Julian allowed himself a smile. The percentage in that would be unbelievable.
The corridor remained deserted. Until they figured out how the tech worked, they needed to keep the asset separate from normals. Julian had ordered remotes only. Better safe than sorry.
This corridor wasn’t just clean and empty. All the doors were blank, not a label in sight. If you didn’t know what was behind ‘em, you didn’t have clearance. Julian stood before one, using his link to authorize entry. The door lights blinked red, red, then green as it hissed open. The room looked dark, a single bright lamp casting light on a chair.
“I’ve been thinking,” Julian walked inside, “that we might not have…” He stopped talking, mouth open.
The chair was empty.
He walked to it, leather soles whispering across the tiled floor. The clamps were open, unlocked rather than cut or forced. The metal was smudged red where the asset had abraded skin as he thrashed under Julian’s questioning, but nothing else. The chair was unmarked, the black surface smooth and bare.
“Shit!” He kicked over a small cart beside the table, scattering plates. The sound of breaking ceramic made him pause.
A cart. With plates.
They weren’t supposed to be here. Someone had brought the prisoner food against Julian’s instruction. It was important he build a bond with the man, be the source of pain and relief in equal measure.
Think. Focus.
That there was a cart here at all wasn’t the problem, was it? If a colossal fuck-up like this could happen, then it was likely other instructions wouldn’t have been followed.
Only remotes.
Julian brought the lights up, rendering the scene in stark contrast. Traces of blood and vomit on the floor. His examiner’s table holding bloodied tools, a set of pliers next to surgical shears on a tray. An ashtray, the filter of a Camel ground out on it.
He moved to the cart, righting it. Standard Reed catering, hot and cold compartments, with a handle for a human operator. A human operator on a pay grade so low they’d never see a remote in a year of Christmases. A human operator so incompetent they’d spend the rest of their life in a cell, mind-wiped and empty-eyed.
Not yet. Where was the prisoner?
Julian brought up the room’s cam feed on his overlay as he walked to the door. It hissed open. He switched his optics to thermal. The floor’s blue showed faint yellow bare footprints, the spacing suggesting a person hurrying away. The imprints were faint, the heat easing away, but still only minutes old.
He might still be able to catch the bastard.
The footsteps led toward an old service elevator at the back of the building, used to bring supplies between floors. At this time of day, the elevator would be unused. Julian had to give it to the asset: the asshole chose the right path for down and out.
That shaft led deeper than the ground floor. It was sunk into the old rock under the city’s floor, below parking levels. Down there was a sheltered facility. Rainproof. Bombproof.
Not idiot proof though. “Oh, holy Christ.”
He ran to the elevator, sending out a region-wide call. “This is Julian Oldham, Specialist Services. I’m en-route to sub-basement level eight in pursuit of a critical asset. The asset is to be considered extremely hostile. Lethal force is not authorized, repeat, shoot to incapacitate only. Asset is believed to be in control of Reed staff already. He’s on his way to the crypt.”
No more than two seconds passed before his link was flooded with comms requests. He ignored them as he sprinted for the elevator, issuing a priority override to it. It was waiting, open and empty by the time he got there.
The elevator dropped into the depths of the Reed building, vibrating at the speed of descent. “Oh, holy Christ,” Julian said again. He reached into his jacket for his sidearm. What a fuck-up.
The floor’s lights were out, unresponsive to Julian’s link commands. The first man he’d passed stood slack-jawed, drool coming from his mouth. Julian’s optics kicked the light amp up, picking out a dark trickle from the man’s ear. His white lab coat shoulder was spotted with it, the blood almost black. A hemorrhage in the guy’s skull? Julian moved on, sidearm pointed into the darkness.
The woman he’d found next wasn’t still. She slammed her forehead against a pillar, the white concrete holding up the darkness above. The front of her face was gone, a ruin of blood and bone, but she’d kept pounding her head against the concrete, leaving a sticky red residue on the cold stone.
