5


I followed Henshaw into the main house. He led me to a workshop in the basement. The austere and functional nature of the room contrasted with what I had seen above. There were workshop benches, computer interface stations, and cables hanging from clusters of electronic devices.
He motioned for me to have a seat on one of the benches. I complied, then he spent several minutes unpacking his tools. Most of them looked like small flashlights or data readers, but I saw scalpels and powered screwdrivers as well.
"Would you like me to regulate your hormones?" X-37 asked. "The look of Mr. Henshaw's tools is quite alarming."
I ignored my LAI.
Henshaw began the examination without a word. He aimed scanners into my left eye, pulling them back to study me from time to time, then getting back to work. It was difficult to watch everything he was doing because of our close proximity. I did, however, observe a change in his demeanor.
He was calm, focused, and curious. No matter what type of facade he maintained for the outside world, this man was a scientist who was compelled to do this type of work. In that way, he reminded me of Tom despite their obvious differences.
Time passed slowly as he worked—two or three hours at least. He put away his tools and sat back with his arms crossed, studying me intently.
"You have ghost images that don't originate from your Reaper eye. Did you know that?" he asked. He shook his head dismissively. "No, you probably didn't, and your LAI is unlikely to call attention to them."
"I can see the images, or part of them. It's distracting," I said, studying the engineer carefully. He didn't believe me.
"Truly?" he asked. “Because that is highly unusual.”
"It is what it is," I said. "How much do you really know about me?"
"I know you're a Reaper, which is also interesting, since they were all dead so far as I've heard," Henshaw said.
There was something wrong with his statement. It sounded forced, like a rehearsed line.
"You hear a lot of things?" I asked.
He smirked. "I gather information and make logical deductions.”
"What did your examination tell you?" I probed.
"You won't thank me for the revelations I can provide," he said.
I laughed then took out a cigar as I leaned back against the wall behind the bench. “You might know about Reapers, but you have never met one face-to-face. Playing games with someone like me is a good way to die.”
"I'm a risk taker,” he said with a shrug.
"Can you fix my eye, or not?" I asked.
"I can fix it well enough. You'll need to find an actual Union technician at some point, and you need a software update from a Union station,” he said.
"That'll be difficult, since they shut down the Reaper program," I said.
"Not my problem,” he said dismissively, then paused. "I can fix most of the glitches with your eye, eliminate the static interference and the recurring headaches."
I didn't respond. He had figured out what my problems were without me telling him directly. That probably meant he knew what he was doing.
"As for the ghost imagery, they are artifacts of another device. When you linked with it, the result was cross-contamination of your nerve-ware. Did you bring the device so I can look at it?" he asked. Something about his expression was greedy.
"I'm traveling light," I explained.
"Yes, well, I suppose it was too much to hope. I am always interested in new technology." He pulled up his stool and began to scan my eye a second time, occasionally stopping to type on an interactive holo screen.
Time crawled by as Henshaw worked, tweaking and updating lines of code. I felt worse, not better. Henshaw assured me that I would like the results when it was over.
"I have nested software upgrades that will activate when you get back to your ship," he said when he was done. "There's something else I should tell you."
I waited expectantly, keeping my expression neutral.
"You should try to find the facility where the mask was made. You'll never be able to be rid of the ghost images until then."
“You never told him the device was a mask,” X-37 pointed out.
No shit, I thought.
"Will the images affect my performance, or be dangerous?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Probably not. But we don't really know, do we? In a worst-case scenario, the next time you connect with this device that caused the images, everything locks up and turns you into a vegetable."
"You just want me to bring you the device so you can poke around in it," I accused.
He held up his hands defensively. "Not at all. But don't come running to me when your mind has turned to mush. I would like to see the device, that's true. But it won't give me the answers I need to help you. To do that, you need to go to the place it was made.”
"And where would this place be?" I asked.
"I wish I knew,” he said. "But alas, freedom is only a dream. We should discuss payment."
"What do you mean freedom is only a dream? Aren't you happy with your palace?" I asked. His odd statement felt like a secret signal.
He waved his hand dismissively. "None of my success will matter if I die. I am a scientist and an engineer at heart. Perhaps I am longing for something more fulfilling than wealth."
"Don't bullshit me," I said.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Cain.”
"What do you want? The contract said 15,000 credits," I said.
"You have 15,000 credits?" he asked.
"I can get it," I said, studying his reaction.
He smiled, a new light of respect in his eyes. "You came here without the money knowing the transaction wasn't about the money."
"I had my suspicions," I said. "But I was also ready to motivate you with violence if necessary."
"Of course. You are the last Reaper after all," he said.
Crossing my arms, I made certain my Reaper hardware showed at the cuff of my jacket.
"Well then, let's get down to business. I've been attempting to leave Roxo III for years. The local authorities, various crime organizations, and my half-assed real estate agent have been keeping me here,” he explained.
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Various reasons. Some very important people here have cybernetic augmentations and want to keep me on standby. The government believes I owe them taxes. But gambling is my real problem," he said. "Can I be this open with you? I'm assuming you accepted the confidentiality clause in the contract."
Who was I going to tell his secrets? "You owe people money?"
"Not exactly. I won our last game, earning enough to pay for all of this," he said, waving at his mansion. "But, as it happens, they want a rematch and I doubt that I can win twice in a row."
"If you win twice, they will accuse you of cheating and break your legs," I said. "Or have someone like me come and break your legs.”
"Unfortunately, I know you're right," he said.
"So what's your price?" I asked.
"Get me off Roxo III," he said simply.
“How do I do that?" I asked.
"I'm not asking for use of your ship. I have my own. Although it would be interesting to see if you find the source of your ghosts," he said. "I need you to escort me to my yacht. After that, you owe me nothing."
"Won't your guests see you leaving?" I asked, already forming a plan in my head.
"They are normally oblivious. Half of them are drunk or drugged. The rest have been paid for tonight's services in advance. All that we need to do is get your people here, then leave out the back way. I can disguise myself easily,” he said, picking up a hat, sunglasses, and a trench coat. “Is this too conspicuous? I’ve never done anything like this.”
“It’s sketchy. But your eyes—and that shirt—don’t give us a lot of choices,” I said. “Wear the costume and try to act natural. It’s time to go.”
"There's one more thing,” he said. “I held back some of my repairs against your good behavior. Don't get angry. It's just good business. When we arrive at my ship, I can give you the codes that will handle the remaining sixty percent of what I can do to re-calibrate your eye with your nerve-ware.”
"Don't double cross me, Henshaw," I said coldly. "Because I'm a hundred times worse than any enforcer a crime lord or senator can send after you."
"That's why I selected you," he said. "Who would mess with someone like Halek Cain?”