Chromed- Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “I sometimes watch cartoons when I can’t sleep. Here’s the thing, Harry. Carter’s tracked down a set of … coincidences.”

  “Like?”

  “We found some evidence. A notebook with the name Eckers written in it. Didn’t know it was a name at the time, though.”

  “But you know for sure now, right?”

  “More like an educated guess.” Mason craned to look at the ceiling. The hangar was high, and he wondered what kind of machinery needed this kind of space. Space was … expensive. “Our suspect had a meeting with someone. Her calendar was wiped.”

  “How do you know she was having a meeting?”

  “Carter’s very clever. She tells me so all the time.”

  Harry barked a laugh. “Yeah, my handler’s the same.”

  “I’m right here,” said Carter, her link voice loud, like she was leaning into the mic. Making sure she’s heard.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Doc Coburn?” Mason said over the uplink.

  “I can do two things at once.”

  Harry watched Mason. “She’s talking to you right now, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” said Mason in the real. “She’s right here.”

  “Same, same,” said Harry. He cocked his head as if listening. “I don’t know why they hire the angry ones. When’s the meeting?”

  “It’s already happened.” Mason dropped his cigarette, lighting another. “Her calendar said she was meeting with, ah, Bernard Eckers.”

  “Fixer?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  “Why is he still breathing?”

  “I said I wanted you on the team, didn’t I?” Mason leaned forward, trying for a little Christmas cheer. “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but it’s not because of your good looks.”

  “We’re going to meet Eckers?”

  “Already tried that. He wasn’t home. Doesn’t matter. Old Man Gairovald’s after a different outcome.”

  “You spoke to Nancy?”

  “I spoke to Gairovald.” Mason waited for that to sink in.

  Harry’s feet flexed, scraping the concrete floor. He clanked around. “Look … shit. Can you uncable me?”

  Mason walked behind him. “Hell, is there supposed to be crap leaking out of here?”

  “No,” said Harry, sounding edgy.

  “Good. It’s not.”

  “You’re an asshole, Floyd.”

  Mason grinned, pulling the cables free. Lights flickered in the cavity they’d come from before an armored casing hummed into place.

  “Better,” said Harry, flexing. “I hate that thing.”

  “You hate eating?” Mason ducked out of the way, getting the visual safety of the workbench between them. Harry said he didn’t hold a grudge.

  But accidents happen.

  “It’s not really eating,” said Harry. “I mean … it’s eating but not. It’s a simulation. Feels like I’m having a royal feast. Just before you came down? You interrupted truffled eggs.”

  “Truffled eggs?”

  “They were pretty good, too.” Harry waved his massive arms with a hiss of hydraulics. “But it’s not the same.”

  “Maybe you should work for Reed Interactive. Their eggs are probably better.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s kind of funny.”

  Harry stared at Mason for a couple heartbeats. “Anyway, it’s not the taste that’s the problem. It’s because I know there ain’t no eggs.”

  Mason sat on the bench. “Maybe it’s you that’s been reading Zen.”

  Harry faced Mason, torso swiveling independently from his legs. “So. Eckers.”

  “We’re going to go plug a leak.”

  “Figures. Why today?”

  Mason flicked ash from his cigarette. “Because Carter’s been sniffing the net. There’s been an increase in syndicate activity around the bar Eckers owns.”

  “Syndicates? Which ones?”

  “As near as she can tell, all of them. Now, anyway. Initially?” Mason shrugged. “Metatech. Reed.”

  “You’re thinking you’re going to get shot again.” Harry’s voice was light, but it triggered Mason’s memory.

  Harry Fuentes pointed a gun at Mason. The dark held them closer than the rain. Mason shifted closer, the barrel of Harry’s weapon digging into his shoulder. “Here. Take the shot.”

  “Okay, Floyd. You know what your problem is?”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  “You’re too much of a damn arrogant son of a bitch.” Harry’s shot rang out, spinning Mason. Pain bloomed in his shoulder.

