“Say you understand,” said Lace.
“I understand,” said Harry. “I appreciate the opportunity, sir.”
“To help with Floyd?”
“No, sir.” Harry’s hands clicked as they opened, and he gestured at himself. “For the second chance. For the conversion. I…” He trailed off, struggling for the right words. Mason was better at this corporate bullshit.
“Yes?” Gairovald looked up at him, face blank, eyes empty. Harry was reminded of a snake watching a mouse, for all that Harry was massive to Gairovald’s human-normal height.
“Mason saved my life, but the Federate put me back together. Made me who I am today.”
“Nice,” said Lace.
Gairovald nodded. “Of course, Fuentes. You were — and still are — an excellent asset. We look after our own.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gairovald waved the thanks away. “Think nothing of it. You’ve more than repaid the investment.”
Time to get the details. “Sir?”
“Yes, Fuentes?”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Floyd will contact you.” Gairovald strode away, leather shoes whisper quiet on the concrete floor. He spoke over his shoulder. “When he does, agree to meet him. Find him for me.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll find him,” Harry raised his metal hands, clenching and unclenching them, “and remove him from the field.”
Gairovald nodded as he reached the door. “Exactly. Good morning, Fuentes.” Gairovald left, his guards a double shadow behind.
“That was intense,” said Lace.
Harry looked around at the now empty hangar. He’d been standing for a couple of minutes, not moving. His chassis hummed, patient. Ready.
“I said,” said Lace, “that was intense.”
“I heard you,” said Harry. “What’s with the audio prompts?”
“Did Gairovald say you were a great operative?”
“Yeah, I think so,” said Harry. “Whole thing was off the chain.”
“What I mean is, you’re a moron,” she said.
“What?”
“He was testing you.” Lace talked fast. “He was testing you to find out how deep it went.”
“I—”
“Don’t talk. I…” Lace trailed into silence, the moment stretching between them.
“I know,” said Harry. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” The link was quiet, then her voice came back, small and still. “He can’t take you too. I won’t have anything left.”
Harry didn’t say anything for a few moments. He clanked across the hanger. Still no techs. Nobody else at all. Maybe they were giving him a few precious moments to come up with a plan. More likely, they’re waiting for you to hang yourself. Harry looked at his metal hand, the Apsel falcon a black outline. “Lace?”
“Yes, Harry.” Her voice was clearer. “We’re a good team. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry—”
“No one will touch you again. Do you hear me?” He left the hanger, not looking back. “Not ever.”
He thought she was gone until she said, voice soft as a moth’s wings, “I hear you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The forecourt was empty of other vehicles, the pumps standing alone, tin soldiers in a row. A couple of charging stations stood off to the side. One looked broken, interior components exposed, wiring trailing through puddles. Demand for standard fuel types dropped now Apsel shipped reactors for cars.
Mason left the van, pulling off his helmet. Rain howled around the forecourt, but he welcomed the freshness after the hours locked in the armor. Mason spat out the taste of roasted chestnut, the shaky fingers of overtime still stuck inside his head.
“She remembers you,” said Carter. The link felt strained between them, static sanding the consonants down.
“Who?” Mason walked toward the front of the station. A light flickered above the doorway, spasmodically trying to keep the darkness away. A canopy above kept the rain’s sting at bay.
“The illegal,” she said. “You know her. Black lipstick.”
“Oh,” said Mason. “Bonus Round. Yeah, I got that.”
“She’s not your type,” said Carter. “Right? Because if she is, you’ll fuck up the mission. Say it.”
Mason nodded, running a hand through sweat-slick hair. His white boots spread ripples through the puddles. Mason’s reflection stretched out in the water, taller than he felt. “Sure. Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s my type?” Mason paused with his hand on the station’s door, looking through the glass. One man behind the counter. Two more in the aisles. He sighed, then pushed inside to stale air. The place was more tired than Mason was, linoleum peeling from the floor, but the shelves were well-stocked.
“We’re not having this conversation. Where are you taking the payload?”
Mason stopped between the checkout and the aisles. The two men in the aisles looked at him before turning away. “What do you mean, where am I taking them? Back to HQ. Where else?”
“That’s not a good idea,” said Carter. “You’re compromised.”
“Hold that thought.” Mason walked to the counter, dropping the man behind it a quick smile. The guy was a little older, gray showing through his uneven shave. Working here, it was unlikely he could afford a clinic, and it showed. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The attendant took in Mason’s armor and SMGs at his belt. He sniffed. “Help you?”
“Maybe,” said Mason. “I need … lemme see. You got any language packs?”
“Sure.” The attendant glanced at the Apsel falcon on Mason’s armor. “English? Or German, maybe?” He coughed, a wet sound, then pointed with his chin. “Back there. Next to the sodas and road beers.”
Mason nodded his thanks, then moved back through the store. He snagged a basket, carrying it in his left hand, tossing the helmet inside. His rubber soles squeaked across the tired linoleum floor. “What do you mean, ‘compromised?’”
“So, about that,” said Carter. “It’s a bit crazy up here.”