Julian’s optics showed more Reed staff in the dark, links still live even though their minds were gone. The whole floor hid in shadows, lights from server racks blinking in the dark.
It was cold, tendrils of fog snaking across the floor. The crypt’s temperature was always low. Some science nerd had tried to explain it to him before they’d interred Julian, something about circuits and superconducting in the brain. He hadn’t listened. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t the ambient temperature of the crypt that made Julian shiver. On the short elevator trip down, his link had thrummed with the screaming of people in pain.
Agony. The word you’re after is ‘agony.’
Their minds burned a final incandescent flare over the network before they went silent. There weren’t any words. Julian had moved from foot to foot in the elevator, wanting it to go faster, at the same time wanting it to slow down.
But he had to go. If Julian were a gambler, he’d have bet he knew where the asset went.
He stepped over the form of a man sobbing in the darkness, eyes clawed out by his own hand. The man grabbed Julian’s leg. “What will you trade me?”
Julian shook free, tugging at his suit’s crease. “What?”
The man held something. “For these pretty marbles. What will you trade me? White marbles are always worth the most.” The overlay highlighted what the man held, and the lattice bunched, pulling Julian away.
My God. Julian tugged his collar, pulling the lattice under control. You couldn’t make progress without investment. Sure, most of the people here couldn’t be made right, but once Reed had the kind of technology that could make a man claw his own eyes out, they could take over the world.
He lifted his weapon. Julian had slid a set of tranqs into it, more than enough to take out a man. Julian wasn’t going to take chances. He watched the overlay, the live feed at the right of his vision showing the corridor to the main crypt area. The asset hadn’t gone that way yet, so there was still time.
Someone screamed in the dark. His overlay mapped the audio, showing the source was in front of him. Julian broke into a jog. He caught a flash of movement, the overlay dropping a targeting wireframe over a person. He fired, the body spinning. Julian didn’t slow as he moved closer.
Shit. Just a tech. Not the asset.
A familiar voice spoke from the darkness. “Julian Oldham.”
Julian looked around. His optics had nothing. “Yeah?” Keep him talking.
“Julian Oldham, I’m so glad we have this time to talk before the end.” The asset sounded calm. In control.
“Before the end?” Julian walked toward the crypt, the overlay showing the audio’s likely source. Just down here. “The end of what?”
The man’s laugh echoed in the dark. “The end of you, of course. The end of all you hold dear. The end of what you love and strive for. Because, Julian Oldham, I made you a promise.”
You will release me, or I will kill everyone you love. Julian frowned. “Yeah, about that.”
“Oh, it’s too late to bargain.” The asshole was using the PA system. Had to be. His voice filled the room.
“There’s just one problem,” said Julian.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve still got to get into the crypt. I’m pretty sure I’ll find you before that happens.”
“Really?” The asset sounded surprised. “Why do you think that?”
“I know this place.” Julian stepped through the dark. It felt solid, smothering, his lattice
shaking under his skin. “You don’t.”
“No.” Goddamn, but the guy sounded so agreeable. “But I’ve lifted what I need from the minds of your servants. So many petty concerns in their heads. So much freedom of thought. You should run a tighter ship. This has been too easy.”
“So, you know this place. Big deal. You’ve still got to get into the crypt.” Julian arrived at the crypt’s door, the white vaulted metal looming in front of him. The status light on the front blinked red.
“No, I don’t.”
The crypt’s door slid open as Julian realized: red light. Red wasn’t the right color. The crypt yawned before him, stasis coffins laid side by side in the dark. Julian could already tell most of the status lights were also red, a sea of dots blinking their silent scream.
The asset stood beside one coffin, the lid open. Julian raised his sidearm. The link snapped, fluttering in his mind, and he stumbled.
“You see, I’m already here.” Julian heard the asset’s voice from two places. One, at the door, where he — a remote, solid, secure, stable — stood, and the other, in the coffin, where he — a body, weak, fragile, insecure — lay, squinting in the brightness of the coffin’s wakeup lamps.
