10

Sleep was the last thing I wanted to waste time on now that we were out of the slip tunnels and on a mission, but I knew from experience I needed it. Three or four days without rest, sure, I could suck it up if I had to. But it was smart to stay caught up.

Deciding to compromise, I took a soldier’s nap before going in search of Henshaw. Images of Greendale, Gronic, and Dreadmax filtered through my fading consciousness. Other worlds and other missions threatened to claw up from the darkness. My soul was a desert shaded by a lightning-scorched tree. Images of desert worlds haunted me. In my nightmares, I was surrounded by a wall of skulls. On each forehead, I had carved the words “regret nothing” in blood.

I emerged from sleep in fight mode, surging out of my bed disoriented, tripping and falling between the sink and the door to my quarters. For a moment, I thought it was the Bluesphere Maximum Security Prison.

Recovering my senses took mere seconds but it felt like an eternity. I had to calm my animal instincts, control my thoughts, and act intentionally to remain the master of my own fate—if that had ever been more than an illusion. The first thing I did was take a neutral stance, feet shoulder width apart and hands relaxed. Breathing deeply, focusing on nothing, peace came to me a little more each time I exhaled. Meditation was a skill I could definitely improve upon, but I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the practice.

Belting on my sidearm, I went hunting for Henshaw.

It wasn’t long before I located him on the observation deck, sipping alcohol I hadn’t realized Jelly could produce. Even the glass was different. Most beverages on the ship came out of tubes or easily sealed cups. This fluted glass was full of dark red liquid that he swirled in the cup before sipping.

"I shared the recipe with your ship’s AI," Henshaw explained before I had a chance to ask the question.

"Is that wine?" I asked.

"It might be an insult to wine, but yes, essentially,” Henshaw answered. "Are we going to have the talk? Shall we decide my fate?”

“That’s no mystery. I’ll kick you off my ship as soon as I know you’re worthless,” I said.

"I can still help you," Henshaw said. “I’m far from worthless.”

I could've responded but didn't. It was better not to reveal too much. He was playing games, unaware of his own transparency.

"If you can get me to my yacht, I’ve got an offer you seriously can’t afford to miss," Henshaw said. “Hard money, unlimited credit lines, resources great enough to keep you and your ship going for years. But that’s not why you will help me.”

He wanted me to ask for an explanation for that last part. I remained silent, forcing him to keep talking.

“We shouldn’t be enemies. I have things you need—including answers about a number of things—and you have…skills. Path might be able to get me to my yacht, but I know you can get me there. At this late stage in the game, I need a guaranteed win.”

“Path is an actual sword saint. I saw what he did when we were trying to get onto the lift,” I said, pointing out a flaw in Henshaw’s logic.

“I’m aware of what he can and cannot do,” Henshaw said, waving one hand dismissively. “He doesn’t suit my needs. The man has served his purpose.”

Henshaw was holding something back. I filed the deception for later analysis. He wanted me for something more specific than a simple escort job.

"You really want to get on your ship, don't you?" I studied his posture and body language. He was nervous, but not in the way I was accustomed to. I didn't think he was concerned about physical danger, despite what Tom claimed. There was something on the yacht that he wanted or needed, and the prospect of not being able to have it bothered him deeply.

"I can make it worth your while," he said. "And not just with a lame promise to improve your functionality. I have something you want."

"I'm listening," I said, pinning him with my gaze.

“My specialty is in ocular engineering, but I worked for Vice Admiral Hugo Nebs,” he said, waiting for my reaction.

“Good for you,” I said flatly.

“How can you not know who that is?” he asked.

“I know who he is, I just don’t give a fuck. The man never came closer than a hundred meters unless there was slug-proof glass between us,” I said. "If you can convince me he was responsible for my prison sentence, then we'll talk."

Vice Admiral Hugo Nebs was the creator and commanding officer of the Reaper Corps. Strange and grim, the consensus among my peers was that he hated and resented the entire program for some reason. Byron claimed the vice admiral was just a figurehead who didn’t want anything to do with the RC program. Most of us agreed with him, but I thought there was something darker about the man’s reticence to speak to us in person.

