“They’re always late. It’s how they work.”
A soft rumble grew outside. The sound of vehicles, drawing closer. Bernie slapped on a smile, hoping the liquor left it level. “There. Nothing to worry about.”
His hands still shook. Nothing at all, Eckers. You keep telling yourself that.
Chapter Sixteen
Mason kept an eye on the overlay as syndicate reps walked toward The Hole. He crouched beside the skylight, watching as the bar’s big wide door swung open.
Metatech. Reed. He knew both men. Metatech strode in front, the man’s suit immaculate. He shook water from an umbrella. Reed closed the door behind them both, water falling from his long coat. Mason’s optics picked out water spots on the agent’s sunglasses.
Gotcha, asshole.
“Mason, odds are good that’s one of the remotes.”
“No shit.”
“That’s not the cool thing. Check this out.” Carter sent street CCTV feeds to his overlay. The images came fast, cascading into the corner of his vision. Reed and Metatech operatives were stationed outside, next to their vehicles.
The Reed men all wore the same face. “Fuck the what?”
“I told you it was cool.” Carter gave a happy sigh. “This deal will teach us so much.”
“I thought you said there’d be a pilot.” Mason had trouble processing so many people wearing the same shell. It was unwholesome.
“We’re still pulling it apart back at the ranch. I mean, sure, there’s definitely a pilot, but—”
“The lecture can wait.” Mason peered through the skylight. He placed a hand on the acrylic glass. The armor’s glove acted as an inductive microphone. The overlay tossed the images of Reed’s multi-man aside, replacing them with an audio graph. The levels jumped as the people in the room below spoke.
“Eckers, we’re here,” said Reed.
“What, no hello?” The short fat man was Bernie Eckers.
“Hello,” offered Metatech, moving toward Haraway. He held out a hand. “You must be Doctor Haraway.”
She shook. “I’m not a … never mind. You are?”
“I represent Metatech.”
“I’m with Reed Interactive.” The Reed man turned to take in the empty bar. “I expected more interest here.”
“It’s cozier this way.” Eckers pushed his belly out like a stage prop. “Who’d have thought. C’mon, Doc. Let’s do this.”
“You’re going to see something special.” Haraway looked at the three men. “Don’t you want to record this?”
Reed tapped his head. “It’s all online. Don’t worry about us.”
Metatech nodded, hand to the box, palm up. “If the box really does contain the rain…” He trailed off, inviting Haraway to fill the gap.
Mason could see her frown from all the way up here. “Wait. The rain?”
Metatech and Reed looked at each other, then at Eckers. Reed spread his hands. “The interest is conditional on a number of factors. Mr. Eckers suggested that the recent atmospheric effects are controlled by Apsel technology.”
Metatech nodded. “Yeah. And the technology would be up for sale. But what we were really interested in—”
“We’ve of course heard about Jennifer Haraway, head of Apsel’s Atomic Energy Division.” Reed rode over the top of Metatech as he unbuttoned his jacket. “The acquisition of scientific minds is a top priority for us.”
Metatech looked at Reed, then at Haraway. Mason couldn’t tell if he wanted to murder the Reed asshole or not. I would. “It would be a package deal.”
Haraway glared at Eckers. “That’s not a part of the deal. Tech for cash. Simple. Clean.”
“Fellas.” Eckers pushed his way between them. Mason shifted around the skylight, trying for a better view. A sweat stain sat like an oil slick on the man’s back. Nervous. “Before we get too carried away, we should see the demonstration.”
“Of the atmospheric effect?” Metatech examined his fingers. Mason’s optics showed immaculately manicured nails, clinic-perfect. “I’d be uncomfortable if we were wasting our time here.”
“Yes,” agreed Reed. “This endeavor has a significant dollars-per-hour investment in syndicate resources.”
Eckers moved to Haraway, lowering his voice. “C’mon, doc. Turn the thing on.”
“The rain’s not in the box.” Haraway held up a hand before the other men could interrupt. “What’s in the box is much, much better than the rain.”
