4


Elise struck the top of my helmet with her practice sword, sending stars through my vision. Pain glanced down my neck, my spine, and into my limbs.
“Pay attention, Reaper,” she said.
“What the hell was that? Are we sparring, or trying to kill each other?” I asked.
“You’re going to get us killed if you don’t train to your full potential. Isn’t that what you always tell me?” She moved with her practice weapon, ready to emphasize her point. “Honestly, you’re starting to freak me out and piss me off. And annoy the crap out of me. And a bunch of other stuff.”
“All that at once?” I asked.
“Yeah, Reaper. You haven’t been right since we found your mom and sister,” she said. “I get it, but in this room, we train.”
“She’s not wrong, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, sounding at least as distracted as I had been a moment ago. This meant my LAI was processing a lot of data.
I circled the training mat, practice sword held with both hands, not looking at my feet but remaining aware of everything Elise was doing and anything that entered my peripheral vision. We had the place to ourselves. I wasn’t the only one who disliked getting smashed on the head with the practice sword.
Unless ordered, no one trained with Elise, me, or Path. Some Wallach and Xad soldiers would watch but it was rare for anyone to take a beating. Only when we made it clear that it was a technique session did we draw a big class.
“Ready?” Elise asked as she attacked.
It was a lame trick, but I had to hustle to stay ahead of it. I was off my game. What would my mother or sister think if they could watch me doing everything half-assed?
Elise smashed my training helmet again then spun and swept my legs out from under me with her right heel.
“Third time is a charm!” she shouted, dancing back as I came to my feet, pissed off and ready for some payback.
“That was lucky,” I grunted.
“You said that the first two times.” She circled me, her practice weapon ready for action. “You also said that if I could do it a third time, that meant it was skill and not luck.”
“You’re such an opportunist,” I said. “Attacking a man when he’s preoccupied.”
“That seems like the best time,” she argued, then came at me again.
This time, I parried and moved out of the way with my usual energy and skill. The sound of our swords clacking grew louder and faster. We kept at it for a long time, so long that I realized we had drawn an audience without realizing it. Men and women trickled in to watch the spectacle until there were twenty or thirty soldiers and crew members lining the walls.
Eventually, we broke apart and saluted each other.
“That was good work, Elise,” I said, aware that she needed praise but that too much would be taken as sarcasm or belittlement. Dealing with the young woman could be like balancing a feather on a razor blade.
“Ah, thanks, Reaper. It’s so sweet that you realize I’m kicking your butt,” she said.
“Don’t get carried away, kid,” I said. “Leg sweeps are good. You might even use the technique in a real fight someday. When you can shoulder-throw me, then I’ll be impressed.”
“Three times?” she asked.
“Yeah, three times,” I said. “Don’t get cocky. Even if you catch me with my head someplace else, I’m twice your size. If you use sloppy technique, you’ll not only fail to throw me, you will hurt yourself.”
“You’re right,” she said. “We should have a technique session.” She faced the growing crowd. “Who’s up for some technique? Nothing too rough.”
Awkward laughter spread through the crowd, but we had a few takers. The rest of our session was spent practicing shoulder throws and other takedowns.
* * *
The observation deck of the Bright Lance of Xad was crowded. As a gathering space for a much larger ship, there were many people relaxing and talking in low voices. I found a small table with chairs around it and took a seat. Tom joined me. Henshaw, Elise, and Bug straggled in one at a time.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important, Bug?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. But I’m trying something new. An automation sequence I worked up with Tom’s help. Tells me if a certain person is awake or asleep. Did you know that dude sleeps standing up sometimes?”
“Tell me about it later, Bug.” I wasn’t sure why he was here. Going out in public wasn’t his thing. He liked places that reminded him of where he’d grown up secure in a fortified tower.
The Dreadmax kid looked uncomfortable. I expected him to antagonize me about whiskey and cigars, demanding his own taste of them, despite his age. Instead, he sat in a chair that looked too big for him and kept his hands in his lap. His posture was terrible. He slouched as if to make himself small and inconspicuous.
I pulled out a cigar, considered it, then clipped off the tip with a small knife from my pocket. I could do it with my Reaper blade, but it would draw a lot of attention in our current environment. Lately, I had been using the cigar ritual to smooth out my sleight of hand, drawing attention one way, and getting it lit so it almost seemed like a magic trick.
Practice made perfect. Chronic pickpocketing, for example, kept me sharp for missions in urban areas. I wondered if I would ever see a city again. Moving through crowds with my stealth cloak activated and my Reaper mask boosting my LAI seemed like it would be a vacation compared to the stress of moving a fleet across the galaxy.
“I have to say, I enjoy this observation deck,” Tom said. “The background music is about perfect.”
I found the low melodies and rhythms soothing but hadn’t thought about it until he mentioned it. This place was like a cocktail lounge in space. One enormous wall showed a view of the slip tunnel outside the ship. The twisting green fields of energy—or whatever they were made out of—could put a person in a trance for hours. I’d spent hours staring at them.
“Did you find out anything new from Doctor Ayers?” Elise asked.
I waved her comment away. “Rules.”
She made a face, drawing back in annoyance at my tone. “Rules? What the… are you talking about?” she asked with an embarrassed look at Bug. He had heard strong language before and used it, but in person, he looked even younger than he was. Everyone treated him like a child most days.
Tom answered for me. “Cigar and whiskey time is for relaxing, maybe talking about an interesting book. Not that I’ve been able to get Hal to read one.”
“I read, just not that trash you like so much,” I said.
Tom laughed and took this harassment well.