There had been a lot of speculation about his disappearance, but that was before I fell out of favor with the Union. No one knew the truth of it all, and I wasn’t one to speculate.

Even though I'd only seen him from a distance despite his affiliation with the program, he gave off a very heavy self-destructive vibe—something that was hard to describe, something sensed rather than observed.

“The fact that you worked for the vice admiral is enough reason for me to kick you off the ship right now, maybe as a corpse. So, start talking. I don't think this conversation is going the way you intended,” I said gruffly.

He put down his wine and started using his hands when he talked, selling his earnestness with more and more expansive gestures. "Don't jump ahead in this story. You have to know why I'm here and why it matters. Other scientists worked on the project, experts in nerve-ware and limited AIs,” Henshaw said, eyes bright.

“Get to the point.” I wanted to shake the man. Dishonest people often talked a lot about nothing. It was easier to hide the deception that way.

“I learned from them. Our work overlapped on one or two occasions, though it wasn’t often.” He probably sensed that I’d reached the end of my patience, because now he was speaking quickly to avoid getting slammed on the deck. “I spent a lot of time with the X-37 team.”

“Don't mess with X,” I warned, surprised my limited AI hadn’t chimed in already.

Henshaw dropped his bombshell with a look of satisfaction. “Your limited AI is nearing the end of its shelf life. He’s probably panicking now because he can’t hear us talking about his death. AIs or LAIs that truly fear their own demise have a tendency to go rogue. Not good. Not good at all. One moment they are doing their jobs, and the next they are inventing ways to transfer themselves to new hosts and hide in the gal-net.”

“I didn’t hear that last part,” X-37 said. “What did he say? Are you blocking me from listening in?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, hoping Henshaw’s statement was a ruse but knowing otherwise. He’d found one of my deepest fears and confirmed it. What made it worse was the way X-37 kept trying to break into the conversation like a kid who was being ignored by older siblings.

"X is solid,” I said, wishing I could be sure. “None of my nerve-ware problems have anything to do with him.”

“Are you hearing me, Reaper Cain?” X-37 asked. “Your conversation is encrypted. If it’s not due to a safety override, then we need to have a private discussion. I can’t do my job if you put me in isolation.”

Henshaw couldn’t hear X-37’s voice. “You refer to your LAI as a ‘him.’ Interesting choice of pronoun for a machine. It has a male voice, doesn’t it?”

“Get to the point, Henshaw,” I said, still worried about X-37’s last statement. I wasn’t aware communication between me and my LAI could be encrypted.  “He can’t hear us because we’re talking about topics he isn’t allowed to process. You know that, and I think you’re enjoying it. So, stop enjoying it or you’re going to enjoy getting your balls stomped.”

“No need for that! I’m getting to it. This isn’t easy for me,” he said, totally full of crap. “The Reaper program, and others like it, had a lot of failsafes. You can’t make weapons that can’t be turned off,” Henshaw said. “If you don’t upgrade X-37 at a real Reaper laboratory, he’s going off line, probably sooner rather than later. And you’re correct, he won’t be able to understand what I’m saying. Limited artificial intelligences aren’t allowed to understand their mortality. Early models became unreliable when they sensed their own demise, and they tried to take over their hosts or kill them for new hosts."

I'd never really believed the stories, but whatever. I was going to have to start slapping Henshaw around to get him to talk straight. Everything was a shell game in our conversations.

"Can you stop X-37 from shutting down?” I asked, processing all the different pieces of information he was throwing at me. I knew it was a tactic to set me off balance before the real negotiation began.

“What do you think happens to you if your X unit goes down?” he asked, then continued rapidly flinching away from my anger. “I have adequate tools on the Lady Faith to turn-off the failsafe. X-37 won’t be the wiser.”

“You really want me to take you to your yacht," I asked sarcastically, already knowing the answer. “How long did it take you to make this story up?”