“Right,” said Mason. “The mission—”
“It’s not the mission.” Carter paused. “Okay, you’re right. It’s the mission. Sort of. This evening there may have been violations of the Syndicate Compact.”
Mason frowned. He paused in the aisle. “Where the hell … oh, here they are.” He found the language packs hanging on an old wire frame, a Reed logo in the top corner. “You reckon the kid is more into strawberry or chocolate?”
“Does it even taste like strawberry?”
“You’re right. Chocolate it is.” Mason grabbed one of the packs from the shelf, flipping it over to check the back. “Okay, it’s English.”
“Don’t forget the mix,” said Carter.
“You saw back there? At The Hole? Guys with guns, right?” Mason tossed the language pack into the basket.
“Yeah,” said Carter. “I saw.”
“You saw me shut the room down. That was me, right?”
“That was you.”
“I’m okay managing to shut down a room full of assholes, but you don’t trust me to go shopping by myself?”
“Of course not,” said Carter. “Don’t forget the mix.”
Mason sighed, walking past the two men still in the aisle. He nodded to them as he made his way to the refrigerator at the rear. “Explain why Old Man Gairovald trusts me with the big jobs but you don’t trust me to shop solo.”
“It’s not worth the trouble,” said Carter. “So, the compromise I was talking about.”
“Yeah. We didn’t violate the Compact.” Mason grabbed a couple of liter bottles of water from the refrigerator. After a brief pause, he grabbed cans of energy drinks too. “It was our IP.”
“Maybe,” said Carter. “That’s not the important part. It’s pretty clear that Reed and Metatech violated the Compact. There’ll be consequences.”
“Sure,” said Mason. “What’s the prob
lem?”
“You are,” said Carter.
Mason stopped in the aisle, looking at the attendant behind the counter, then to the two men. “I’m the problem?”
“You have a history.”
“I was cleared.”
“It’s still a history,” she said. “Gairovald’s reviewed the ops footage.”
“So?”
“Try to look at it from his perspective,” she said. “He sent you out to kill a thief.”
“With you so far.” Mason looked into the basket, then cast an eye around the store. “You think we need food?”
“Almost certainly,” said Carter. “The thing is, he sent you to kill a thief, and no thief was killed. He changed the mission parameters to support Haraway. He thinks you’re going to bring back new assets—”
“The girl.” Mason frowned. “And a boy and a man.”
“—but that came after, and you’ve only got one. What he’s got is a lot of footage of an op gone bad. Damage to company assets, all of that. Here’s the important part, though.”
“I’m listening.”
“You didn’t kill a thief.” Carter paused. “Are you hearing me?”
“There wasn’t a thief to kill,” said Mason. “There was just Haraway. There, under Gairovald’s orders.”
“Right,” said Carter. “Where’d the device come from?”
“Uh.”
“Haraway’s playing the middle, Mason. She’s not the seller.” Carter coughed. “How many Federate operatives were at the scene?”
“Shit.”
“How many, Mason?”
“Two.” He looked into the basket he carried, then started another go-around the aisles. What the hell do kids like to eat, anyway? She looked a little anemic. Protein bars? He found some with a Reed logo that looked safe enough. It felt like a betrayal buying other company products, but it wasn’t like there were options here. He wished it wasn’t Reed’s product. “Me, and Haraway.”
“And you’re both still breathing,” said Carter. “You need to stay with Haraway. Find the real thief. Don’t blow her cover.”
“Isn’t her cover pretty blown?”
“Not necessarily. Anyone gets that footage, it looks like a grab mission gone wrong. Lawyers will be crawling all over it for years trying to work out who screwed up the worst. The thing is, right now, that’s you. They’re going to pin the tail on the scapedonkey.”
“Is that even a real thing?”
“I’m getting it squared away. It won’t be a problem once Gairovald’s cooled down. And once you kill the thief. They’ve got the chair set up for you. If you come in, you’re not going to leave as anything except a brain in a box. Unless you kill the thief.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Carter. “I got this end. I’ll square it away. You find somewhere to hide.”
Mason put the basket on the counter. The attendant started to ring it up, putting items into a brown paper bag. Mason reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out a wad of cash. The attendant’s eyes widened a little, but he didn’t say anything. “I think I know a place,” said Mason, still on the link.
“Where?” Carter sounded concerned. “You can’t stay in the city.”
“No,” said Mason. “Look, the problem’s going to be my link.”
The attendant cleared his throat. “That’ll be thirty-four fifty.”
Mason peeled off a fifty, putting the rubber band back around the roll of notes. “Keep the change.” He grabbed the bag, then shouldered his way out onto the forecourt. A squall of rain lashed above him like a whip. Mason made it to the van, yanking the side door open.
Haraway looked stressed. Bonus Round looked bored. And the kid looked scared. Mason shrugged, hefting his helmet. “Look,” he said, “I’ve got one more thing to take care of. Can you prep the language pack?”
Bonus Round snorted. “You’re going to put that shit in a kid? She’s not even linked.”
“Right,” said Mason. “That’s why she gets a pack. Give her this one first.” He tapped one of the boxes.
