it in the corner of my mouth. “Piss off, you non-driving fucks.”

  “Road rage is one of the major causes of accidents in Zag City,” X-37 warned.

  “No shit?” I bumped one more vehicle hard enough to move it sideways, then raced into the clear street ahead of the traffic jam.

  Behind me, Crank was taking a different approach, slamming vehicles ahead of him until there were too many to push through. He turned onto
the sidewalk, sending a park bench into the air and causing pedestrians to dive for cover.

  The sound of police sirens converged on the area. I caught a glimpse of them on the next street over.

  “Their dispatch system is old,” X-37 informed me. “They are several seconds behind events. That won’t last. You should have a plan to deal with local law enforcement in the near future.”

  “Not something I’m looking forward to,” I said, sliding around a corner and looking for a place Crank wouldn’t be able to drive his larger vehicle.

  Behind me, the scene was chaos. Horns blared. People got out of their cars and yelled at each other. Smoke filled the air as hover police cars and an ambulance siren added to the confusion.

  I drove on hoping I looked inconspicuous.

  16

  Turning the wrong way on a one-way street, I met a very large bus. “Well, shit!”

  Swerving onto the sidewalk, I learned my vehicle didn’t have the weight and mass to smash aside a bench that was bolted to the street. I hadn’t strapped in, so when the obstacle stopped my economy vehicle cold, the impact threw me at the dash, then the window.

  The automatic safety foam deployed. Warnings sounded. The car advised me it was calling for an ambulance unless I advised I wasn’t hurt.

  I opened the door and fell out, blood streaming from my nose and lips. Stars filled my vision that for once had nothing to do with my problematic Reaper nerve-ware, but sure as shit, that came down like a hammer as well. Static bloomed in my vision, twitches disabled my left hand, and pain went everywhere.

  “Your biometrics are all over the place, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.

  I staggered away from the vehicle, too hurt to get angry—which was a bad sign.

  “You may be going into shock, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, voice breaking up.

  The magnification feature of my cybernetic eye zoomed in and out. Night vision flashed with the brightness of daytime, stabbing into my brain like a knife. When that was gone a second later, everything became a surreal blur of infrared and static pulses.

  “Fuck.” I really needed to catch a break. “Please give me some good news, X."

  "I'll do what I can, but I would not expect any in the near future," X-37 advised.

  Crank’s van looked like a stepped-on beer can when it careened around the corner. Paint from at least three vehicle collisions stripped the side. One of its fenders dragged on the ground throwing up sparks. Smoke poured from under the hood.

  I was too messed up to move. Facing death wasn’t new. Knowing I was going to fail Elise was what really sucked. Sure she was pissed at me for abandoning her on Greendale, but I still had an obligation to look after her.

  Another hover van, this one black and orange, flashed through the intersection, striking Crank’s vehicle at a ninety-degree angle. Both vans smashed through a micro-park near a coffee bar. Tables, pedestrians, and decorative landscape items flew into the air.

  Citizens ran screaming from the violent collision. Some only made it a few steps before falling down from injury or overwhelming psychological trauma. A crowd of onlookers gathered, taking pictures and chatting excitedly. It didn't seem like any of them were pointing at me, however.

  I pulled up my coat collar and limped into the larger crowd, stalling for time, searching for options. Some of the citizens watched at me. One offered help. I waved him away and kept moving.

  Crank kicked out his windshield and tried to climb over the hood but was tangled in his seatbelt. Stunned by the violent collision, it took him several seconds to realize why he couldn’t pull himself free of the wreck.

  Michaels and Olathe emerged from the black and orange vehicle.

  I paused, ready to shoot them both but hoping they wouldn’t do something stupid.

  “You’re a fucking menace to society. You know that, right?” Michaels asked.

  “What do you want?” I asked, wondering if I should just open fire right here to prevent further threats against Frank’s family.

  “The girl is ours, but we’ll give you a cut of the reward—ten percent, and that’s generous, so don’t try asking for more. We’ll leave your friend alone unless you do something stupid,” Olathe said.

  “You’re the one who gave us the idea of killing his entire family,” Michaels said. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I could have killed both of you sorry motherfuckers,” I said, wishing I had put a bullet in each of their foreheads.

  “I know,” Olathe said. “We recognize professional courtesy when we see it. So we owe you for that. But now we’re even. So get the hell out of here and stay away from the girl, or if you catch her, you better remember to pay us ninety percent of the contract.”