The remote’s link broke. It fell to the ground. Julian looked up with his own eyes into a face cruel and hard. “Julian Oldham.” The asset rubbed a stain of dried blood on his lips. “I think it is time for you and I to become … better acquainted.”
Sleep sickness made Julian’s face numb, his body sluggish. The lattice under his skin tried to fire, but his arms only twitched. Overtime wouldn’t kick in.
The pain started, beyond anything he’d felt before. Through the pain, he could hear the man’s voice in his mind. “Don’t cry. This is the start of something beautiful. This is the start of the rest of your life.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“How’s the fit?” Mike looked at Zacharies, something in his eyes measuring, calculating. They were in a room, two machines vaguely in the shape of men standing in a vaulted space that reached high and wide. Black and crystalline, the walls didn’t reflect light. They seemed to hold it close, like a promise. Or revenge.
Zacharies touched the front of the suit they’d given him. It was form-fitting, emblazoned with a sigil of crossed sabers. “It feels tight, Master.”
Mike laughed. “I’m not your master, kid.” He stopped laughing, but a smile stayed in his eyes. “Hell. I’m not sure anyone’s big enough for that job.”
Zacharies touched the front of the suit again. “It feels very fine. I’m sorry if I caused—”
“Zach?” Mike held up a hand. “I get it. Shit’s gone weird, yeah?”
“A little.” Zacharies nodded. “I don’t understand how this Heaven of yours works.”
“No one does, kid. That’s the thing.” Mike gestured at the room around them. “Take this place, for example.”
“What of it?” Zacharies scanned the room. He knew the words for machine and computer, but they still lacked meaning. “I don’t know what any of this is.”
Mike frowned. “No, I guess you don’t. Okay, let’s break it down. You remember the R&D freaks?”
“The men who wanted to, you said, ‘peel me like a grape.’”
“Yeah, those guys.” Mike pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering them to Zacharies. When Zacharies didn’t take one, Mike shrugged. “Suit yourself. Anyway, those assholes put a call in.”
“A call?”
“Right. So, these guys around you, they’re going to try to peel you like a grape instead. Different way, though. Outcome’s the same.” Mike pointed to one machine. “That guy? I was on a mission with him three, maybe four years ago. Real psycho. No offense.”
“Go fuck yourself.” The machine rose with a hiss and a whine. Huge metal legs stamped forward, the clank of metal against the floor a hard scrape of noise.
Zacharies stepped back, stumbling into another machine behind him. It hummed into motion as well, standing above Zacharies. Their voices were hard, like metal would sound if given life. “Watch where you’re going.”
Zacharies felt fear, cold fingers in his gut. He looked at Mike. “What are these things?” Zacharies didn’t understand how they spoke. They were metal, weren’t they?
Mike looked at the first machine. “Total conversions. Lots of steel, a little plastic, and a handful of ceramic. Whatever else is pure asshole.”
“Hey,” said the first. “Watch what you’re saying. You want to get pulled apart today?”
“Yeah,” said the second. “Place like this? Accidents happen. No cameras. Specialist Services guy like you could just go missing.”
Zacharies turned between the two machines. The second one spoke differently, a softer way of rolling its words. “They … they are people?”
The first leaned back, shaking as it laughed. “The kid catches on fast.”
“Yeah,” said its partner. “A little too fast. What if we fixed that?” It moved forward, large legs clanking. Two quick strides brought it to Zacharies, a metal fist raised in the air.
Somehow, Mike was there. Zacharies hadn’t seen him move, but the man stepped in front of him, hands up. “Guys, don’t. This isn’t part of the test.”
The first machine lumbered around Mike, its body groaning low, a bass rumble rising slowly in pitch. “Or what? You look a little out of your depth.”
“Or I will pull you the fuck apart.” Mike smiled. “Maybe not today. You’ve got to go in for a service sometime. When your chassis opens? I’ll be there with a pair of bolt cutters.”
