31

“I’m Sergeant Bachman. Some deck rat called Bug convinced me you were headed for the control room and could use my help. Seems he was wrong. I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to get back on the Bold Freedom.”

“Say hi to Bug for me,” I said.

The Dreadmax sergeant saluted and hurried away with his team.

“Do you think that was coincidence, or was he trying to steal my ship?” I asked.

“I suspect he was in fact on the way to the control room but realized the shield had gone down and your ship was just sitting there.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I boarded the Jellybird, stowed my weapons, and dropped into the cockpit. “How we doing, Jelly?”

“Engines are primed and we’re ready to go,” Jellybird said.

I watched the viewscreen where the Bold Freedom crept out of the hangar, engines flaring so brightly I could barely see anything. I understood they were using less than one percent of their power to disembark, but this close, that was like gazing into a row of suns.

The random vibrations of Dreadmax were replaced with the steady thrum of the freighter’s engines. I couldn’t help but feeling a twinge of pride. The ship wouldn’t have made it far without a slip drive regulator. They’d have been restricted to this system and the mercy of the Union. A true humanitarian mission to this clusterfuck was unlikely and they would’ve probably been blasted to space debris by the UFS Thunder.

We followed them out but quickly veered away on a new course. I probably shouldn’t have turned the cameras back toward Dreadmax. It came apart in all directions, expanding slowly, or so it seemed from this distance. We were already hundreds of kilometers away from it. From this distance, all I could see was beautiful fireworks and concave strips of metal reflecting explosions in the distant sun of the system.

But I hadn’t forgotten the trees and crazies being vented from one of the compromised sections of the former battle moon.

“Who the hell thought they could make a battle station like that? And what made them think turning it into a prison was a good idea?”

To my surprise, the Jelly answered.

“The Union has been obsessed with imitating old Earth technology. I don’t have direct access to the files, but from what I’ve seen since going renegade, I can infer they have been at this game for a long time.”

“Settle down, Jelly,” I said. “A ship can’t go renegade on its own.”

“My apologies, Captain. You’ll find that I am fond of human metaphor,” Jelly explained. “It’s an artifact of former captains and their idiosyncrasies.”

“How many captains have you had?” I asked.

“Smuggling in Union-controlled space is a hazardous job,” she said.

“That’s not an answer, Jelly.”

“Three, since my programming was modified,” she explained.

“Three isn’t bad. Were any of them trained as Reapers or dark ops?”

“No, Captain.”

“Well, Jelly, I’d prefer not to see this system ever again.”

“The first logical step would be to leave.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” I asked.

* * *

I slept for eighteen hours and awoke hungry. The tingle from my augmented arm had diminished but remained just at a level of intensity I couldn’t ignore. My vision jerked once in a while, and I understood my optics were probably more damaged than the arm.

X-37 had finally admitted that most of his limited AI hardware was housed in the arm. I’d always suspected it was somewhere within my skull, but this made sense. It would’ve been much easier to upgrade or repair when I was still in the Reaper Corps and the arm was nearly indestructible. If I were blown up, all they would find would be my left arm lying on the ground.

The galley was empty, which I considered a blessing. I ate in silence and tried to ignore my extensive catalogs of wounds. I didn’t remember doing the sutures, gluing down split flesh I couldn’t sew back together, or wrapping my right knee and ankle — both of which seemed to be sprained.

I felt like I’d been hit by a transport shuttle or stepped on a mine.

“What’s our status, X?” I asked.

“Jelly has informed me we’ve made two slip tunnel jumps but remain in Union-controlled space,” X-37 said.

I shoveled down something that was probably supposed to be eggs, or maybe slugs, or maybe something I didn’t need to know about. There was a red bottle on the table I thought was ketchup or tabasco sauce. X-37 warned me to reconsider when I poured it liberally over my food.

“What, you’re a culinary expert now?” I asked.

“I’m unable to read a label or acquire specifications of that condiment through the ship database,” X said. “It is unknown. I advise caution.”

I took a defiantly huge bite and chewed slowly, then swallowed abruptly. “Oh, man, that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

As breakfast went, this one tasted as good as the first meal of a free man. Slug-like eggs, teriyaki red sauce, and orange juice that tasted more like grapefruit juice—delicious.

“Elise and her father have been requesting to speak with you. I recommend additional hygiene checks and cybernetics maintenance before indulging them,” X-37 said.

“I took a sonic shower before I went to sleep.” Because I’m clean like that. Like my computer knew what I smelled like—or maybe he did, because I sure as hell knew I’d reeked before hitting the cleaning closet.

“I’m detecting brain matter in the gears of your arm blade,” X-37 said. “You’ll need to disassemble it and clean it properly.”

The thought of taking apart the Reaper augmentation was daunting but appealing. I hadn’t been able to access it during my stay at the Bluesphere Maximum Security Prison without excruciating pain and forced nausea. There had been nights, of course, when I extended and retracted the blade over and over, exhausting myself from the adrenaline dump that pain and misery caused.

The guards had known I’d done this and probably hoped I was going to put an end to it all. I heard them complain that the arm should have been amputated and understood their frustration, but my Reaper-ware couldn’t be removed without killing me and they had a death doctor for that.

