BlackMoon Reaper (8 page)

“Lord Kheelan?”

“I am here.”

“There’s something going on in Haxton Cove. People are behaving as though

they’ve been possessed and I’m beginning to think it has to do with those sleeper cells

you told us about.”

Fontabeau shot Phelan a puzzled look. He had heard the Shadowlord’s words—

that wasn’t the cause of his bewildered glance. It was the term sleeper cells that baffled

him.

“You may indeed have stumbled upon a portion of them,”
Lord Naois said from the

Citadel.
“We have been monitoring you so we know of the strange behavior of the inhabitants of

the Cove. It concerns us.”

“Do you need help or will the hell hound suffice as backup?”
the High Lord snapped.

Fontabeau stiffened. “I don’t like being called a hell hound.”

“Get over it,”
Lord Kheelan told him.

“
You
get over it,” Fontabeau threw back at him. “I don’t work for you, Ben-

Alkazar!”

Phelan’s eyes widened. No one dared speak to the High Lord in that manner. Well,

almost no one. He knew of a female who did, but it was best not to think on that.

There was a long silence from the Citadel and when the Shadowlord spoke again,

his voice was hard as nails and twice as sharp.

“You had best hope She takes you back to that vulgar pleasure world from whence She

dredged you, Sorn, for if I ever get my hands on you, I can promise you I will make you wish

you’d never spoken to me in that fashion!”

Fontabeau started to respond but Phelan hissed at him.

“For the love of Alel, don’t!” Phelan warned. “You don’t know him like I do. Let it

go.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let him…”

“Aye, you are!” Phelan cut him off. “We’ve got a job to do and we’re going to need

his help to do it.”

Fontabeau changed the subject. “What the fuck is a sleeper cell anyway?”

“A nest of cybots left here by the Ceannus, programmed by them to awake at their command

to wreak all manner of evil on the inhabitants of Terra,”
Lord Naois explained.
“We’ve been

searching for them.”

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“If they are down in those mines, the drones would not have detected them on the fly-overs,”

a third voice spoke.

“That’s Lord Dunham,” Phelan told Fontabeau.

“Underground in a shallow burrow is one thing, but a mine with serpentine tunnels is

another. It will be hard to take them out from the air,”
Lord Dunham continued.
“It will have

to be done where they can be physically reached.”

“I’m not going down into any gods-be-damned mine!” Fontabeau declared. “If you

think Kiel needs help with taking out the ’bots, you’d better send another Reaper or

two.”

“We’ll send Lord Cynyr,” Lord Naois replied. “He’s closer than any of the others.”

“Hold off until I see what’s going on,” Phelan said. “If it’s a matter of setting a

charge or two and blowing the bastards to Diabolusia and back, I can do that without

having to pull Cynyr away from his territory.”

“We can take out the ones aboveground with the drone,”
Lord Dunham said.
“I’m sending

it now.”

“That’s not a good idea either,” Fontabeau spoke up. “You’ll alert the rest of them

that we’re onto them. We need to keep this secret until we know what our plan of

action is going to be.”

“He’s right,” Phelan said. “I’d just as soon not walk into a trap.”

“Then we’ll delay sending the drone,”
Lord Kheelan said.
“But get on with it, Lord

Phelan. The longer it takes to rid us of these creatures the more humans will be killed.”

The Reapers could feel the Shadowlords withdrawing, the air no longer crackling

with energy.

“What did he mean about humans being killed?” Fontabeau asked.

“That’s what the ’bots are doing,” Phelan said. “They are abducting the Terrans,

taking their organs and blood and using it to create cybots to replace the humans.”

“Using their organs and blood?” Fontabeau repeated. “Why?”

“To make them look human,” Phelan replied. “To make them appear human—

breathing, heart beating—so our drones will think them real. Unknown to the Ceannus,

Lord Naois has programmed the drones to zero in on such creatures though.”

“How?”