  “I get shot a lot.” Mason pushed the memory away. “That’s not the problem. The problem is not being able to shoot back hard enough.”

  Harry flexed big metal shoulders. “I’m your man.”

  “You didn’t need much convincing,” said Mason.

  “No. I’m pretty much always up for a fight.”

  Mason smiled, sliding off the bench. “It’ll be tonight. I’ll swing by later. We can work through a plan.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Sasha’s working on something for me. I need to go check on it.”

  “Coburn? Say hi to her from me.”

  “No problem. Harry?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.” Mason turned to go.

  “Mason.”

  “Yeah, Harry?”

  “Why me?” Harry swiveled, gesturing down the bay. “There’s a lot of enforcers at Apsel. Why this particular model?”

  The fire burned so hot, the lattice trying to pull his hand away. He heard Harry screaming from inside the car, flames blasting out the windows. Fire so intense the air burned.

  Mason forced the lattice aside, grabbing the edge of the door. He yanked it open, reaching for what was left of the man inside. His overlay lit bright with warning icons, flashing and alive against a haze of static. Mason felt his hand spark and flare, the skin on his face starting to smear from the heat.

  Mason flexed his hand again, looking back at Harry. “No reason, Harry. No reason at all.”

  “The problem with you is that you don’t listen.” Sasha wasn’t her usual measured self, link voice brittle. Working with Carter might make a person feel that way.

  “She’s right. You don’t listen,” said Carter.

  Mason considered the armor suits in their glass lockers. The Federate’s gold falcon flew on the breastplate of each. Empty visors looked down on the room like ancient guardians. “I listen fine. It’s a robot.” He was in one of the Federate’s armories. Steam from showers misted in, a team having returned from a mission. Macho camaraderie wafted in with the steam.

  That’s what a team’s like. You need to split your trust too many ways.

  “No, it’s not a robot,” said Carter.

  “You said it was a robot,” said Mason. He considered a light armor suit. No. That shit’d get torn in half tonight. “Looks like a duck, right?”

  “It’s not a robot. It’s not a duck either. It’s what we’re trying to tell you.” Sasha sounded exasperated, like someone might after spending a day at a care facility for the mentally disabled.

  “Got it, not a duck.” Mason took a pull from his cigarette, the silver filter bright from the armory’s ceiling lamps. “Which means it’s a robot.”

  “You try, Carter.” Sasha sighed.

  “Okay. Mason?” Carter turned out those four syllables in slow motion like she was trying not to lose her shit.

  “Carter.” Mason walked the line of suits, coming to stand before a heavy armored model. The bulk of the plating made it look plus-sized. Not that either. Couldn’t even scratch myself. No mobility.

  “It’s a … I guess we don’t have a word for it. It’s like a robot.”

  “Right.” Mason stared at the ceiling as if he could make eye contact with Carter in the heavens. “I got that part.”

  “But it’s actually a remote.”

  “Like a drone?”


  “It’s probably better if I show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “This,” said a voice behind him.

  Mason spun, the lattice dragging his limbs hard, the Tenko-Senshin already out. The Reed body stood, head tilted to one side, neck broken. The eyes looked past him, dead and glassy. Its shoulders were slumped.

  “Gotcha,” said the Reed body.

  “Gotcha,” said Carter’s voice over the link at the same time. She laughed.

  Mason struggled against the lattice for a second, the Tenko-Senshin shaking in his hand, whining in the quiet of the room.

  “Don’t shoot, all right?” Carter spoke over the link, the Reed body holding up its hands in surrender. “It’s me.”

  “It’s me,” echoed the Reed body. The left side of its mouth dragged like a stroke victim’s.

  “I’m never taking you out. Not bowling, not dancing.” Mason’s breath steadied, but his hand still shook, the lattice hungering. Easy. Calm your shit.

  “It’s not a robot,” said Sasha.

  Mason lowered the Tenko-Senshin, slipping the little weapon back into its holster. He walked around the Reed body, then poked its shoulder. It swayed gently.