“It’s the truth, Reaper Cain,” he said.

“I take you to the ship, you fix me and my LAI, then you transfer all this money you’re so proud of,” I said.

“That part was a lie. I don’t have that much money. But it’s still a win-win," he said, spreading his hands wide. "And probably a walk in the park for someone like you."

"That type of assumption gets people killed," I said. "Of course I can get you there. I just have to decide how many people I’m willing to kill to make it happen and whether or not you're worth my time. If you waste it, I'll show you what type of mission I was made for.”

My threat finally cracked his calm exterior. His hands trembled slightly and he started to sweat on his upper lip. No matter how aloof he acted, the man wanted to survive and escape this place.

"Well, whatever happens, I'd like to point out that we have to do things we don't want to do sometimes," he said a bit defensively and almost ashamed for a split second.

"That's actually bullshit. The only thing that makes us different from artificial intelligences is free will. We make our choices and live with the consequences," I said.

* * *

"We're going with you," Elise announced.

Tom and Path watched for my reaction.

"Think about it, kid," I said.

She bristled at the way I addressed her. “I’m not a kid,” she grumbled.

"There are people out there who still want you for their research or to turn you into a weapon," I said. "If we both go, it could be a trap where they get everything they want in one snatch and grab."

"As opposed to getting you now and the rest of us later," Elise said. "Splitting up is dumb. Everybody knows that."

"We're not splitting up, I'm just leaving you behind," I said.

"You're such an asshole," she snapped, clenching her fist, overwhelmed by frustration. "You are, just, not a nice person! Not nice!”

I wanted to laugh but didn't. Maybe I should have, but I wasn't actually trying to upset her. "Nice guys don't do well in this galaxy."

She started pacing angrily.

"X, do you want to explain it to her?” I asked.

"It would be my pleasure," X-37 said. "In military parlance, you'd be leading the quick reaction force, Elise. Reaper Cain is trusting you to save his ass when he messes up. Which you will. In case you haven't noticed, Reaper Cain often makes bad decisions."

"Thanks, X. I think," I muttered.

"Really?" she asked challengingly. "Because if you're serious, then I have a better idea. Path and I will follow you at a distance. We can watch your back and look for an ambush. If something does happen, we will be close enough to actually help." She looked at Path, who was standing quietly off to one side. "Isn't that right?"

Path nodded once, calm and inscrutable as always.

"She has an intuitive instinct for tactics," X-37 said, "and she did survive several abduction attempts before you arrived on Greendale."

"Thank you, X, that's very helpful. That's exactly what I wanted, a complete analysis that I didn't ask for. Whose side are you on?” I muttered under my breath.

"It was my understanding that we were all on the same side," X-37 said, his tone so flat it was almost sarcastic.

I decided to look for help from the ship. "Jelly, can you guarantee a solid communications link?”

“Absolutely, Captain. I have completed all system checks and upgrades required of me at this port,” Jelly promised. "Would that be sufficient for Elise and Path to accompany you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. Out freaking standing," I said, gathering up my gear for a mission too important not to attempt but with a low probability of success—kind of like every mission I had been on since completing my Reaper training.

"Would you like me to come?" Tom asked.

I stared at the ceiling and exhaled, my frustration evident as I showed remarkable restraint. What I wanted to do was break something and curse.

"I think it would be best to leave one member of the crew on the ship," X-37 said, sliding neatly back into the conversation.

"I can do that," Tom said obligingly. "My strengths are here anyway. The ship is in good shape, but I can inventory tools and weapons that you might want me to bring to you if things go really bad," he added.

"All right, it's settled. Everybody's part of the mission! Why the hell not? We're leaving in ten minutes. But until then, no one talk to me."

"Touchy, touchy," Elise said, laughing slightly. She was having way too much fun with her victory.

I thought about how Grady had violated my pregame ritual before I jumped onto Dreadmax. Nothing went right when I was forced to endure useless nattering and inane banter right before deployment. I missed Grady. He had been a solid friend who hadn’t deserved to die on that mission.

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