Mason looked at the box, the sphere still stitched in the air next to him. He turned his head behind him, saw Haraway holding the girl. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’ve recovered all the assets from the original brief. This? Maybe it’ll effect the percentage of my bonus, but that’s probably negotiable.”
Metatech’s gun pressed against the side of Reed’s head, firing. The remote’s head sprayed into fragments, and Metatech grabbed the boy before he could fall.
“Thanks,” said Mason. “Sorry about the taser.”
“Don’t thank me,” said Metatech, holding the boy in front of him like a shield. “Same deal. I’m out with the kid.”
“That’s just super,” said Mason. I love how this day is turning out. He turned to Haraway. “Out the back.”
The girl in her arms started to struggle, trying to break free. Mason crouched in front of her, holding up a hand. He lowered the PA system to a whisper. “Not like this. There will be another time.”
Mason had no idea if she understood him, but she stopped struggling against Haraway. Mason nodded at her, the blue of the eyepieces reflecting sparks deep in her eyes. He stood and turned back to Metatech, keying the link to Carter. “Is Harry gone?”
“Harry is pissed.”
“Great,” said Mason. “But is he gone?”
“Maybe,” said Carter. “He hasn’t stopped swearing at me.”
Mason clicked the PA back up. “Ok Metatech. You’re clear out the front.”
“It’s just business,” said Metatech. He looked —
Sad. He looks sad. How about them apples?
“It’s always business,” said Mason. “I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
They looked at each other for a moment, then Metatech shouldered the kid and jogged for the door. Mason stepped up to the Apsel crate, unclipping a small device from the back of his belt.
“What are you doing?” said Haraway.
“Clearing the scene,” said Mason, dropping the device into the crate. “Back door. Go.”
“You — no!” She looked at Mason, then back at the crate. “You don’t know what that’s going to do to—”
“No,” said Mason. “But we’ve got about fifteen seconds before we find out. I’d recommend running, doc.”
“There are still syndicate representatives holding at the rear of the building, Mason,” said Carter. “What’s your play?”
Mason tossed a glance at the man sprawled on the ground unconscious, shemagh over half his face. He looked over at where Eckers had gone behind the bar. Mason replayed Haraway’s instructions on his overlay, the woman etched against the top right of his vision.
I need a mission statement.
Help them. God, look at them.
Mason didn’t answer Carter, turning and running for the door behind Haraway and the girl. He didn’t look back at the sphere, shifting in the air, lightning sliding across its surface in uneven bolts. He didn’t look back at the box, with the Apsel falcon proud underneath the APSEL FEDERATE — ATOMIC ENERGY DIVISION lettering. If he’d stayed, he might also have seen Bernie Eckers trying to save something, anything from the colossal train-wreck that this night had turned into — making his way to the fallen man, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him behind the bar.
Neither of them was the mission. The mission was Haraway, the girl, and the boy. One thing at a time.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason ran past Haraway in the corridor, doors marking the walls to the left and right. “Stay close, doc. But stay behind me.” The sprinklers in the ceiling sprayed water down around them, slicking his armor, the white coming clean as the dust washed from it. Haraway’s hair was slicked to her head, and she held the girl close to her.
“You—”
The explosion from the bar rocked them sideways, Mason throwing a hand out to the wall to steady himself. The timed charge had gone off, with any luck damaging Apsel’s tech beyond repair. That’s part one of the mission brief put to bed.
“Not now. Keep a hold on her.” Mason risked a look at the girl, whose eyes were looking at everything. “I’m going to get us out, but you’re going to need to help me. Know how to use one of these?”
He offered her a sub, grip first. Haraway looked at it, then shook her head. Mason sighed, then turned around to the front. “Like I said, stay on my six.”
“Six?”
“Christ, do you not watch movies?” Mason started walking down the corridor, sub held in front of him. His overlay chattered to itself, painting doors, the suit including a thermal map of the rooms.
Where is everyone?
“There’s no one here,” said Mason. “They’ve all gone.”
“Eckers said he was going to clear the place out,” said Haraway from behind him. “For the…”
“For the what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
Mason shook his head, frowning. The mission. He moved down the corridor again, thermal playing out cold and empty rooms in blue. A haze of red worked its way behind a door at the end of the corridor, and Mason flicked back to standard light vision.
A woman came through the door, stumbling against the wall. Her black hair was slicked against her head, water running down her face, eyeliner running dirty tears down her face.
Her. From the bar.
She looked at the three of them, eyes not really seeing. Masons optics tracked her, taking in —
Bruising on her face. Dilated pupils, most likely a concussion.
“—Hey,” he said, the PA system raised loud enough to be clear. “You know where the back door is?”
The woman looked at them. Her eyes swept over them, then back to the door she’d just come through. A shaky hand pulled it shut, and she started backing away from it towards Mason, Haraway, and the girl.
“Mason,” said Carter. “Mason, you need to get out. Reed are staging a deployment at the front.”
“Metatech?”
“Pretty sure he got clear.”
Mason walked up to the woman, taking one of her arms. She looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. She licked her lips, wet from the sprinklers, then said, “Who the fuck are you?”