No one spoke, the only noise in the room the mechanisms inside the two — Men? Machines? What are they? — machines. Zacharies panted, his pulse pounding. He threw a quick glance at Mike, but the man wasn’t watching him. Zacharies could see the trickle of sweat at Mike’s brow.
He realized that this was the first time he could remember another, other than his sister, standing in front of him, taking the whips of the slave master. The thought caught him off guard.
“Naw,” said the second machine. “Not if I pull you apart here.” A heavy fist swung through the air with a whine. Mike danced back, leather-soled shoes whispering against the floor.
The first machine snatched him up. Mike thrashed, an arm trapped next to his body. The machine brought its other arm up.
“No!” Zacharies’ gift lashed out. He felt inside the machines.
Metal, new forged, the strength of a thousand people. There, at the core, the shell of a man, hidden deep in a cage of Heaven’s forging.
The first machine’s raised arm whined, stuck. It turned to look. “What the hell?” The arm broke off, spinning across the room in a spray of sparks and metal fragments. The machine stumbled, dropping Mike.
Zacharies turned to the second machine, movement in the corner of his vision warning him. A weapon of some kind ratcheted from behind it, coming over its shoulder and locking in place. Zacharies pushed with his gift, feeling how it was made.
Tiny fragments, each strong and deadly. Too many for a person to hold, tubes of steel held in a belt of interwoven links. Impossible heat. A weapon of the gods.
Zacharies raised a hand. “No. This weapon is for the angels. It is not for you.” He chopped down, the weapon shearing away, rivets popping to bounce against the hard floor. The machine hissed, swiveling around it’s middle, then took a step forward. Zacharies swung his hand sideways, palm open, and the machine flew through the air to crash against the wall, the sound mighty and terrible.
Zacharies walked to Mike, offering his hand. “Master?”
Mike took his hand, wincing as he stood. “I’m not your master, kid.”
“A Master cares for his slaves.” Zacharies frowned, looking at the fallen machines.
“I didn’t do much of that,” said Mike. “I’m pretty sure you cared for me.”
“I’m no Master.” Zacharies looked at his hands. “It’s never felt this strong before.”
“No shit.” Mike pulled
out his pack of cigarettes. The box was crushed, but he pulled a crumpled cigarette from it anyway, lighting it with a hand that still shook. “What do you call people back home who look out for you?”
Laia. “We call them family.” The first machine struggled to its feet. Zacharies stepped around Mike, raising his fist. The machine rose into the air, legs and remaining arm flailing.
Mike put a hand on his shoulder. “Zach? Put him down.”
“But he—”
“He’s an asshole,” said Mike. “You got to think, though. You want to be an asshole too?”
“Yeah.” A nervous laugh broke from the machine. “Listen to the man, kid. You don’t want to end up all messed up like me. Put me down. All a big misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? You were going to hurt my…” Zacharies trailed off as he looked to Mike. He wasn’t sure what word to use in this language of the angels.
“Friend,” said Mike. “You can call me a friend, kid. Here? We’ve got families too, but friends are better. They’re the family you choose.”
Friend. The link shifted the word in his head. Zacharies let his hand fall, the machine crashing to the floor. “Friend?” He watched the machine clamber upright, sparks cascading from its shoulder.
“Yeah, kid. Friend.” Mike held out his hand in an after-you gesture. “C’mon. Let me buy you lunch.”
“You can eat after this?” Zacharies felt the sweet sickness in his belly, his blood still rushing, body ready to fight or run.
“Yeah. Gotta eat. Keep up your strength.” Mike walked toward the door, taking a wide path around the first machine.
“Mike?”
Mike paused, turning back. “Yeah, kid?”
They’re the family you choose. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before.” He looked down at the suit he wore, the crossed sabers on his chest. “I think I’d like one. I’d like that very much right now.”
“Sure.” Mike shrugged. “You can buy me lunch tomorrow.”
Chromed- Upgrade Page 26