I sipped my whiskey. We all watched the slip tunnel for a while and listened to the conversations around us. No one was close to our little table, but the volume in the room increased as more people filed in.
“I miss the Jellybird,” I said.
“Too many people?” Elise said. “Why don’t you just jump up and wave your blade around. That will clear the place out.”
“They’re not bothering me, I was just talking,” I said. The Gronic Fat I had managed to buy off one of the Union turncoats—a quartermaster—tasted good. I was nearly out of them, so I enjoyed it, thinking of other times on planets I hadn’t appreciated while I’d been there. I realized then that we had left the Union and the Deadlands and everything we’d ever known far behind.
“So what do you losers do here? So far, whiskey and cigar time seems boring,” Elise commented.
“Especially if you’re not drinking whiskey or smoking cigars,” Henshaw said, leaning forward from his chair to refresh his glass. “Perhaps we should play a game of chance.”
“That would make it whiskey and cigar and cards time,” I said.
“I’ve never played,” Elise said. “Bug, have you played?”
The Dreadmax kid looked at me nervously, then back to Elise. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Warning, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said in my ear. “My analysis suggests they are trying to hustle you. There is no evidence that Henshaw is behind this, but I believe he will be coming into this ruse soon.”
I gave X-37 one of my hand signals that no one else could detect, although now that I thought about it, Henshaw was a gambler and might detect my minute hand gestures better than most people. The man was always looking for somebody’s tell. That was one reason I had included him in my last interrogation session of Ayers.
“If we only had some cards,” Henshaw said.
“Maybe they have some at the bar,” Bug said, sounding like he was executing a canned line from a situational comedy—this from a kid who didn’t know what playing cards was.
His confederates glared at him, then tried to cover the faux pas.
“Why don’t you run and check,” Henshaw said. He waited a few seconds until the kid was away from our little gathering. “I hate teaching kids to play cards. Very tedious.”
“I bet,” I said. “X-37 is telling me I’m needed elsewhere.”
“I am?” X-37 asked privately. “Oh, yes, Reaper Cain. I understand your intent now.”
Elise stood from her chair, casting a glance at Bug’s quest for cards. “What kind of example are you setting? He’s going to think you’re avoiding him, or that you don’t care. The little guy has been through a lot.”
“Little guy? Yesterday you were complaining about what an annoying little preteen he was, and I told you that thirteen makes him a teenager,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. But whatever,” she said.
“Why don’t you show him the basics and we can play next time if anyone is still interested,” I said.
“Fine,” Elise said. “You’re no fun.”
Henshaw and the others acted like nothing had happened and went about their rest and relaxation. I left the room and slipped into my stealth cloak, then I circled around to the other side and entered while keeping to the shadows. Just as I suspected, their little group disbanded not long after I left—completely uninterested in learning how to play cards.
“They’re after me,” I said.
“I agree, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said. “You should use the utmost caution if you don’t want to lose your shirt.”
* * *
The equipment room was empty when I arrived, which suited my mood. Elise and the others were constantly working with their equipment, making improvements, and maximizing their chance of success in battle.
It’d been a while since I was that enthusiastic.
But that wasn’t why I was here. I was wandering the hallways and decks, trying to unwind and go with the flow. A long tour of the ship had brought me here.
“Would you like to contact the armorer? The man is formally of the Union, but has passed all of the vetting and loyalty checks required by the Wallach and Xad coalition.”
“No need to wake the man,” I said, opening one of the larger lockers with the access code X-37 had acquired from Mavis during our last visit to this room.
When the doors opened, I felt some of the same youthful excitement that I felt when I first went into spec ops. The weapon inside was massive, something that required a very strong man or mechanized armor to support.
After lifting it with some difficulty, I put it on the workbench and examined it with a smile.
“Your biometrics indicate that you like this gun,” X-37 said. “It’s the Z1A Destroyer, a belt fed, crew-served weapon for squad tactics or bunker emplacements.”
“Two questions,” I said. “Can we mount it on the back of my Archangel armor, and can we try it out on the virtual range?”
“Yes and yes,” X-37 said. “You will need to consult with Tom and Elise to know how to use it with the Archangel armor and a micro-fighter.”
“I’m not worried about that right now,” I said. “To be honest, X, this is just for fun. I might even smoke a cigar while I try it out.”
“Past experience with this type of testosterone charged activity suggests I cannot stop you from doing either,” X-37 said.
“Warm up the VR range,” I said, picking it up from the workbench and making sure there was no live ammunition anywhere near it.
I stepped onto the VR lane, aimed it, then shifted its weight side to side on the harness. “This is going to be fun, but I think outside of the range I’ll need armor to support it.”
“I agree completely,” X-37 said.
Holding the weapon with the assistance of the support straps, I fished out a cigar with my right hand and managed to light it on the first try. Puffing smoke, I put away the lighter, smiled dangerously, and aimed at the virtual targets.
“Let’s rock out,” I said, and started blasting.
“If it’s all the same to you, I will be researching our language lexicon for the meaning of this particular colloquialism while you blow shit up,” X-37 said.
I laughed at the feel of the weapon doing its work. “It’s been a while! I need to get down here more often and relax.”
“The activities you find relaxing are contrary to logic,” X-37 said.
“You know you like it,” I said, reloading a virtual ammo box.
“I like nothing,” X-37 said. “I am a limited artificial intelligence. As part of my programming, I will make a note that this is an enjoyable activity to us.”
“Good enough,” I said, puffing another cloud of smoke with the cigar held between my teeth. “Get some!”
This time I emptied the entire magazine box in one trigger pull. The smoking barrel was a virtual special effect, but a good one. Someone had put a lot of loving attention into these simulations.