7


The bridge, only supported on one side of the river, twisted as the far end fell. Insurgents and noncombatants fleeing the bombardment of Jeppa screamed as they plummeted to their deaths. Rocks and rapids awaited them on the half-kilometer wide river through the four-hundred-meter-deep canyon.
Carson’s World, and that of the people of Jeppa, was a hard and violent place, but nothing compared to the might of the Union’s wrath.
This time, the bridge incident would be different. This time, I wouldn’t let go no matter what. The woman had a family—little girls I’d tossed to Grady myself before trying to save the woman.
“You’re not even trying to help me, X,” I complained.
“What do you want me to do? I wasn’t there and I can’t see your mind, only posit based on your reactions and mumblings. None of this is real,” X-37 said clinically. “You’re asleep.”
Captain Clark shouted at me from safety only a dozen meters away. The woman stared into my eyes, her demeanor serene and dreamlike as her hair floated on a spring breeze. Because this was a dream, I was able to watch her, but also watch Clark standing behind me with his rifle.
He opened fire, sending slugs through every part of my body.
“Now you’re exaggerating,” X-37 scoffed. “He didn’t shoot you everywhere.”
* * *
The farther we travelled into uncharted space, the less S.G. point data was available. I wasn’t sure how much longer we had in the slip tunnel or how much time it would take us to reach the next, or where it might take us.
I knew slip tunnels didn’t normally last more than a few days, so we had to be getting close to the exit point. If that was the case, I had at least five or six hours.
More than enough time for a solo workout, shower, and a nap. I needed some alone time and told X-37 as much.
“Strange,” X-37 said.
“What are you talking about, strange?” I asked my limited artificial intelligence.
“You’ve been complaining about cabin fever. It would make sense that you want more people around you for the stimulation and variety rather than fewer people around you. What are you going to do, stare at the wall while you exercise?”
“I have an imagination,” I said, not really knowing what I was trying to say but figuring it would give X-37 something to chew on.
“Of course, Reaper Cain. That must be nice,” X-37 said dryly.
I was heading for the gym when X-37 changed the subject. “I have uncovered new information about James Henshaw.”
My limited artificial intelligence was constantly digging for information. That was one of a LAI’s main jobs. I needed to know everything I could about not only my enemies, but also my allies. Attention to detail had kept me alive on many previous missions.
“Give it to me,” I said, stopping in the middle of the hallway to listen to X on our private, encrypted link.
“I’m hesitant to provide you this information because you have finally assimilated him into your circle of friends,” X-37 said. “I’ll remind you that no one is perfect and that if you insist upon this requirement, you will have no friends at all.”
I waited.
“James Henshaw would have you believe that he is only a scientist who once worked for Vice Admiral Nebs under duress. A mission debrief, classified and marked for deletion, that I recovered due to my extraordinary abilities, leads me to conclude he has actual blood on his hands,” X-37 said.
“Details,” I demanded. “I thought we had vetted him well enough to be trusted.”
X-37 told me an extremely interesting tale as I stood there in the hallway barely aware of my surroundings because of what I was hearing. For someone like me, that meant the story might be reason enough for someone to die.
“I’ll be crossing over to the Lady Faith to confront Henshaw the moment we are out of slip space,” I said.
“I cannot recommend this course of action,” X-37 said. “Nebs and his spec ops group are still hard after us. We can’t afford this type of drama.”
“Drama? Is that a technical term for confronting a murderous liar?” I asked.
“It’s not my favorite description of the circumstances, but I’ve been forced to lower the precision of my communication skills to accommodate your rudimentary vocabulary,” X-37 said.
“Are you giving me attitude?” I asked.
“Of course not, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “That would be your emotional response causing you to believe this. That is largely outside of my control. I could cause your nervous system to sedate you, but that seems a bit extreme.”
“I’m doing this face-to-face. Talk to Jelly and make sure she’s ready. Path will come over to the Lady Faith so that I can talk to Henshaw alone,” I said. “I prefer we think of a good reason for it rather than trying to order him to do it.”
“I’m sure that Elise is due for a lesson in swordsmanship and close quarters battle,” X-37 suggested.
“That’s perfect. They both love CQB,” I said, already mentally preparing myself for the showdown with Henshaw. This time, it was different. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I could trust him, I just needed to figure out why he hadn’t told me he was an assassin.
“I must emphasize it was a one-time event. I do not believe he is a danger to you or the crew in a physical sense,” X-37 said.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I started planning several ways to kill Henshaw if the need arose.
Instead of going to the gym, I paced the hallways of the Jellybird until she advised me the slip tunnel was opening.
“Now?” I demanded.
“Apologies, Captain.” Jelly said.
“Execute our standard security measures. Scan for mines or other dangers, then get us away from the opening,” I said.
“Standard evasion protocols have begun,” Jelly said. “Will you be attending the bridge?”
I thought about it.
“Jelly is sharing data with me regarding the slip tunnel opening. You’re not needed on the bridge for this particular instance,” X-37 said.
“You see, X, that was actually helpful. I’m heading to the shuttle,” I said. “Make sure Path and Elise are scheduled for training. He can take the shuttle back while I have my talk with Henshaw.”
“Of course, Captain,” Jelly said.
My crossing to the Lady Faith was a blur. I had bigger things to think about. Before I knew it, Path was giving me a slight bow and taking the shuttle back to the Jellybird for a training session with Elise.
Henshaw stood almost regally at the edge of the docking area for the shuttles despite his sloppy wardrobe. He had the manner of a university professor who let his hair grow long and wore ceramic beads to contrast with his silk shirts and perfectly tailored shorts. He liked to wear flip-flops when he wore shoes at all.
I found the entire presentation kind of forced, like he was pretending he didn’t care when he was actually uptight and full of elitist pretensions.
“You must agree that crossing by shuttle is quicker and safer than jumping across in a spacesuit,” Henshaw said, referring to some of my less successful incidents in the past.
I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s situational. And in my experience, most people don’t have enough training on their extra vehicle activity suits. Elise and Path both needed the practice.”
“So, you must be in a hurry to confront me this time,” Henshaw said. “Or you feel you have sufficient experience in the EVA gear.”
I was curious to know how he had come to the conclusion we would be at odds, even though it was a correct conclusion. “You think we’re going to have a confrontation?”
“It seems fairly obvious that you wanted Path back on your own ship. That should worry me more than it worries you. You’re a notorious assassin who has me at your mercy with little chance of rescue,” he said.
“It’s funny that you mention assassinations,” I said.
Henshaw didn’t react. He was either very good at concealing his emotions or didn’t know what I was talking about. X-37 told me the man had only murdered one person. The situation suggested it had been ordered by Vice Admiral Nebs, who wasn’t a Vice Admiral at the time, but who had been in charge of an intelligence gathering initiative.
“Why don’t we relocate to my den,” Henshaw said, still appearing to be mildly perplexed at my hostility. “I’m no angel, Mr. Cain, but I can tell you with confidence that I’m no assassin.”
I walked beside him, letting the moment draw out in silence. With most people, this would cause him to wonder what I was getting at or to struggle with making up a good cover story, only to feel more and more guilty and become more and more transparent.
Henshaw, for all of his faults, was above all of that. He had a keen mind and confidence in his decisions. Who else would have the arrogance to replace both of his natural eyes with cybernetics and risk blindness if something went wrong? I had to remember who I was dealing with.