“Hey,” said Carter. “Don’t do that. This isn’t easy.”
“Definitely,” said Mason, “not a duck.”
“So, like we were trying to tell you,” said Sasha. “This is new tech. Brand new. So new, it’s not on the market.”
“It’s got that new-car smell,” said Mason. He leaned towards the Reed body. “Not on the market?”
“No,” said Sasha. “We’d know. We’d have seen something like it by now.”
“So — it’s like some sort of remotely piloted robot?”
“It’s not a… Look,” said Sasha. “Yes. Ok. 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 it against the shoulder again, harder this time. It swayed again, then stepped sideways. One of its feet gave way and it stumbled down on one knee.
“Ow,” said Carter. “I told you not to do that.”
“Stop pushing me,” said the Reed body. The words were slurred, and the head turned to look at him.
“Can you… Can you turn it off?” said Mason. “It’s kind of reminding me of a clown.”
“A clown?” said the Reed body. If Mason listened carefully, he could start to hear Carter’s pronunciation in the voice, but the voice was a man’s. The Reed operative’s.
“You know. Clowns at kid’s parties. Ronald. Whatever.” Mason looked down at the Treasurer burning on the ground where he’d dropped it, then pulled out another one, lighting it. He offered the packet to the Reed body. “Smoke?”
“I don’t… Sure,” said the Reed body. It reached up a hand, clumsy and jerky, knocking a cigarette from the packet. The silver foil spun end over end and tapped the ground.
“Did you get into computers because you’re some kind of cripple?” said Mason.
The Reed body started to get to its feet, jerking and starting. “I—” it slurred.
“This is easier,” said Carter. “I’ve sort of… compromised the interface. This isn’t native.”
“What do you mean?” said Mason.
Sasha cleared her throat. “Well — we’re pretty sure you’re supposed to direct connect with one of these.”
“Neural tap?”
“I thought you didn’t go to school,” said Carter.
“Not for science, no,” said Mason. “Girls. But—” he waved his cigarette at the Reed body. “This.”
The Reed body managed to grab onto one of the armor racks, hauling itself upright. “Can. You. Get. Me. The. Cigarette.” The words were slow and clear.
“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” said Carter. The link crackled for a moment, the body sagging on one knee. “Wait. Don’t help. Don’t help,” she said.
Mason picked up the fallen cigarette, flicking it into life. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
The Reed body reached out for the cigarette, the hand shaking. Its eyes looked past the glowing tip, and it grabbed at the air once, twice, before snaring the filter. It pulled its hand back to its mouth, stuffing the crumpled filter between its teeth.
“How’d I do?” said Carter.
“I—” said Sasha. “Great. Sure. Really great.”
Mason pulled on his own cigarette, leaning back against one of the suits of armor. “They’ll come looking for it.”
“Sure they will,” said Carter. The body 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,” said Mason. “Doc.”
“Yes?” said Sasha.
“This thing. Took some fire, right? I’m pretty sure it died.”
“It’s still dead,” said Sasha. “We had to, I dunno, patch it up first. It’s not going to be good for field work, but we can strip it down. See how it works.”
“‘Patch it up?’”
“It had a hole in it. It’s remarkable, really,” she said. “It’s a lot like a real body. It’s got blood, or something like it. It’s got a lattice.”
“A lattice?” said Mason. He flexed his hand. “Why’s it got a lattice?”
“You want me to guess?”
“If that’s the best I can get, sure,” said Mason. “It’s a robot.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s got a pilot.” Sasha sighed. “Or, it had a pilot, before Carter jacked it.”
The Reed body started to shuffle down the room. “I’m better at walking,” said Carter. “I was able to practice that on the way down here.”
“How’d she jack it?” said Mason. He waved the cigarette at the Reed body. “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. “Guess?”
“If I had to guess,” said Carter, the Reed body turning back towards Mason, “I’d say someone like you—”
“Me?” said Mason.
“Yeah,” said Carter. “Someone like you? They’d chuck you into a tank, wire you up to some kind of neural net, and map you right into this.”
“So the pilot—”
“It probably doesn’t feel like piloting at all,” said Carter. “Not if what I’m seeing at this end is anything to go by.”
“It’d be like being there,” said Sasha. “Full sense mapping.”
“Jesus,” said Mason. “Reed’s made its agents into risk-free remotes.”
“I don’t know about risk-free,” said Carter. “There’s all kinds of risk.”
“Like what?” said Mason. “That thing got shot, and it’s walking around here.”
“Mason,” said Carter. “I can taste this cigarette. When you pushed me over—”
“I touched your shoulder. It’s not my fault if you’re inept.” Mason tossed his stub to the floor, scrubbing it out with his shoe. He reached for the pack of cigarettes again.
“When you pushed me over? It hurt. Falling down? That hurt.”
“You sound surprised.”
Sasha broke in. “I’m guessing the first application of this wasn’t designed to be military.”