  I maintained a healthy distance from the local killers and observed that Crank was almost free of the destroyed service van. Sirens approached from three directions. People pointed at us. Smoke from the white van and the black and orange van billowed into the air, making our confrontation even more obvious to responding law enforcement units.

  “If you go near any of them, I’ll hunt you down like a Reaper and rip you limb from limb,” I said. “I’ll teach you the meaning of hell. Fear the Reaper. Respect your limitations. Live to carry on with your small-time extortion and stay away from the big leagues.”

  “We are the big league,” Michaels said, but Olathe jerked his hand horizontally near his neck, indicating his friend should shut up right now.

  “Don’t push me. It’s been a long time since I killed for fun.”

  Realization of who they were dealing with hit Michaels and his partner at the same time. They backed away, hands on weapons.

  This didn't mean I’d won. Michaels and Olathe were dangerous and I knew I’d do well to remember the fact.

  "Just don't forget what we said, " Michaels emphasized. "Maybe you can kill one of us, but the other will go after Frank and his family. So check yourself, Reaper."

  "Do you really want to go to war with me?" I asked.

  Michaels and Olathe declined to answer, choosing instead to retreat.

  Another vehicle raced toward us, parked in the middle of the street, and produced Commander Briggs. He stepped out, aimed his HDK, and fired a stream of bullets at the position I’d vacated the moment I saw him.

  Shell casings streamed from the ejection port of his weapon. The muzzle flashed continuously as bullets peppered a parked car near me. I squatted low, then rapidly duckwalked to a better position.

  A short distance away, Crank had finally struggled free of his wrecked van. He bent at the waist, elbows on his knees as he puked between his feet.

  “You can’t hide from me, Cain!” Briggs shouted.

  “What does he think I’m doing now?” I asked.

  “Perhaps he believes you’re using some Reaper tradecraft to come up behind him and cut his throat,” X-37 said.

  “I like that idea,” I said.

  “Cain!” Briggs roared. “I’m going to hunt you to the end of the galaxy! Forget about the girl. She’s Union property and you are interfering with things you don’t understand.”

  I waited until he fired another stream of HDK bullets toward the front of the parked car, then ran from the back. Staying low and hoping the smoke and noise of the scene would give a few seconds, I looked for Crank and the local assassins while running toward a side street.

  Almost too late, I saw Crank dropping behind a vending shack on the corner and changed course. All that was left was an alley, and despite my recent bad experiences, I dove for it.

  This was a better part of Zag City, I hoped. Maybe the nooks and crannies would be cleaner.

  17

  Time lost meaning as I stumbled down the alley, trying to remember when I’d been in a similar place. A little voice told me to get my shit together, practically shouting at me that I’d spent a lot of time in Zag City alleys.

  “Help me out, X,” I said, trying to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t even remember my own name. Apparently, there
was someone or something I called X. The ridiculous moniker made me laugh, which hurt my head, so I stopped.

  The world seemed to spin and the ground tipped up, forcing me to walk with my hands stretched wide for balance.

  Details came back slowly, starting with the fact that I was a broken down Reaper on the run. Static ran through my vision, confusing me until I remembered that I had a malfunctioning enhancement in my left eye—a completely cybernetic monocular. It looked normal most of the time, but never withstood close scrutiny.

  Flexing my left fist, I remembered other things about my condition. Images from my time in prison returned, followed by the mission to Dreadmax. I thought of Elise, then of the local contract killers, and finally Briggs and Crank. The Union spec ops soldiers hadn’t hesitated to open fire on a public street. That was a bad sign.

  The sooner I rescued Elise and made my way to Roxo III for some real repairs, the better. I knew the tech was there and had been told there were qualified technicians. Hard experience with “experts” warned me not to hope too much.

  A fresh attack of laughter sent pain through my head and caused tears to run from the corners of both eyes. “This really sucks, X. Stop messing around and tell me where I am. How far away is Briggs? Crank?”

  No answer.

  I tried again to contact him, and even sent an inquiry to the Jellybird in case I was near the smuggler’s spaceport we had landed on. All I got for my trouble was a slight fluctuation in the static filling my internal earpiece. X-37 had told me there was a lot more computer warfare happening on the planet than he had anticipated, and that maintaining his own presence took most of his processing power. There also seemed to be something constantly interfering with our signal.

  Unlike Jelly, the AI of the Jellybird, X-37 physically existed in my nerve-ware. That made his inability to contact me an ominous warning. I couldn’t count on getting help anytime soon.