  “Hey. Don’t do that. This isn’t easy.” Carter sounded annoyed.

  “Definitely not a duck,” said Mason.

  Sasha spoke, her voice rushed. “Like we were trying to tell you, this is new tech. Brand new. So new, it’s not on the market. It’s a … construct.”

  “It’s got that new car smell,” agreed Mason. He poked the construct again. “Not on the market?”

  “We’d know if there was anything like this.”

  Mason did a circuit of Reed’s construct. “It’s like some sort of remotely piloted robot?”

  “It’s not a…” Sasha wound down in defeat. “Yes. Okay. It’s a remotely piloted robot.”

  “I didn’t take much science at school,” said Mason. “It looks like a really cool robot, though.” He pushed its shoulder, harder this time. It swayed, stepping sideways. One of its feet gave way and it stumbled to one knee.

  “Ow. I told you not to do that,” said Carter.

  “Stop pushing me,” said the Reed body. The words were slurred, the head panning to him.

  “Can you turn it off?” said Mason. “It’s reminding me of a clown.”

  “A clown?” said the construct. Mason could hear Carter in the voice. It had the same emphasis, the same pauses she did. But the construct spoke with a male voice.

  “You know. Clowns at kid’s parties. Ronald. Whatever.” Mason looked down at the Treasurer he’d dropped. It had gone out. He pulled out another one, lighting it, then offered the pack to the Reed robot. “Smoke?”

  “I don’t … hell, this isn’t me. Sure.” The construct’s hand was clumsy and jerky, knocking a cigarette from the pack. The silver foil spun end over end before it hit the ground.

  “Did you get into computers because you’re some kind of cripple?” said Mason.

  The construct got to its feet, jerking like a marionette. “I…” It slurred to silence.

  “This is easier,” said Carter over the link. “I’ve sort of … compromised the interface. This isn’t how it’s natively controlled.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mason.

  “We’re pretty sure you’re supposed to direct connect with one of these.” Sasha sounded doubtful.

  “Neural tap?”

  “I thought you didn’t go to school,” said Carter.

  “Not for science, no. Girls.” Mason eyed the construct. “This is crazy.”

  The construct managed to grab an armor rack. It hauled itself upright. “Can. You. Get. Me. The. Cigarette.” The words were slow and clear, like a drunk person pretending sobriety.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of it,” said Carter. The link crackled for a moment, the body sagging to one knee. “Wait. Don’t help. Don’t help.”

  Mason picked up the fallen cigarette, lighting it. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  The construct reached for the cigarette, the hand shaking. Its eyes locked on the glowing tip. It grabbed at the air once, twice, before snaring it. It stuffed the crumpled filter between its teeth.

  “How’d I do?” said Carter.

  “Great. Really great,” said Sasha.

  Mason dragged on his own cigarette. He leaned against an armored suit. “They’ll come looking for it.”

  “Sure they will,” said Carter. The construct took a pull on the cigarette at the same time as she was speaking. It coughed, then blew a stream of smoke out. “They’ll never be able to bust in here though.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t get, doc,” said Mason.

  “Yes?” said Sasha.

  “This thing took some fire, right? I’m pretty sure it … died.”

  “It’s still dead. We had to, uh, patch it up first. It won’t be good for field work. We can strip it down. See how it works.”

  “‘Patch it up?’”

  “It had a hole in it. It’s remarkable, really.” A little excitement leaked back into Sasha. “It’s a lot like a real body. It’s got blood, or something like it. It’s got a lattice.”

  “A lattice?” Mason flexed his hand. “Why’s it got a lattice?”

  “You want me to guess?”

  “If that’s the best I can get, sure. Why’s a robot got a lattice?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s got a pilot.” Sasha sighed. “Or, it had a pilot, before Carter jacked it.”

  The construct shuffled down the room. “I was able to practice walking on the way here.”

  “How’d she jack it?” Mason waved the cigarette at the construct. “To be honest, I’m not sure she did such a good job.”