The door at the end of the corridor yanked open, and a man came out, long greasy hair plastered to his head. He held a fragment of something, sharp and silver, the edges of his hands cut and bleeding around it. “Bitch. I’ve got you now.”
Mason smiled inside his helmet. This asshole. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman, stepping around her.
The man looked at Mason, stepping back. His eyes flicked to the Apsel falcon on Mason’s armor. “This doesn’t involve you, company man.”
“Right,” said Mason. “Do you know a back way out of here?”
“Yeah,” said the man.
“Where is it?”
“Oh,” said the man, turning towards the door he’d come in through. “Go through there, and take the second door on your left. You’ll find a room there where you can go fuck yourself.”
“Ok,” said Mason, pointing one of the subs at the man’s left leg, and pulling the trigger. The weapon fired. The cords on the man’s neck stood out as he screamed, a high pitched sound. Both his hands went to grab his leg, the fragment of mirror falling forgotten. He slid to the ground, the wall behind him stained black and red.
The woman was looking at the man on the ground. “I know a way out,” she said. “I just—”
“You do?” said Mason. “Look, I don’t want to rush you, but—”
“I can’t quite…” She nodded, then stepped up, putting her hands against the wall, and kicked the man on the ground in the stomach once, twice, three times. She breathed heavy after that, unsteady on her feet, then looked at Mason. “I can remember, now. It’s through here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julian stood in The Hole, taking it in. The scorching on the floor, the shattered bar. He took a pull from his cigarette, the tip of the Camel flaring briefly. He flicked a glanc
e at the hole in the floor where the Apsel box had stood, the edges of the concrete still glowing where the charge had gone off, burning a channel into the Earth.
They’d said it went three stories deep. Julian wasn’t going to climb in and find out — someone on a lower pay grade can do that — but the heat climbed out of the pit, making the air dance and stretch above it.
Men and women swarmed around him, heavy light stands set up to illuminate the inside of the bar. Drones flitted through the air, the stabs of red and blue lasing out from them to scan and map the scene. Rain lashed and howled outside the building, gusts blowing splatters of wet inside. Julian flicked ash off the end of his cigarette, then raised a hand to adjust the sunglasses on his face. He walked over to the body of his last remote, the head taken clean away.
He still wasn’t sure how the Apsel man had managed that. One minute, he’d been about to get away free and clear, a new acquisition for Reed Interactive held in front of him. The value of that acquisition was questionable, bought at a cost of vehicles and remotes on the street outside. A smile tugged at his lips — at least Metatech were paying the same bill.
It wasn’t clean for any of them. Apsel would be scrutinizing their operation, trying to find the leak, and that meant a little breathing room out here on the streets. Metatech would want something from this, but Julian couldn’t even find their operative’s body.
Of course. He’d been shot by Metatech, not Apsel. He jotted that on his internal balance sheet, adjusted his tie, and nudging the remote with his foot. “We need to make these stronger.”
“Sir?” A tech paused next to him.
“The remotes.” Julian pointed with his chin at the body by his feet. “They don’t seem to be holding up in the field.”
The tech looked at him, then down at the remote, head missing. The man swallowed, then said, “I see. I’ll put it in the report.”
“Be sure that you do,” said Julian. He forgot the man immediately, then moved over to the small huddle of people around Eckers. Pushing through, he stood in front of the fat man. Eckers had been saying something, but his voice trailed away.
Another man was stretched out on the ground, a silver recovery blanket wrapped around him. The shemagh had been removed, revealing a face that could only be described as classically handsome, free of enhancements. A scan had shown him to be an illegal, no augments of any kind.
Time for him when he wakes up.
“Mr. Eckers,” said Julian. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“I—” said Eckers, then snapped his mouth shut.
“I’m curious about something, Mr. Eckers,” said Julian. He stretched a hand behind him at the ruins of the bar. “We were coming here to negotiate in good faith. To purchase something from you, and if I may quote you, worth ‘millions’.”
“That’s right,” said Eckers, trying to stand.
Julian put a hand on his shoulders, pushing him back down. “There’s one small problem.”
“A problem?” said Eckers. “I—”
“The problem is simple,” said Julian. “We’ve paid millions. The cost in vehicles and remotes alone. Let’s not even talk about the billable rate of all these people.” He let a smile break through, showing perfect white teeth. “We’ve paid, Mr. Eckers. We’ve paid a lot.”
“But—”
“The problem, Mr. Eckers, is that we’ve paid a lot and have nothing to show for it. Reed Interactive is not the most militaristic of the syndicates, I know that. We deal in soft services.”
“It wasn’t—”
“But rest assured, Bernie — may I call you Bernie? Rest assured, Bernie, that we will either have what we’ve paid for, or you will never be seen again.” Julian flicked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his suit, then bent closer to Eckers. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Eckers sneezed, and Julian drew back a bit. Old flesh habits died hard; it’s not like the remote could catch anything from Eckers.
“I been trying to tell these assholes,” said Eckers, a nod of his head towards the small group around him. “We were set up.”
“Apsel knew,” said Julian. “They knew, and they sent a recovery team.”
