14

“Go home, Frank,” I said. “Hug your family.”

He nodded without making eye contact and left, lighting up a cigarette but holding it down just as I expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was the way he snuck a metal flask from the inside of his jacket and took a sip. Whiskey was what he needed to calm his nerves after a few hours with me.

He’d never been a drinker. I hoped he didn’t go on a bender and do something stupid. I had treated him like a chess piece in a deadly game. But he was a person with a life. He’d been one of my only friends.

Including him in this mission had probably been the end of that.

The moment I lost sight of my old friend, I turned back toward the assassins I had handled so roughly. It took me longer than I’d hoped to locate them. They were moving quickly, clearly shaken by our encounter.

The first part of my information gathering was the “interview” and the second was surveillance. I wanted to see if what they told me matched up with what they actually did.

I also thought, on further reflection, that allowing them to live had been a mistake. They were too dangerous to have lurking around in the shadows with a score to settle. “X, have you been able to learn anything about my new friends?”

“Certainly, Reaper Cain. The first individual is Britton Michaels. Goes by Brit. He attempted several times to get into the Constables but was rejected for unlisted reasons. He dropped out of the public education system and ran with gangs for a time, then disappeared for two years. When he returned to Greendale, he partnered with the second individual, Roger Olathe,” X-37 said.

“What’s his story?” I asked.

“Very similar, but without the two-year disappearing act. He ran with the 22nd Street gang for a time and developed quite a reputation as an enforcer. There’s a note from local law enforcement intelligence briefs that say he’s still on good terms with the 22nds.” X-37 faded out for a minute and returned in the middle of a sentence. “… Agree with your decision to eliminate them.”

“I missed some of that. That connection,” I said.

“Do you want me to start from the beginning?” X-37 asked incredulously.

“No. File it for later. I think I got the general idea,” I said, checking my back trail for any surprises. Nothing that X-37 had told me, or that I had witnessed, suggested there was a third conspirator, but it never hurt to be careful.

My caution was rewarded when I spotted Briggs and Crank in plainclothes. They moved through the crowd with less finesse than covert operatives would. It wasn’t their appearance or even the way they moved that made them stand out, but the hard look in their eyes. Neither of them spoke unless absolutely necessary. These were men looking to do violence.

“My recommendation is to avoid them,” X-37 said.

“Agreed. I’ll do another sweep of the area. Tell me if you pick up any other spec ops personnel. They wouldn’t come down here without the rest of the squad,” I said.

“Your analysis is correct,” X-37 agreed. “However, I’m unable to detect other Union soldiers in this crowd. Thank you for providing the visual import.”

“Zag City is a big place. They may have split up to cover more territory,” I said.

“I think they’re looking for us,” X-37 warned. “I defeated a sensor scan that was calibrated for my specific bandwidth. It’s a simple technique, but often effective. I’m actually impressed.”

Evading two of the best Union soldiers I’d ever encountered while tracking two dangerous assassins was a challenge. I kept Michaels and Olathe in view for a while, but they continued with their herky-jerky counter surveillance pattern, splitting to opposite sides of the street and constantly moving back the way they’d come. Briggs and Crank methodically swept the public areas in the type of grid pattern that left nothing to chance.

“You will have to make a decision soon,” X-37 said. “Trying to do two things at once will result in failure.”

“You’re not wrong, X,” I said. My encounter with the local assassins bothered me more the more I thought about it, but I knew Briggs and Crank. They were the bigger threat. I focused on evading their methodical search and kept an eye out for other spec ops personnel I suspected were also in the area.

It wasn’t long before I lost sight of Michaels and Olathe.

“I don’t think Briggs knows where Elise is,” I said. “There’s a chance he’s only here for me, but I think the Union wants her more than they want me eliminated.”

“Your analysis is sound,” X-37 said. “They dedicated several spec ops teams, a fleet battle group, and brought in a Reaper from retirement to try and recover her the first time on Dreadmax. She’s definitely a high-value target for them.”

“I’m going to increase my distance from Briggs and Crank, then start for the diner. If Elise is still there, I’ll make contact and return to the ship. If not, I’ll have to reevaluate. Frank didn’t know where she was living and you already confirmed the address in the contract intelligence brief didn’t actually exist,” I said, stepping back into a doorway to watch my enemies from a distance.

A short time later, I rounded a corner and spotted Frank reuniting with his family. His kids played in one of the corner parks just off the street and he stood hugging his wife, his face buried in her shoulder.

The scene really made me think. So far, my time on Greendale had been a routine mission—not especially challenging aside from some of the technological difficulties with X-37 and a generous helping of pain. We tracked down Elise, did close surveillance without compromising our position or alerting the target, and gathered intelligence from two adversaries.

I thought about the scene and Frank’s reaction to it. He’d been pale as a sheet when I came out of the alley, but he had stood guard. The man was loyal to a fault—and brave. The things I’d said about killing the families of Michaels and Olathe had really affected him. He was a family man. The life of a Union soldier was years in his past.

I heard a voice that prompted me to step into a doorway before even looking over my shoulder.

Briggs and Crank were so close that I’d overheard their crosstalk, even though they weren’t raising their voices and there was the noise of other pedestrian traffic interfering.

They passed by me, almost close enough to touch.

Frank shouted, taking back my attention. “I’m not part of that. Get the fuck away from her!” His chest was pressed forward and hands balled into fists. Behind him, his wife was edging toward the kids like she might grab them and make a run for it.

X-37 beeped me, using the soft tone he had adapted from Jelly’s routine to warn me he was jumping into a conversation—a particularly useful habit when I had a lot of other stimuli.

“This behavior is consistent with the dossiers of Michaels and Olathe. The first is a bully who lashes out, and the second is just sadistic,” X-37 said. “Your friend is in real danger.”

I’m not sure I heard everything X-37 said, because I had already made my own decision.

Commander Briggs and Sergeant Crank moved closer, slowing down, sweeping their eyes over the crowd, hands under their long coats—gripping weapons, probably Union-issued short-barreled HDK (Highly Destructive Kinetic) carbines with silencers.

They were between me and Frank’s dilemma.

Lowering my chin, I flipped up the collar of my trench coat and stepped out onto the sidewalk, walking quickly, moving dangerously close to the Union soldiers on my way to make another bad decision. I saw Briggs perk up like he sensed something.

“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.

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