“DNA. The Shadowlords sent the drones over the entire country collecting samples

from the inhabitants. They did it a month or two ago. Anything changed after that will

show up on their grid as a false human, a cybot who looks human but is far from being

one.”

“Which explains why the citizens of the Cove and the miners exhibit little or no

emotion and don’t have any fear of us. A ’bot wouldn’t,” the gunman surmised.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Aye, that’s precisely why. They are taking out all the human emotion and

memories, and that’s the reason I could not find any thoughts in the mind of the

smithy.”

“If that’s the case, then there must be some kind of laboratory underground where

they’re doing it. Somewhere hidden away where no one will stumble on it.”

“Aye and my guess is a Ceannus or two is down there with them supervising.”

“So what’s your plan?” Fontabeau asked. “You can’t just ride in there wearing the

black and not have them know what you’re up to.”

Phelan thought about that for a moment. “Aye, you’re right. Mayhap I should

dispense with the uniform and go in as a new miner.”

“Then you run the risk of them trying to change you. Why not go in as a hired gun

in my employ? Brell gives me carte blanche to hire men as I see fit. You could take over

as my right-hand man.” He glanced down at the
Speal
. “But you’re gonna have to lose

that laser whip.”

Phelan rested his hand on the dragon handle. He would feel naked without the

weapon.

“Here,” Fontabeau said, drawing the gun from his left holster. He handed it to

Phelan.

Taking the heavy weapon, Phelan turned it side to side, admiring the

workmanship. “It’s a sweet piece,” he commented, and started to hand it back.

“Take aim at that sapling over there,” Fontabeau said. “Cock it and then gently pull

the trigger.”

Phelan frowned. “I know how to fire a six-shooter,” he said, leveling the gun at a

pine sapling. He cocked the weapon, squeezed off a shot, the blast from the end of the

barrel hitting a rock and ricocheting to two other small trees, which it disintegrated.

The Reaper stared down at the weapon, his mouth sagging open. “It’s a gods-be-

damned laser pistol!” he breathed.

“Aye, and it will do what a
Speal
does but quicker and more efficiently. Now cock it

and pull the trigger gently this time.” He pointed at another sapling.

Doing as he was told, Phelan watched the sapling simply vanish before his eyes as

soon as the crimson beam touched it. He whistled. “Where did you get this?”

“She provided it,” Fontabeau said. “I’ve no idea from where, but my guess is some

distant world where it’s commonplace. I have four extra. I can give you two of them.”

“We have laser rifles but the Shadowlords don’t let us use them very often.

Recharging is a problem,” Phelan said, running his free hand over the barrel of the

pistol.

“See that small gray slick spot there on the handle?” Fontabeau said, and when

Phelan opened his palm to see where his fellow Reaper meant, he told Phelan it was a

photo cell. “Just like with a
Speal
, you put it in direct sunlight and leave it for an hour or

two and it recharges to full capacity, which is the equivalent of about fifty rounds. Don’t

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BlackMoon Reaper

ask me how it works ’cause I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know it’s like having a

fully loaded bandolier in a three-inch-long grip.”

“Fifty rounds?” Phelan said, awe running through his voice.

“I have a regular six-shooter on my right hip, but the left is the laser pistol. The only

drawback to it is, unlike the
Speal,
any hand can activate it.”

“Damn,” Phelan said.

“So conjure you up some different clothes and a dual rig,” Fontabeau said as he

twisted around to open his saddlebag and take out one of his extra laser pistols.

In the blink of an eye, Phelan fashioned a blue chambray shirt, faded jeans and a

gun belt with dual holsters. His black hat vanished and in its place settled a cream-

colored one. A spiffy red bandana circled his neck.

“What do you suggest I do about my tat?” Phelan asked.

“Use the bandana to conceal it.”

Phelan sneered. “Oh, now that would look real cute,” he said. “Why don’t I just get

a fucking bonnet with ribbon streamers to dangle at my chin?”

Fontabeau rolled his eyes and swung a long leg over his horse’s head and slid to the

ground. “Shit! Dismount, Kiel,” he ordered, “and let me show you what the fuck I

mean!”

