29

“What’s the holdup?” I asked. “How complicated can the ventilation system be?”

X-37 beeped. “Do you want me to answer that question?”

“No. Just give me an answer to this: where is she going in that vent?” I said.

Crank followed closer than I liked. “Why don’t we just head for the exit? She’s got to go outside sooner or later.”

He wasn’t that stupid. Something about his eagerness rubbed me the wrong way. I really wished he’d stayed behind to help Bane. If she were here, that might be different. Or Jonji or even Briggs.

Crank had an ax to grind. His sudden goodwill creeped me out.

“There are a lot of exits,” I said dryly.

“But she’s a kid. I bet she heads for the main entrance. It’s a place for us to start at least.”

“Well, that’s an interesting theory, Sergeant Crank,” I said, turning to face him in the middle of a small room under some exposed ventilation ducts. “But she’s a lot smarter than either of us and probably has a plan.”

“You don’t have to be a dick, just because we’re friends now,” he said, fists clenched.

“Are we friends, Crank?” I asked, expecting him to punch me.

His expression softened. “Sorry. That wasn’t cool. Old habits are hard to break. Let’s go find the girl. It’s for her own good.”

“I don’t like his tone,” X-37 said. “Something is wrong.”

I backed Crank up a step. “Who the hell are you?”

“You saved my life, and Gunny’s life. We’ve been through some shit together. I see it now. We have to watch each other’s back, settle our differences later,” he said.

“On the mat maybe, like when we first met?” I asked.

He blushed, shrugging awkwardly. “I was a jerk back then. We trained for the Dreadmax mission and you stole it from us. All Grady talked about was what a badass you were. Sorry, sir.”

“Dishonesty detected,” X-37 said.

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, acknowledging both Crank and X-37. “Don’t get sentimental on me. Do your job.”

Crank’s old personality reasserted itself. “Where to now, sir?”

“We follow the ventilation system as much as we can and look for clues. Try to learn where she is going, if she has confederates, an escape vehicle, a safe hold. Access to money. Weapons. All the things a person on the run needs,” I said.

“I’ll take point so you can think about that stuff,” Crank said. “I know my strengths and weaknesses.”

Pain flashed through my head and static pumped my vision full of disorienting signals. I ignored the misery, refusing to let Crank see my weakness.

“I think Thane Junior, or whoever, is on the move,” I said.

Crank hesitated. “Maybe you should lead. I’ll follow and watch our six.”

“You do have Reaper tech,” X-37 pointed out. “To be honest, I wish we’d left him behind or picked up one of the other soldiers.”

“Can’t argue with you, X. Now give me a minute,” I said, moving toward a door at the end of a service hallway.

“Are you suffering an ROS attack?” X-37 asked.

“Maybe. Something is different.” I shook my head to clear my vision.

“You are aware that Reaper Thane did not activate the ROS while you were assaulting Gold’s stronghold,” X-37 said. His analytical voice took the edge off the looming ROS incident. “Your nemesis is quite clever, actually. He pitted all of his enemies together but miscalculated when he found himself too deep in the assassins’ guild stronghold. You thought you were rescuing Elise, but you were actually facilitating Thane’s escape.”

“Then why did he come here in the first place?” Pain amplified the frustration in my voice.

“To deal with the Union, and you. His enemies are dead or in disarray. The only flaw in his plan is that he didn’t anticipate Elise’s escape plan,” X-37 said.

“Wrong,” I said.

“Of course, Reaper Cain. How could I forget the most critical element of his failure,” X-37 said, his voice conspiratorial now. “His worst mistake was that he didn’t kill you.”

I missed the days when I felt like talking shit to X, but I was wrecked right now and needed to kill some shit and find a place to recover.

Crank’s footsteps were too close. I looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t bunch up. Didn’t they teach you how to maintain tactical spacing in spec ops?”

“There isn’t a lot of room to work with,” he said, slowing down as I continued toward the heavy door.

