27

X-37 fed me detailed instructions. I focused on what I had to do rather than what I had left behind. Running from a fight wasn’t my style. Fatigue made every decision seem wrong and every obstacle insurmountable. Visual static pulsed in my HUD in time with my heartbeat, and the pain from my augmented left arm was constant.

If it stopped working, I’d have problems. For one thing, the bionic limb was heavy when not functional. I didn’t notice it the rest of the time, but there had been missions when it felt like I was dragging an anchor behind me.

For all I knew, I was the last of the Reaper Corps. We’d been cutting edge once. Older and wiser now, I understood first-generation technology often had problems. Callus was likely the new and improved version.

That cheered me up, because I’d kicked his ass. Fuck that guy.

The sounds of fighting faded. Other conflicts raged across the top deck, probably RSG and NG vendettas being carried out against desperate, unarmed civilians. I pushed down memories of home and the neighborhood I’d cleansed of street gangs. Sitting on death row had been worth it. Now, a hundred slip tunnels away, I saw nothing had changed.

Humanity didn’t need saving, which made what I was attempting to do all the more stupid.

“Talk to me, X.”

“There are three damaged communication towers ahead of you. A speed lift exists between the first and second, if you are viewing them from left to right. I have insufficient data to determine whether or not it is functioning. The Dreadmax sergeant wasn’t lying. The specs say nothing about the possibility of human transport via the mechanism.”

“So it’ll be like getting shoved into a dumbwaiter,” I said.

“Interesting. Dumbwaiter is not part of my vocabulary.”

“That’s because I’m smarter than you, X.”

“Unlikely.”

The area was a ghost town compared to where I’d come from. Dreadmax was awesomely huge, one of the Union’s more grandiose projects before the sheer size of it caused it to fail. I couldn’t imagine the amount of fuel required to move such a monstrosity, and according to X-37, it had been intended for long-range use.

“You’re approaching the speed lift,” X-37 said.

The building was a low dome with no doors. I eventually found a hatch that was about two feet high, probably made for one of the maintenance bots. It opened when I pressed my weight on the rail leading into it.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, then crawled inside. Darkness enveloped me. I focused on my infrared optics and a hazy picture of the room formed.

“I really need to get this eye fixed,” I muttered.

“I doubt the Union will accommodate such a request,” X-37 said.

“Because they’re assholes. After all I’ve done for them, they should give me a whole new set of Reaper gear.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” X-37 said.

“I’m just making noise because it’s creepy as fuck in here.” I found a cluster of speed lifts that looked like coffins ready to take me damned straight to hell. A small person could probably stand in one of the boxes comfortably. Too bad I wasn’t small. “This is really going to suck.”

X-37 talked me through the operating system. I powered up the system and noticed there wasn’t much light. With only the ambient glow of green LED power indicators to see by, I almost wished it had just stayed dark. The interior dome felt smaller than it had appeared from the outside. The inside of the speed lift looked unfit for someone my size, or a human, or a living creature.

“One last thing,” X-37 said. “The speed lift will pull considerable G-forces even if the gravity generators of Dreadmax are completely offline.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“It is not too late to back out,” X-37 reminded me.

“What the hell ever.”

I pulled down the lid, only to watch it bounce open. There wasn’t a mechanism to close it from the inside, so I had to reach out, yank on it, and hope I didn’t crush my fingers as the lid fell. Twisting into the fetal position, I reached up with my augmented arm and heaved downward, pulling my hand inside at the last second.

The latch clicked.

“The sequence has begun,” X- 37 said.

“Can’t wait,” I muttered right as I heard something.

“Was that a second hatch closing? Is someone sending parts right now? Like they’re actually trying to fix this place?”

“Unlikely. I detected no one from Dreadmax prior to your decision to commit suicide.”

“If you had a humor algorithm, that would be a lot funnier.”

“Correct.”

“Talk to me, X. What the hell is happening?”

“My analysis suggests another person is taking a speed lift to the spine of Dreadmax station.”

My ride clunked forward once, twice, then shot downward like a bullet into the guts of the station. With no crash seat or safety harness, I was at the mercy of physics. Each time the tube turned, I was smashed into a new and interesting position of pure misery.

Spots danced in my vision. My pulse hammered the inside of my head. Electricity radiated from my Reaper enhancements. X-37 came on and off line, sometimes blaring random bits of dialogue as we passed through energy fields.

