Fear. Mike was afraid.
“Ok,” said Mike, something scratching the edge of his voice. “Ok.” He pulled the trigger, five whines from the coilgun, and…
Four cracks. A groan from Zacharies.
Mike spun around as Zacharies opened his eyes, hand out in front of him. The coilgun round hung in the air, and there were lines tracked through the dust where Zacharies’ feet had been pushed back.
Zacharies smiled despite the strain. “Do you believe now?”
“How did—” Mike looked out over the range, the coilgun round still hanging in the air before it dropped with a plink to the floor. “How did you—”
“I wasn’t sure I could,” said Zacharies. “I don’t think I could do that more than once or twice.”
“You just stopped a fucking bullet. In the air.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies.
“You stood in the way—” Mike’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I could have shot you, kid.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies. “But you needed to see.”
“See?”
“When I came here, I didn’t believe in angels,” said Zacharies. “But I believed in demons.”
“Two sides of the same coin,” said Mike.
Zacharies walked back out of the range. He reached out a hand for the coilgun, Mike handing it over. “No, I don’t think so.”
“No?”
“No.” Zacharies looked at the weapon, turning it over in his hands. “Angels didn’t make this.”
“That’s right,” said Mike. “A bunch of assholes in R&D came up with that one.”
Zacharies watched as Mike ran a hand through his hair, a slight shake in the movement. “Are you ok?”
“Hit the overtime then,” said Mike. “I’ll be fine.”
“Overtime?”
“It’s another non-angel magic trick,” said Mike. “I’ll show you one day. Just not today.” He turned and looked down the range. “I could have killed you, kid. Don’t do that again.”
“Do you believe now?” Zacharies looked at Mike’s back.
Mike stopped, head bowed, shoulders hunched. “I don’t believe in angels, kid. Or demons. Or magic tricks.”
“What do you believe in?”
“I don’t know.” Mike sighed. “Something else now, more or less.”
“But not angels.” Zacharies frowned. “The Reed drug.”
“Yeah?” Mike turned around to him, leaning back against the rail. “What about it?”
“It’s made by demons,” said Zacharies. “Don’t drink it.”
“All this was so you could tell me that?” Mike looked at his shoes, the black leather buffed to a mirror finish. “You could have just said.”
“I tried that,” said Zacharies. “You didn’t believe.”
“Fair play,” said Mike. “Fair play.”
“Promise me, Mike,” said Zacharies. “Promise me you won’t drink it. Or touch anyone who has.”
“Why not? Why’s it so important to you?”
“Because the demon lives in water,” said Zacharies. “I thought you would have worked it out by now.”
“It lives in…” Mike trailed off. “The rain.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies.
“We can fix that,” said Mike. “We spin out your blood.”
“Spin out…” Zacharies stopped. “What does that mean?”
“We take the blood out of you, put it in a centrifuge, and—”
“What’s a centrifuge?”
Mike looked at him. “You really were born in a barn, weren’t you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind.” Mike sighed. “Ok. We shake your blood really hard, and all the crap that’s not blood comes out of it.”
“Oh,” said Zacharies. “Laia can do that.”
Mike blinked at him. “You can’t?”
“No.” Zacharies looked at his feet, covered by shoes, comfortable and soft. He’d never had something so fine before. “She’s stronger than I am.”
Mike looked back down the range. “I’d like to see that.”
Zacharies grabbed his arm. “Promise me.”
“The drug.”
“Yes.”
Mike nodded. “Ok, kid. I promise. I’ll get an order out. No one in the syndicate will take it.”
“Can you guarantee that?”
“No,” said Mike. “Sorry.”
Zacharies gripped Mike’s arm harder. “Then we must be vigilant.”
Mike grabbed Zacharies hand, pulling it away, gentle but firm. “Kid? It’s going to be ok.”
“No,” said Zacharies. “No, it’s not. The Master is here, and he has his demon. Laia and I aren’t strong enough to stop him. Heaven will fall.”
Mike laughed. “I doubt that,” he said.
“Why? What’s going to stop him?”
“It’s simple,” said Mike. “The syndicates will. The world falling over? There’s no margin in it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“It’s not often a suit drinks like this for breakfast,” said Sadie, leaning back into her chair. Mason could see a smudge of oil or grease on her chin. He wanted to lean forward to wipe it clean.
Instead, he swirled his drink. “You know many suits?”
“I know the type.” She jerked her head back inside. “Is she okay?”
Mason frowned, looking towards the new day sun, low in the sky. “No.”
“She’s not?” Sadie looked at her glass. “She got hungover for nothing.”