“Warning,” X-37 said.

Crank rushed me, probably attempting to be stealthy and almost getting away with it because the pounding in my head was loud as a bass drum. What felt like lactic acid filled my body, which really slowed me down.

The blade of his combat knife was a foot long. He lunged for my throat, slicing a shallow groove through the skin of my jaw as I simultaneously pulled back and twisted away.

My Reaper blade snapped out from the top of my left fist, nearly striking his throat.

He punched, kicked, and then slashed with the knife in a rapid combination that might have taken a full second.

I retreated closer to the door, watching his style, making sure I remembered his preferred combinations and timing. We’d only fought during that one session before the Dreadmax mission. He was good and more than capable of surprising me.

Which would get me killed if it happened.

He drew his pistol.

I lunged, no longer able to control the pace. He had a lot more bullets than I did. A gun fight would go to the guy with the most ammunition and better armor.

Slapping the gun down with my normal hand, I stabbed with my Reaper blade, slicing through his ear when he juked sideways.

I followed the lunging stab with an elbow strike, still using my left arm. Instead of pulling my arm back after the stab, I just rushed forward while bending my arm. The effect was zero loss of momentum or time as my elbow and forearm smashed him in the face. In effect, the lunging stab had aimed and my elbow strike had been the real attack.

He staggered, aiming his pistol randomly.

The great thing about the blade thrust to elbow strike combination was that it naturally cocked my left arm for a follow-up slash. Unfolding my arm a microsecond after I elbowed him, I slashed the blade across his face. Blood sprayed across the hallway. One of his eyes bounced off the wall.

I never kept driving my attacks forward. Pain exploded in my brain like fireworks. Static turned my vision black and white. X-37 screamed warnings that I could barely hear, even if I wanted to listen.

Crank threw himself backward, sacrificing his footing as he fell on his back. Bleeding, missing an eye, he aimed between his feet and fired.

Instinct saved me from dying, but not from getting hit. The bullet slashed across my face, bisecting the bottom half of the scar under my left eye.

I pushed off the wall, converting my desperate dodge into a final attack. My foot came down hard on his pelvis.

Crank emptied his pistol, striking my augmented arm several times. It twitched and jerked.

I fell on my adversary, seizing him by the throat with my right hand, then leaning my weight into the attack. We struggled. He attempted to dislodge me, but it was hard to do with a broken hip and his oxygen being cut off.

The feel of his throat made me sick. I hadn’t killed a man with my bare hands since getting the Reaper gear.

That probably meant something. X-37 nattered at me to focus on the fight. My conscience screamed and cursed from a place I couldn’t see or hear well.

“Your adversary is now deceased, completely devoid of respiration or a pulse. I suggest you get moving,” X-37 said, sounding strange. “You should have anticipated his betrayal.”

“I always anticipate betrayal, X,” I said. “The timing was bad. I’m under-equipped and constantly assaulted by the ROS device.”

“Reaper Thane cannot be far from your current location,” X-37 said.

“Why can’t you give me good news just one fucking time?” I asked.

“You still have one of Gold’s cigars in your front pocket. It was undamaged by gun fire. And while we’re on the subject of health and wellness, it would be a good idea to treat your injuries.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list.” I rummaged through Crank’s gear, taking his pistol and several magazines. His HDK Dominator was out of ammunition, so I left it. His medical pouch was empty. What he had, however, was water.

I ripped the hydration system off him and rinsed the nasty graze wounds from his bullets. The tear across my face burned more than the rest. Washing it out didn’t exactly feel fantastic.

By the time I was done cleaning wounds and drinking, the water was gone, so I chucked the pack onto Crank’s corpse.

“You were a real dick, Sergeant Crank. It probably wasn’t entirely your fault, but I’m not going to miss you,” I said, then walked away.

“Remorse is illogical. If you are going to feel bad about killing a person, then you shouldn’t kill them,” X-37 said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

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