“Hey, that’s not on me.” Eckers stood up, waving an arm around the bar. “Look what they did to my place. That shit’s on you.” He pointed a finger and Julian’s chest.
Julian looked down at the finger, then back at Eckers’ face. “It’s on us? I’m interested to see where you’re going with this.”
“I know who I told about this meet,” said the fat man. “I told you two assholes. You and that other clown, from—”
“Metatech. You told us and Metatech.”
“Yeah,” said Eckers. “So the leak’s with you.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Julian. “I have another theory. Would you like to hear it?”
“Whatever,” said Eckers, shrugging his shoulders. “You got a smoke?”
Julian offered the pack of Camels to the man, then lit one for him. “Ok, Bernie. Here’s my theory. You told Reed and Metatech that you had Apsel tech to sell.”
“Yeah,” said Eckers, “because I did.”
“Sure,” said Julian, spreading his hands. “But what if — and this is hypothetical, of course — but what if you only pretended to have Apsel tech to sell.”
Eckers looked over his cigarette at him. “I’m not sure I follow, company man.”
“What if,” said Julian, “this was all a pretty interesting ruse from Apsel. To take out some rival syndicate resources, to create a diversion?”
“A diversion?” said Eckers. “Have you seen my fucking bar?”
“Yes,” said Julian. “I’ve also seen a set of assets destroyed on the street. You understand my position, surely?”
The fat man took a pull on the cigarette, then took it from his mouth and waved it at Julian. “Your position? You think this was a diversion. For what?”
Julian reached forward, tangling his fingers through the front of Eckers’ jacket, pulling the fat man closer. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” He brought a foot in behind Eckers’ ankle, sweeping the man to the floor. The breath shot out of the fat man, and Julian grabbed a chair. He brought it up and over, slamming the legs down around Eckers’s shoulders, one of the cross struts of the chair pressed down on the man’s throat.
Julian straddled the chair, looking down at Eckers while the man thrashed and spasmed under him. He took a pull from his Camel, then blew the smoke out into the air above him. “Bernie, there’s two ways this is going to go.”
Eckers continued to thrash under him, the veins on his neck standing out. He made gagging noises.
“See, Bernie, the two ways are like this. First way, I find out what’s going on here, and you and I part as friends. Comrades in action, with a common story to tell our kids.” Julian pulled on his cigarette again, thinking for a moment. “The second way is only good for one of us. I leave here, with an unpleasant story to tell my kids. You leave here in a box, and no one cries at your funeral, because they don’t even know you’ve died. You just disappear.” Julian punctuated this by pushing his hands out in front of him in the air, then leaned his head towards Eckers again. The man’s lips were starting to go blue. “Am I being fairly clear?”
Someone to Julian’s right spoke, but he didn’t understand the words. NO LINGUISTIC MATCH read out on his overlay, and he turned his head. The third person who’d come through the sphere, the one with the shemagh, had woken up. He was looking at Julian, as if he expected him to say something.
“You’re in luck, Bernie,” said Julian. “I’ve got someone else to talk to as well. I’ll need to share my attention between the two of you.” He got up off the chair, pulling it from Eckers’ throat, and the fat man gasped in whooping lungfuls of air, then retched on the ground.
Julian turned to the other man. “Hi,” he said. “I’m a representative from Reed Interactive, and we’re quite curious about
the events of this evening.”
The other man stood, wrapping the shemagh around his face, then looked at Julian. He said something else, the words — what, angry? Commanding?
Flicking his cigarette butt away, Julian nodded. “I understand. You’re confused. You don’t know why the evening turned out this way. In that regard, we’re in the same boat. Ships at sea, if you like.”
The man took a step towards Julian, his eyes narrowing. He said something short and sharp, his breath puffing the front of the shemagh. He raised a hand.
Julian tipped his head sideways. Curious. He offered the pack of Camels to the man. The other man’s eyes widened, surprise or shock.
“You don’t smoke?” Julian shrugged, taking a Camel from the pack in his lips and lighting it. He drew on the cigarette, then blew the smoke into the other man’s face. “You should give it a try.”
The other man blinked rapidly, then coughed, taking a step back. The rain howled outside, gusts slapping water in through the windows, droplets scattering inside. A couple of techs swore, wiping water from hair and jackets. Julian ignored them, watching as the man raised his hand up.
“I don’t think—” said Eckers, then started screaming.
It wasn’t just Eckers. Men and women around the room stopped what they were doing, screaming, clawing at their heads. Julian looked around him, then back at the man in front of him.
The man’s eyes were savage, but widened when they saw Julian still standing in front of him.
“Ah,” said Julian. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” He listened for a moment to the screaming around him, then curled a hand into a fist and slammed it into the man’s stomach in front of him. The man dropped like a sack of meal, the air going out of him. Julian pulled on the cigarette again, then raised a foot and stamped it down on one of the man’s hands, the one he’d raised into a fist. There was a crunching sound, and the man shouted out in pain.
Julian leaned forward. “You see, I’m not really here. Whatever meat-based shit you’re trying to pull? We’ll work it out. It’s just the kind of tech Reed is very interested in. But first? It’s time for some education.”
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