The two syndicate men waited. Metatech crossed his hands in front of him, the cuffs of his tailored shirt poking out from under suit sleeves. The Reed man nodded. “As you say, doctor.”
“I’m not a doctor.” Haraway moved to the box. She tapped on the panel. The clamps snapped open, the top retracting. Soft smoke drifted on cold feet over the sides and onto the floor. “You’re probably wondering why I’m not concerned about you guys stealing this from me.”
Reed offered a delicate cough. “We’re bargaining in good faith, Doctor Haraway. It would be bad for future business if word got out Reed Interactive couldn’t be trusted in… financial matters.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Right, financial. One of you bozos tried to use it already, and you know what happened.”
“Wasn’t us,” said Metatech.
“No,” said Haraway. “It was him.” Reed shrugged, as if saying, sometimes these things happen. “Anyway, now you know what happens now if you don’t use it right.” She dragged power cables to the box, thick black things that clattered against each other. They snaked across the bare concrete. “It needs a lot of power.”
“Got it.” Metatech offered a smile, his white teeth worth a month’s salary. “That’s what you guys are good at, after all.”
Haraway plugged cables into machinery Mason could only partially see. “Yeah. If you think that’s Apsel’s only gig, this is going to blow your mind.” She flicked a switch, a bass hum coming from the box.
The syndicate men didn’t move, but Eckers stepped back like a super-sized nervous rodent. “Doc, what’s going on?”
Haraway ignored Eckers, typing on a console in the box. The console was set against a metal structure. Tubes. A solid core. Struts.
“Carter, what the hell is that?” Mason had seen a lot of Apsel tech in his time. This looked like exactly none of it.
“No clue. I can tell you what it isn’t.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not a reactor.” Carter paused, Haraway continuing to work beneath Mason. “Okay, I got nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nada. We don’t know what that is.”
“Apsel made it. We’ve got to know what it is.” Mason felt unease grow like a poisoned flower in his gut.
“Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Carter sounded pissed off. He understood. Her whole job was information. “This mission is starting to feel—”
“Stretched,” interrupted Mason. He took the rifle from his back, keeping his glove on the skylight. “Scope creep. I’d say the parameters of the mission have become elastic.”
“Sure, elastic. That’s a good word for it. When are you going to break up the party?”
Mason thought that through for a couple heartbeats. “In a minute. You know what?”
“No, I can’t read minds.”
“I can’t wait to see what’s in the box.” Mason smiled despite the rain spitting and hissing around him.
Haraway still worked the keyboard. Metatech shifted, the movement small. “Is this going to take much longer?”
She looked up. “No. Here we go.” Haraway tapped a final key.
The lights in The Hole dimmed. That wasn’t the extent of the power draw, the street lamps around Mason flickering, then dying. A bolt of electricity, bright as the sun, arced from the box. Eckers ran behind the bar, crouching low.
Metatech looked at Reed. “This is … unexpected.”
Reed gave the tiniest of nods. “Yes. Although I still don’t—”
A storm erupted from the box, arcs of lightning converging in the air. Mason’s overlay stuttered, static falling like snow, and the suit lost audio from the room.
The electricity hit the same spot repeatedly. Mason could only see empty air at the impact point. There was a massive snap of discharge. Mason’s suit died, his link to Carter gone. “Fuck me,” he breathed. Mason looked into the room, unblinking. He didn’t care his active camouflage was out. Everyone was looking at the same thing.
A perfect sphere of energy stood in the room. The floor looked cracked underneath it, as if pressed down by a massive weight. Lightning continued to arc from the box, feeding the sphere. The walls of the sphere softened until they were gone.
Mason could see a circle of desert sand in the middle of the room. Sunlight fell on it. Sunlight … but it’s night here. On the other side of the sphere, three people stood.
They hadn’t been there before.
His link came back with a snap. “Mason!” Carter’s voice was frantic. “Thank God, you’re—”
“Now, Carter. Get Harry here now!”