“Your biometric monitors are prompting me to sedate you,” X-37 said.

“You promised me you had removed that capability from your programming,” I said, forcing myself to stand and get on with my day.

X-37 didn’t answer. We’d been through this before, but usually when I started thinking about past missions and the things I’d done.

I went to the ship lounge and contacted Elise and her father. She leaned against the back wall, arms and legs crossed, teenage attitude on full display. The father, the scientist who had used her to further his own career, sat at the small table in the center of the room, hands folded together. Sleep, shower, and food had made him a new man. In his own realm of intellectuals, he was probably a juggernaut.

“I’m willing to forget certain things,” he said.

“Good morning. How are your accommodations?” I asked.

He stared at me. “You must understand the kind of trouble you’re in.”

“Considering my options, I think I’ll risk it.”

His face flushed red, probably from embarrassment at his own stupidity. “Well, of course. I might be able to negotiate something better than death row if you return me to the Union immediately.”

“You’re quite a salesman,” I said.

He was as proud as ever. “My work is very important.”

“More important than your daughter?” I hadn’t wanted to take the conversation there, not with Elise watching and listening.

“Of course not. You keep ambushing me with guilt,” he accused. “Haven’t you ever had to make a hard choice?”

“Yeah,” I said. “One time I had this mad scientist that I had to rescue or kill by leaving on an exploding space station. Still trying to figure that one out.”

“I’m not going to dignify that remark with the response.” He stood a little straighter than necessary.

“I said I’d return you to the Union, but I’m not planning on getting killed or captured in the process. We should be arriving in the Iben IV system soon.”

“Is that Union space?” he asked.

“Nominally. I think you’ll like it.”

“That’s an unnecessary inconvenience, but I will take it as a measure of your goodwill,” he said, seeming relieved. “So long as you turn over me and my daughter to the proper authorities.”

“That’s the plan,” I said.

Elise stormed out of the room.

* * *

Iben IV really was on the ass end of Union-controlled space, one slip tunnel from a nasty section of the Deadlands. The Jellybird docked with Iben Station using a trader’s code she promised wouldn’t raise alarms. I had to trust the AI for now.

I opened the hatch and lowered the ramp, motioning for the doctor to proceed. He narrowed his gaze, but then took his first steps toward freedom—if slavery to the Union’s secret laboratories was considered freedom. Elise looked at me like she would cut my throat if she could. I was starting to think she’d forgotten how to uncross her arms.

“You keep making that face, it’s gonna stay like that forever,” I said, careful to keep my cybernetics concealed under my trench coat.

She didn’t even bother to tell me to fuck off. Neither did she step off the ramp. “I don’t really want to stay with a psychopathic asshole, but I’m not leaving your ship.”

“Suit yourself,” I said. “Jelly, do you copy?”

“I do, Captain.”

“X, you ready?”

“Always.”

Adjusting my coat one last time, I strode into the small space port.

Doctor Hastings followed me, pointing angrily at his daughter. “The deal was for both of us. You can’t kidnap her. I’ll report you to the authorities and we’ll see how far you get in that rattletrap.”

“Guard,” I said, waving the man over.

“What are you doing?” Hastings asked.

“Turning in a fugitive for a reward. His real name is Max Slipdriver.”

“It certainly is not!” Hastings blurted.

“Is this you?” I showed him his picture on my pocket tablet.

The doctor shifted his weight nervously, not quite sure if he should run for it. “Well, of course that’s my picture, but I’m not an outlaw.”

“He’s kind of a nut job. He almost had me convinced he was a Union scientist.” I slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to wince. “Yeah, good old Max Slipdriver. Biggest cheat in three systems. One smooth operator.”

The guard ran a check on his device.

Hastings could barely speak. “I’m not an outlaw!”

I leaned close. “You will be for the two hours it will take them to figure out the forgery. Meanwhile, I get a nice reward to pay for the next leg of my journey.”

“There’s a problem with this,” the Union station guard said.

“No, it’s legit.” I leaned over and touched his tablet, allowing X-37 to do his magic. “See right there. One thousand credits.”

“That says one hundred credits. Are you trying to cheat the Union?” the guard asked.

I spread my hands apologetically. “Hey, I had to try, right? Can’t get nothing past the Union’s finest.”

A few minutes later, the man agreed with me that a fugitive like Slipdriver would say anything to stay out of jail. I got paid and I left. On the way out of the system, the Jellybird fired two rockets into the Iben IV communications relay.

“Send an apology and a promise to pay for the damages,” I said. “The good people of Iben IV didn’t deserve that inconvenience. This system really sucks space balls.”

“Agreed, Captain,” Jelly said.

X-37 disapproved of my generosity. “You’re getting soft.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Reapers are known to be recidivists. That’s why the Reaper Corps was eliminated.”

“Am I the last of us?” I asked.

“Unknown, but there were three including you when you were sentenced and I stopped receiving updates,” X-37 said.

I wondered who had survived. Not that we were a close-knit group. Partitioning was a big part of the RC. Thinking on this and other grim scenarios, I went to deal with the kid.

“She’s not going to like your plan for her,” X-37 said.

“Of course not.” I didn’t really give a shit at this point.

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