Phelan cursed under his breath but dismounted. He reached up to untie the

bandana and handed it to Fontabeau, “Lucky for you the tat isn’t as big as most and

spreads more along your forehead than down your cheek,” the gunman said.

Fontabeau folded the bandana into a triangle, flipped the point over Phelan’s head, tied

the two ends in a half square knot just below the curve of Phelan’s head. He pulled the

point across the half square knot then finished tying the knot over the top of the point,

pulling the point down very tight to keep the point secure.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Phelan asked.

“Pirates,” Fontabeau said, but didn’t elaborate. “Now stick a gold hoop in your left

ear and you’re good to go.”

Phelan whipped a hand over his left ear and a gold hoop materialized.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Fontabeau said, nodding. “Covers the tat

perfectly.” He tilted his head to one side. “Makes you look sexy as hell, Kiel.” His voice

turned husky, went low. “Not that you weren’t to begin with.”

The two Reapers stared at one another for a long moment. Identical sets of amber

eyes were intent, cautious. The seconds ticked by, filled with tension.

Fontabeau lifted his hand to run the backs of his fingers along Phelan’s taut cheek.

“So handsome,” he said almost in a whisper. “So filled with hurt.”

Phelan backed away, putting distance between them. “I’d rather you not do that.”

“I too was betrayed by someone I loved. He gave you up like Giles did me and

you—”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“
She
gave me up!” Phelan stated. “She gave me up because I would not choose her

over her brother. Truian loved her brother Tylan more than she loved me and didn’t

want him to suffer the same fate she made gods-be-damned sure I met! I loved her more

than I loved Tylan but she wouldn’t believe me. She stood in the dock and swore my

life away rather than have Tylan accused. I couldn’t choose her over him because he

swore he’d kill himself if I did.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know!” Phelan shouted. “I wasn’t alive to find out!”

Fontabeau patted his mount as the animal shied at Phelan’s angry outburst. The

horse skittered sideways, tried to rear, but the gunman kept the beast’s hooves on the

ground.

“She loves to set temptation before us, doesn’t she?” the gunman asked.

“Temptation she knows we can’t resist.”

Phelan wanted to jam his hand through his hair—a habit he had when he was

irritated—but didn’t want to dislodge the bandana. Instead, he scraped his palm over

the lower portion of his face and cursed.

“I get so tired of Her messing in my life!” he snarled.

“We all do, but the alternative would be our ceasing to exist here on this world and

I am really beginning to like Terra.” He snorted. “Sure beats being a punching bag on

Moddoilid
.”

Phelan knew next to nothing about the pleasure planet whose name meant

whoredom in the old language. What he did know was enough to make a cold shiver

run down his spine.

“That must have been awful,” he said.

“I have the mental and physical scars to prove just how awful,” the gunman said.

“I’m sorry,” Phelan said.

“It wasn’t all bad. I like sex—probably a lot more than I should—and it made most

of it bearable. I like men and I like women, and I knew long ago it took both to keep me

happy, to satisfy me. But I’m lonely, Phelan,” he said. “Why be lonely, why spend your

life alone, when you don’t have to?”

“I don’t think—” Phelan began, but Fontabeau shook his head, moved closer.

“Aye, Phelan. Don’t think,” came the command.

Phelan backed away. “No,” he said, putting up a staying hand. “You’re offering

something I don’t want.”

Fontabeau’s handsome face turned hard. “Or maybe it’s something you’re ashamed

to admit you want?”

Phelan shook his head. “I loved Truian. I truly did, but I felt something for her

brother too. Looking back on it now, I realize it wasn’t love. It was simple curiosity. We

were skinny-dipping in the river, tussling like boys will then he put his hand on my

cock. At first I shoved him away, thinking he’d grabbed me by mistake, but when he

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BlackMoon Reaper

did it again, my cock got hard as a fucking rock. He was rubbing me, tugging at me. I

liked what he was doing. It felt good. When he dove beneath the water and took me