“Ah,” said Mason. “Reed Interactive. It’s a sex toy.”
The Reed body jerked to a stop. “What?” said Carter. The head of the body looked down towards its own pants.
“Or something,” said Sasha. “Don’t let him worry you, honey.”
“I feel kind of sick,” said Carter. “I don’t know where this thing’s been.”
“Carter,” said Mason.
“Yes, Mason?”
“How… deep are you jacked in?”
The body stumbled again, a hand flailing out. “Got it,” said Carter, the body righting itself before it fell. “Not very. I’m not — you ever seen a puppet show?”
“A what?”
“Never mind. Not very, like I said.” The body winked at him, the eyes looking past Mason’s head. “I’m just sort of pushing buttons at this end.”
“Could you fight?”
“Against who?”
“I don’t know. Me, say.” Mason offered the cigarettes to the Reed body again. “Another?”
“Thanks,” said the body, fumbling a filter from the pack. It leaned forward, taking Mason’s offered light. “I probably couldn’t fight fish in a barrel in this thing,” said the body.
“Shoot,” said Sasha.
“What?”
“It’s ‘shoot.’ You shoot fish in a barrel.”
“I really like these,” said the Reed body, drawing on the cigarette. “Maybe I should take up smoking.”
“You’ve never tried smoking?” said Mason. He noted a red stain spreading against the Reed body’s shirt. “Uh. I—”
“No,” said the Reed body, taking a pull from the cigarette. “Apparently it can—” It stopped talking, then fell over on the ground.
“Well, shit,” said Carter.
“I’m pretty sure it just died again,” said Carter.
“That would make sense,” said Sasha. “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.”
“You never studied,” said Carter. “I can tell.”
“I had a lot of sex though,” said Sasha. “I even got to smoke once or twice.” Mason could hear her smile through the link.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” said Mason. He turned the Reed body over. “Wait. 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.”
“What don’t you get, Mason?” said Carter.
“Why the sunglasses?”
“It’s the eyes,” said Carter. “Caught a glimpse of myself… It? Shit. I saw the eyes of the remote in the mirrors in the elevator.”
“I figured the eyes were all screwy because it was a dead guy.”
“No,” said Carter. “I think there’s a point of view problem.”
“A… What?”
“Or focal point,” said Sasha. Her voice firmed up. “We’re still talking about that.”
“Yes,” said Carter. “There are divergent theories.”
“Fine,” said Mason. “You guys can start a group or something. All I really need to know? How to tell one of these apart.”
“I’d go for the eyes,” said Carter. “Anyone with sunglasses? Shoot them in the head. First.”
“That seems… overly enthusiastic,” said Sasha. “What if there’s some guy just wearing sunglasses?”
Mason looked back up at one of the suits of armor. It had a sealed front case, the glass stenciled with APSEL FEDERATE — MILITARY APPLICATIONS. The suit was the only one in the armory that was white, the Federate’s falcon emblazoned in black against the chest plate. “What’s this one for?”
“Wait one,” said Carter. “You want me to call Frank?”
“Who the fuck’s Frank?”
“Francesco. Head of Military Applications.”
“No,” said Mason. “He’ll lie.”
“Ah,” said Carter. “Here it is. It’s demo model. Urban pacification. It’s had a test run, sales contract’s signed. Usual load out for that kind of thing. Runs a standard Everlife fusion power system.”
“Ok,” said Mason. “Why’s it still boxed up?”
“Maybe they don’t want it scratched.”
“It’s perfect,” said Mason. He walked up to a panel, unsealing the glass with a few quick taps. The case whispered open, soft puffs of cold fog settling on the floor around his feet. He pulled off his jacket, then put the Tenko-Senshin down on a bench. “I think I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I don’t know why you didn’t requisition a bigger team,” said Carter. Her voice was clear despite the rain against his helmet.
Mason looked through the skylight again. “You’re clever. Why do you think I didn’t want a bigger team?”
“Uh… Because you want to fail?”
“Change the question,” said Mason, shifting his feet against the roof, careful not to scrape boot edges against the tiles. They were old, chipped, covered in lichen. The rain streamed and burned against them, coming down harder than it had in days. His boots were hard to make out, the active camouflage set into the skin of the armor holding the light behind it, bending it. “What do you get with a bigger team?”
“More dudes,” said Carter. “You get a lot more dudes. You know. To draw enemy fire, so you don’t get shot. Again.”
“Right,” said Mason. “Say, can you give me a scan of the area?”
“Sure,” said Carter. There was a pause. “What?”
“A scan,” said Mason. “I’d like to see how many dudes are out there.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe,” said Mason. “If we had more dudes, as you put it, there’d be a bigger signal. A signature, saying loud and proud that the Federate was here.”
“I might have misjudged your intelligence. This whole forward-planning thing you’re doing? It caught me by surprise. You’re still an asshole,” said Carter. “When do you want Harry to drop in?”