The link hissed like a snake. Harry’s icon appeared on Mason’s overlay. Harry looked like he was about to get a happy on. “About goddam time.”
Harry’s dropship computer spoke over the link. “HALO insertion beginning on my mark. Distance to fall, eleven thousand meters. Time to impact, forty-seven seconds. Beginning burn, mark.”
Mason stood. This wasn’t a sniper kill and clean mission anymore. There were live assets at play. He slapped the rifle onto his back, then drew the SMGs. He clicked the suit into combat mode, the reactor grumbling in satisfaction.
Cherenkov blue flared through the rain from the winged falcon on Mason’s back. He fired the SMGs at the skylight, falling like a burning star as he held the triggers down.
Chapter Seventeen
The dawn smiled, fingers of their tired red sun greeting them over desert sand. Laia shivered, huddling with Zacharies in the cold.
The Master held up a hand. “Come.” He pointed to the sand. “Make a fire.”
Zacharies looked around, the sand stretching desolate as far as they could see. “A fire? Master, there is no—”
A glare from the Master silenced him, Zacharies pulling knees close for warmth. He spared a glance for his sister.
“I can do it.” Laia stood.
The Master glared, the folds of his hood dark against the dawn. “I didn’t ask if you could do it.”
“Yes, Master.” She looked down, fingering the collar at her neck. The metal made it so hard to think, to focus. Laia held her hands up, then let them fall, her shoulders slumped.
The whip tumbled free in the Master’s hand, tails touching the ground. They left small trails in the sand, like the passing of snakes. He looked to Zacharies. “And you will cook.”
“Yes, Master.” Her brother walked to the divan, unwrapping a small bundle. Zacharies freed a pot, dried fruit, and oatmeal. He didn’t look at the whip.
Laia knew looking at the whip drew attention to it. It felt like a live thing, wanting to be used. Laia shuddered, tugging the collar again. “Master?”
He walked to her, bowing his head for a second. She felt the release, like a hand unclenched from her mind.
It would be hard, yes. But for just a moment, she was free. Free to use her gift, to see the world around her with other eyes, to call the light. Laia stretched her arm to the sand at her feet. She reached deep inside it with her gift. There was life in these tiny rocks. They remembered what it was to be the mighty castles of ancient empires, spires tall before her father’s father’s father had bowed beneath the master’s whips.
“Come,” she said. Burn bright, show me your kingdom’s power. One last time. The sands shifted, a slight vibration.
The memory in the sands trembled in anticipation.
Fire sparked and spat, the stones remembering. Forgotten keeps roared a new memory to the dawn. The ghost of the mighty and tall rose, sand burning a bright recollection. They yawned, stretching one final time, glowing white with heat, before melting into glass.
She felt the collar’s clutch once more, the lock back on her mind, the hand at her throat. Laia stumbled, exhausted in the dawn of a new day, and would have fallen into the molten sands at her feet if her brother hadn’t caught her.
The Master looked at the sands at her feet, considering her exhaustion. “A pity.” The whip dangled from his hand as he turned away. “Breakfast and be quick about it.”
Zacharies helped her sit, then turned over the heat from the sands. Porridge steamed. He took care to prepare breakfast just so, but his eyes never left the Master, Laia seeing them smolder with a heat of their own.
Zacharies’ back was torn and bleeding, the whip rearing again.
Laia sobbed. “Master, please!” She reached forward, then covered her head as the whip licked at her. The strands of old leather and metal slashed, the pain burning bright across her arm and her jaw. She cried out.
Her brother struggled, trying to get to his feet.
The Master spun to Zacharies, hand raised, fist clenched. Zacharies screamed, falling to one knee. “I do not like the way you look at me, boy. I will teach you respect. I will break it upon your body and work it on your mind.”
The whip lashed Zacharies. His body spun, a piece of skin hanging loose at his shoulder. It glistened red. Sand clotted the wound.
Laia tried to stand, but the grip on her mind wouldn’t allow it. Her legs felt like stone. Her master came to stand over her, one gloved finger tracing the cut at her jaw, then down her neck toward her small breasts.