“I know how they work,” said Haraway. “It’s not rocket science.”
“Says the woman who couldn’t find a tracker in the van.” Mason slid the door closed.
“She’s right,” said Carter.
“Who?”
“Bonus Round,” said Carter. “The illegal.”
Mason walked back to the station’s entrance. “I thought you said they’re not illegals.”
“I’m trying to use small, familiar terms so you don’t get confused,” said Carter. “The reports on the virus in the packs on the developing mind are inconclusive.”
“I don’t have a way to get a link into her.” Mason put his helmet on just outside the station’s door. “Not out here.”
“Mason,” said Carter.
“Yes, Carter?”
“What are you doing?”
Mason shouldered his way into the station, one of the SMGs snapping out and up. The two men from the aisles looked up in surprise. One held a small pistol to the attendant’s head. The other was stuffing cash from the register into a bag.
“Hi,” said Mason over the armor’s PA. “I forgot to buy cigarettes.”
The targeting solution fell into place on the overlay, red frames boxing the men. The SMG barked twice. Both thieves fell back, one spinning into a stand of jerky, the other dropping behind the counter. Mason walked to the bodies, checking them with a boot, then pulled off his helmet. “Got any Treasurers?”
The attendant’s skin was pasty underneath the poor shave job. “What?”
“Treasurers,” said Mason. “Cigarettes.”
“No,” said the attendant. He looked like he was having trouble processing the situation, eyes wide and blinking. “Say. Why’d you come back in?”
“Like I said, I forgot to get cigarettes. What else you got?”
The attendant swallowed. “How about some Camels?”
“I hate Camels,” said Mason. “They remind me of an asshole I know.”
“Sure, okay,” said the attendant. “I’m … sorry. I’m having trouble here.”
“Right,” said Mason. “What about throwing me a couple packs of Marlboros?”
“Okay,” said the attendant, handing them over. “No charge.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Mason, pulling out the roll of cash. “How about a hundred?”
“For what?” said the attendant. “You saved my life.”
“No,” said Mason. “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t here.”
“You … what?”
“No cars in the parking lot. I got to thinking, how’d these guys get here?” Mason peeled the plastic off one pack of cigarettes. “Got a light?” The attendant held out a box of plastic lighters. “Thanks.” Mason took a couple. “Need a spare. So anyway, I figure these two guys here, they’ve come from somewhere local, looking to score a hit.”
“Why?” The attendant looked at the bodies, then back to Mason. “I need to call someone.”
Mason held up a hand. “In a minute. Thing is, no one shops out here.”
“You do,” said the attendant.
“Yeah, but maybe I needed a fuel cell.” Mason looked at the back of the store. “There’s better places to shop if you want milk. No offense.”
“None taken,” said the attendant. “You don’t need a fuel cell.”
“Stay with me,” said Mason. “So, the thing is, I wanted to go somewhere there weren’t other people.”
The attendant’s eyes widened. “Like witnesses?”
“Exactly like,” agreed Mason, taking a pull on the cigarette. He made a face, blowing smoke out toward the ceiling.
“I won’t tell anyone.” The attendant licked his lips, eyes bright with fear as they looked at Mason’s SMG.
“I know,” said Mason. “Because if you do, I’ll come back.” He smiled at the man, dropping two fifties on the counter. He headed for the door.
&
nbsp; “Wait,” said the attendant. “Just … hang on.”
Mason turned. “What is it?”
The man swallowed. “Thanks.”
Mason nodded. “Can you take care of the CCTV?”
“Yes,” said the attendant. “I’ll tell them it was a gang shooting. The other guy got away.”
Mason shrugged. “Up to you. Just remember what we talked about.” He pushed the door open and headed back outside.
The van door swung closed. Mason tossed his helmet to the seat beside him.
“Get what you needed?” asked Haraway from the back.
“Let me the fuck out,” said Bonus Round. “I’m not up for your syndicate bullsh—”
Mason slammed his fist into the dash. He hit it again and again. He yelled and screamed at the dash. Plastic cracked and splintered, the metal underneath deforming. The windscreen’s overlay flickered.
He stopped, breathing hard, looking at the ruined dash. “Haraway.”
His audio picked up the rustle of her coat as she moved closer. “Yes?”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about the nature of this mission?” Mason didn’t turn to look at her, staring instead at the cracked dash. Compromised.
“What do you mean?” Her breathing quickened, his overlay picking out stress markers in her voice.
“Particulars,” Mason said. “Details. The little things that might get you killed.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She hadn’t moved, her voice still the same distance behind him.
Mason looked at her. He tried to keep his voice steady. It came out flat. “You’re sure?”
Haraway shook her head. “No, I’m not sure.”
Mason watched her for a second. “Good enough.”
“Good enough?”
“Yeah.” Mason keyed the van’s drive, the system low and quiet. “You didn’t lie to me then.”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
“Good,” said Mason. “You lied to me before.”
“I—”
“Or maybe you weren’t a hundred percent straight.” He shrugged. “Because everything is fucked.”
“I don’t know—”
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