“One last thing, Reaper,” X finally said. “There is no tube between the primary ring and the spine. Your pod will be fired across a short gap—about one hundred meters—and caught by magnetic locks.”

“Great. I hope that part of the ship is working.”

“Even a slight misalignment caused by recent events will result in the pod missing the catch and bouncing into the void.”

“It’s been nice knowing you, X.”

“What are you trying to say,” the Reaper AI asked.

Crossing to the Dreadmax spine was nice, less getting slammed around and more gliding in a straight line as I started to freeze. The rest felt like mistiming a parachute landing onto concrete.

“How’d we do, X?”

“Let’s call it a success, shall we?”

Twisting my feet forward, I kicked until the lid popped off. Moments after I climbed out, a second pod shot across the gap between the primary ring and the spine. Spiraling though the darkness, it would have been invisible without my infrared vision. There was a wobble that looked dangerous.

Time slowed. The pod looked like it was going to miss but corrected course as a magnetic field pulled it in.

“That’s amazing. We did that, X. Why’d you let me do that?”

“When have you ever taken my advice, Reaper Cain?”

My pursuer slammed into the catch tube. I raised my HDK and approached warily. The short barrel felt heavy even though I wasn’t sure how much ammunition remained in the bull-pup style magazine.

The spine of Dreadmax was connected to the primary ring in several places by massive gears and energy fields. I saw them in both directions from my location and wondered if this had been a serious mistake. The top deck had felt like a curiously exposed city full of decommissioned point defense systems and maintenance structures that had been converted to apartments and work stations.

This place only had breathable air and gravity by coincidence. Everything was automated or remote controlled. There wasn’t a need for life support here.

Whoever was in the pod kicked at the hatch but couldn’t open it.

“What do you think, X?” I asked. “Should I let this guy out so he can kill me? It has to be one of Callus’ fanatic assholes.”

“Perhaps it is Elise. Her personality profile suggests she would try to assist you in this impossible mission. And one of the soldiers would likely be able to kick open the hatch.”

“Shit! That makes sense.” I clicked my rifle to my gear and pried open the speed lift pod.

She sat up, gasping for air, wide-eyed and ready to fight demons.

“Settle down, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, you stupid fuck stick!” she growled through her teeth.

“Wow! Language. Don’t hit me. I’m trying to help you out.” Give me gun toting enemies over teenagers any day of the week. What was with this kid?

Elise tumbled free of what she must have believed was her space coffin, landing on one knee, then falling on her face. She flailed her arms at me and cursed each time I tried to help.

“You know the trip back will be worse,” I said.

“Thanks for reminding me! You can’t do this by yourself, dumbass. Let’s get this thingy and get to the shipyard.”

“What do you know about slip drive regulators?”

“I’ve been on Dreadmax longer than you, remember?” she asked. “I’ve escaped the Union and the gangs and everyone else about ten times. The shipyard engineers like me.”

“I bet they do.”

“You’re such a dick,” she spat.

A tremor shook the primary ring on the other side of the void gap. One of the huge connection points flexed near the point of breaking. Vibrations knocked me off my feet.

“X, read me the map. Elise, try to keep up.”

We ran along a railway made for the automated maintenance bots, trying not to twist an ankle or fall.

X-37 directed us to a hatch. I opened it and dropped down, offering to catch Elise when she followed.

The verbal abuse I received was really uncalled for. The kid had a mouth to make sailors blush. Her expensive education and natural intellect only made the insults sharper. If there were a profanity galactic Olympics, I thought this little runaway vixen would have a shot at a gold medal.

I let her jump and hit the ground hard.

She stood, glaring at me as she pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Perfect,” she said, walking off a limp.

Turning away, I followed X-37’s directions into darker and darker places.

“Why did they put the SD regulator down here?” Visual distortions to my enhanced optics almost made me turn them off despite the gloom.

“There is a vault. You’ll see the traditional access bay soon. Anything valuable or dangerous is stored here,” X-37 said.

“Anything else I can use?” I asked.

“Focus on your goal, Reaper Cain.” X-37 sounded a bit perturbed.

There wasn’t a lot of time for idle thoughts, but random shit ran through my mind at odd times. Things like what the hell would I even do if I survived this clusterfuck?

Go renegade?

That seemed like a lot of work and I wasn’t dragging a foul-mouthed brat around with me, especially with half the Union hunting her. And I doubted her father would sign the permission slip.

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