“In a bit,” said Mason. He checked the skylight again, the room below empty except for two people. Well — two important people.
And the box. It was in the middle of the room, the Apsel falcon big and black on the lid. He couldn’t see from this angle, but if he reckoned it had big black letters on the side. It’d be stamped with ATOMIC ENERGY DIVISION.
He thought about black lipstick against the silver foil of a cigarette for a moment, then pushed the memory aside. If she was here, that was just bad luck. It was just… He didn’t want her going down as collateral damage.
“You could just take the shot from here,” said Carter. “That’s the mission. Kill the thief, destroy the tech.”
“Right,” said Mason. “How do we know that’s the thief?”
“Well…” said Carter. “Because she deleted all records and ran from the syndicate.”
“Sure,” said Mason, nodding in the rain like he agreed. “It says she’s shady as an old porch on a hot day.”
“Yeah?” There was a question in Carter’s voice. “So take the shot.”
“What if she’s shady for a different reason? Or there’s another thief? We need to cover off the angles. Make sure she’s alone, then—”
“You take the shot.”
“Or something,” said Mason. “I haven’t worked that much into the plan yet.” He looked at the case next to him, the rain running in dark rivulets down the side of it. The Apsel falcon glinted wet and muddy. He looked back into the room.
Carter boxed up the two people in the room on his overlay. She marked the first one — AF HARAWAY — in big letters. The second she marked as JD UNKNOWN.
“He’s not unknown,” said Mason. “He’s Bernie Eckers.”
“How do you know?” said Carter.
“It’s his bar.”
“Right. What if it’s just some other asshole here for a drink after work?”
“Touché.” Mason sat alone on the roof, the light from the skylight shining up and onto the white of his armor. Rivulets of water flowed down and off him. “Christ, this is tedious.”
“You could have brought a chair. Or, wait. Hey. You could have just gone in the front door.”
“You’ve got no sense of style.”
“I work in computers. What did you expect?”
“It’s why you never go dancing, isn’t it?”
“I—” Carter sighed. “You’re not going to let that go are you?”
“I’m just saying,” said Mason, “that there’s something wrong with you. You work too much.”
“You don’t complain when I get you intel.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m concerned.”
She barked a laugh at him, the link crackling for a moment.
“Hey,” said Mason. “What was that?”
“What was what?” she said.
“The link.”
“On it.” Her voice dropped all traces of humor. “They’re here.”
“Who?” Mason shifted on the roof, a hand reaching for the case.
“Uh.” Carter paused. “All of them, I think.” A image appeared in the lower right of his overlay, a map of the area. Mason blew it up, the map filling over his vision, green lines studded with red buildings. The 3D model was complete, down to the old wires strung between buildings, the sewers, even the rats.
He could see two convoys of vehicles approaching from either end of the street. Carter marked them for him, RI and MT icons dropping in over each vehicle.
“Just Reed and Metatech?” Mason frowned. The show should be bigger.
“Wait, what? There’s like twenty cars coming. Each. You wanted more?”
“I expected more. For this level of tech.
”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“What?”
“I… fiddled a few things.”
“You—” Mason looked down into the room again, then focused on the map again. “Where did you send them?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“Different bar.”
“Same city?”
“Maybe,” she said. “You do your job, I’ll do mine.”
Mason flicked the locks on the case, then let a breath out. “Thanks.”
“You still get Reed and Metatech,” said Carter. “They’ve got good deckers in there. Couldn’t cut ‘em out. Not all of them.”
The case opened in front of Mason, the rain falling in, greedy to get into the corners. He shrank the map back to the corner of his overlay, keeping a slice of his attention on it. “What the…”
“What?” said Carter.
“That icon. Is that me?” He brought up the section of the map where The Hole was, a marker on the roof. An old image was etched in grey over the top. “It doesn’t look like me.”
“You don’t look like much at the moment,” said Carter. “You’re wearing armor, so I needed to be creative.”
Mason pulled the two sub machine guns out of the case — subs were good for close work — putting them on the roof in front of him. “Who is it? I don’t recognize him as one of ours.”
Carter laughed. “That’s not surprising,” she said. “It’s Gene Kelly.”
“Gene who? Who’s Gene Kelly?” Mason did a quick flick through the Federate’s corporate directory. “I get a Gene Kelly in Policy. It’s a chick, though.”
“Look it up,” said Carter.
Mason pulled the rifle out of the case, checking the action. It gave off a soft whine as if it were eager to be put to use. He sighted along the barrel, then put it on the roof next to the subs. Mason picked one up, switching it on. It gave a brief, almost subsonic rumble, and the icons along the top of the barrel lit red, cycling to green. The overlay coughed up data on Gene Kelly while he worked. “He was a dancer. Of course.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it,” said Carter. “Hey. Game’s on. Through the front. I get groups fanning down the side of the building towards the rear too. It’s going to get messy in there.”
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