  “I’m right here,” said Carter, the link buzzing. “If I had to guess—”

  “Christ, it’s like working with amateurs,” said Mason. “We’re on the corporate dime, people. What do you mean, guess?”

  “If I had to guess,” Carter leaned on the word as the construct turned, “I’d say someone like a company enforcer.”

  “Specialist Services.”

  “Sure. Anyway, they’d throw you into a tank, wire you up to some kind of neural net, and map you right into the body.”

  “So, the pilot—”

  “It doesn’t feel like piloting.” Mason could feel Carter’s uncertainty. “Not if what I’m seeing at this end is anything to go by. I can’t know for sure from the interface I’ve hacked together.”

  Sasha cleared her throat, but on low volume, like she had something to say but didn’t want to get in the way of a good thing. “It’d be like being there. Full sensory mapping.”

  “Jesus. Reed’s made its agents into risk-free remotes.” Mason considered his armor choices again. Maybe heavier armor might be a good idea.

  “I don’t know about risk-free.” Carter’s tone was don’t be a dick, Mason. “There’s all kinds of risk.”

  “Like what?” Mason wondered about the safety of tonight’s mission, and how much armor he’d have to wear to still be sucking oxygen tomorrow. “The Reed asshole got shot, and he… it’s still walking around like a registered voter.”

  The link went silent. Sasha took the bait. “It’s fucked. It looks braindead.”

  The construct took a step closer, head twitching. Carter said, “Mason, I can taste this cigarette. When you pushed me over—”

  “I touched your shoulder. It’s not my fault you’re inept.” Mason tossed his stub to the floor, grinding it under his heel. He took another from the pack.

  “It felt uncomfortable. Falling down? That hurt.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I’m guessing the first design application of this wasn’t military,” offered Sasha. “All the senses are … real. Full fidelity.”

  “Ah.” Mason snapped his fingers. “Reed Interactive. It’s a sex toy.”

  The construct jerked. “What?” Carter sounded alarmed, like she�
�d patted a cat but found it slimy. The construct looked toward its pants.

  “Don’t let him worry you, honey.” Sasha was all business. “It could be used a hundred different ways.”

  “I feel sick. I don’t know where this thing’s been.” Carter sounded like she’d stepped back from the mic for some air.

  “Carter.”

  “Yes, Mason?”

  “How … deep are you jacked in?”

  The construct flailed, teetering. It righted itself. “And she saves! I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Carter sounded impressed, a little bit on the smug side. “I’m not very deep. Have you ever seen a puppet show?”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. Surface contact only. I’m not … invested.” The construct winked, the eyes staring past Mason. Its eyelid had a tic. “I’m just pushing buttons at this end.”

  “Could you fight?”

  “Against who?”

  “I don’t know. Me, say.” Mason offered another cigarette to the construct. To Carter. The whole she-it thing was messing with his head.

  “Thanks,” said Carter, the construct fumbling a filter from the pack. It took Mason’s offered light, blowing smoke. “I probably couldn’t fight fish in a barrel in this thing.”

  “Shoot,” said Sasha.

  “What?” The construct blinked owlishly.

  “It’s ‘shoot.’ You shoot fish in a barrel.”

  “I really like these.” The construct drew on the cigarette. “Maybe I should take up smoking.”

  “You’ve never tried?” said Mason. A red stain spread on the construct’s shirt. “Uh.”

  “No,” said Carter, the construct taking a deeper drag.

  Silence. The construct froze, smoke curling from its nose. “Carter?”

  The construct fell. Mason nudged it with his toe. Definitely a registered voter.

  “Well, shit,” said Carter.

  “What happened?” said Sasha.

  “I’m pretty sure it just died again.”

  “That would make sense. If it was a person, we’d be telling it … him? It. We’d be telling it to rest up. Plenty of fluids. That kind of thing.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t get.” Mason turned the body over. “Hold the phone. Can you start this thing back up again?”

  “Sure, if you bring it back up here,” said Sasha. “It’s pretty much dead there, though.”