“I do not wish to mark your face again, little one. Your ugliness would not please me in the evenings. But your mind?” He raised his hand, and the pain blazed bright behind her eyes, a red poker stabbing into her skull. She shrieked with the pain, falling. “I can leave you a vacant-eyed doe. I can burn the thoughts from your head, given enough time. And we have plenty of time.”
The light of the old red sun walked its slow steps into the sky, unconcerned. If only the angel would come! If he would drop once more, stepping onto the blasted circle in the desert… All this would stop.
As if it had never been, the pain in her head vanished. Laia fell with the relief, retching.
The Master’s head turned to the circle of blasted and crushed sand they’d pitched their small camp beside. “What…?” His voice trailed off, slaves forgotten.
Laia could feel it too, the sense of … something. A pressure built. She saw Zacharies’ hand reaching to the depression. Laia forced herself to go to him. He was bigger than her, and she was so tired, but she hauled him back from the perimeter. Her small footprints marked the sand as she staggered back.
The Master continued to ignore them, looking at the air above the cracked ground. He walked around the circle, steps careful and slow, his shadow leaning away as if afraid of the dim morning light.
“Something is coming.” It wasn’t clear who the Master spoke to. “It wants to come back. It was here.”
Fear held Laia’s heart. No, please. If the demon came back, not the angel…
A tiny grain of hope, smaller than the sands beneath her, kindled into life. The demon might have been here. It might have fought the angel. The demon could be running, in fear or pain.
Such hopes were dangerous.
A tiny star gleamed above the crushed sand and glass. Pressure continued to build, her ears popping. A bolt of lightning arced from the light, falling short of the circle’s edge. It left a trace of red and yellow across her vision.
“Please, brother.” Laia got her shoulder under Zacharies. “You must get up. You must be ready.”
Zacharies looked at her, one eye swollen. She could feel his breath rattle as she held him. But he tried to get up. They rose together, unsteady, leaning against each other.
The lightning coiled and struck again.
It’s trying to escape. It’s a lion in a cage.
“The fury
.” Her voice was lost against the rage of noise. Laia squinted, pointing at the circle of light. “Brother! The angel!”
Zacharies looked at the sphere, one hand — broken nails, broken bones — held in front of his eyes. “It is the devil, Laia.”
The Master walked to them. “The devil? No, slave. Something worse. Something much worse.” He laughed, a deep sound from his belly.
The air snapped and popped, a blast of wind spitting sand away from the sphere. The lightning stopped, the three of them blinking in the silence. The air rippled. Through it they could see a room, the floor hard and real, solid stone. The desert’s sand was gone. Laia saw four people through the newly-formed rent.
A star, blazing blue and white, fell to the ground on the other side. Wings of blue spread on its back. She could see the ground on the other side crack and fragment as it landed.
Wings of blue. The angel.
Laia grabbed her brother’s arm, running toward the sphere. Her hand touched it, cool and quiet against her skin. She blinked, pushing through.
Fire burned around her, and she fell to the floor. Laia huddled over her brother.
Silence fell, and she looked up. She saw the angel’s perfect boots, craftsmanship of the heavens. He stood in front of her. Laia looked up, seeing the blaze of its face against the black of the room. Force poured from it, terrible as the dawn, and she cowered in fear.
The Master stepped through behind her. He faced the angel. “You will kneel. You will kneel, or you will know pain beyond imagining.” He raised a gloved hand, closing his fingers into a fist.
Chapter Eighteen
“I feel like I got my balls hanging way out here. You know what I mean?” Harry flexed his feet, Earth huddling below. City lights hid behind Seattle’s ever-present clouds, whites and yellows only visible from the tallest corporate towers.
It was a nice view. And, blessed mercies, this side of the clouds he avoided acid rain. It played havoc with his chassis.
“You want me to be honest?” Lace coughed, the link crystal clear. Harry could hear a little smoker’s hassle in her throatiness. She might need to spend some time in the clinic. “It might sting a little.”
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