“She’s not hungover.” Mason threw back the rest of his drink, then stood up. “That comes later.”
“You not staying, company man?” Sadie wasn’t looking at him. She had her head resting on a hand, looking towards the same dawn.
“Oh, I’m staying,” said Mason. “We need more scotch.”
“Don’t take long,” said Sadie to his back as he walked inside. He liked that she didn’t say anything about him walking in the wrong direction.
The inside of their little base was dark, and his optics adjusted for the light. Haraway wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Laia was curled up in a corner on the floor, dead to the world. Mason snared the worn blanket she’d kicked off, pulling it up around the girl’s chin as he covered her.
It was a heavy thing, killing someone. Mason’t didn’t much think it mattered at all if you knew them. When the light went out in their eyes, you collected another ghost to follow you around until the end of your days. He figured it was important that —
The taste of the liquor was still sharp in his mouth, but the effects were muted. He remembered one time when a rival agent tried to use a neurotoxin on him. The lab had said it was derived from box jellyfish, and the burn had been like having molten metal poured through his veins. Seconds after the dart had hit, he’d bounced back to his feet and shot the agent. Bullets weren’t fancy, but they got the job done in a more predictable way. The bionics let a little alcohol through — the techs knew they needed some release — but it took real effort to get drunk.
If you can take an intravenous neurotoxin, alcohol’s not going to do the heavy lifting you need, Floyd. Still, he could try.
What was important was that Laia not have to carry that ghost around for him. He pushed a strand of hair away from the girl’s face, then got back to his feet.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason set down a couple new bottles on the rickety table in front of Sadie. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Just two?”
He shrugged, then sat down in the chair next to her again. The sun was a little higher in the sky. “I didn’t want to overload you.”
Sadie snagged one of the bottles, sloshing a generous pour into their glasses. “Where’s the doctor?”
“Not here,” he said, picking up his glass. “Not in there, either.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—”
“What’s a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?”
He saw the smile she
tried to hide quirk at her mouth. “Why’d you do it?”
Mason took a sip, cradled the glass in his hands. “Depends which it we’re talking about.”
“Grabbed me.” Sadie shrugged, the motion small. “I thought I was dead.”
Mason looked at her sideways. “Truth?”
“Always. Only. Nothing but.”
“You looked like you needed an exit.” Mason looked away, closing his eyes for a moment as the sun touched his face.
Her voice drew him back. “I didn’t.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“I…” She paused. “Do you know who Aldo Vast is?”
“No clue,” said Mason. “Should I?”
“Not especially. I’m just trying to work it out.”
“Take your time,” said Mason, pouring some more for both of them. “The day’s not going anywhere.”
“What I’m trying to work out is this,” said Sadie. “I’m trying to work out why you shot him in the leg.”
“Oh,” said Mason, “that guy. His name was Aldo?”
“Aldo Vast,” said Sadie. “He was… He is… It’s complicated.”
“Ok,” said Mason. “Look, Sadie?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want to tell you your business—”
“—But you’re going to anyway,” she said.
“I don’t want to tell you your business, but it looks like he was after you. He had a piece of glass, hate in his heart, and—”
“I could have handled it.”
“I’m not doubting that,” said Mason, turning a little to face her. “I don’t think I could have, though.”
“What?”
“It’s kind of hard to see someone about to cut on someone else you…” He paused, shaking his head. Someone you like. Is that right, Floyd?
“Someone else what?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Couldn’t stand by, that’s all.”
“Real noble of you,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “So you shoved me in a van and drove a couple hundred klicks to Fuckistan, edge of Nowheresville.”
“Yeah,” said Mason. “That sounds about right. When you say it like that, it makes me sound a bit like a dick.”
She laughed, a bright sound on the edge of the morning. He liked it — honest laughter in a way he couldn’t remember hearing inside the Federate. People were always laughing at jokes that weren’t funny made by people they wanted something from.
“Still,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s funny,” said Sadie. “I thought you said sorry just then. I must be imagining things.”
“We’re not all assholes,” he said.
“Yes you are,” she said. She looked sad for a moment. “I don’t know if you know what it’s like, being outside a company. When a van turns up to take you away? It never brings you back.”
Mason turned that over in his head. “I don’t think this was a regular van taking you away. I don’t think this is a regular mission at all.”
“That why she’s in charge?” Sadie jerked her head back inside. “The doc.”
“I’m not sure she’s in charge,” said Mason.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just… Nothing.”
“Whatever, company man,” she said. “Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I want to know. What we doing today?”
He reached for the bottle, same time as her. Their fingers touched, and her hand lingered for a moment before pulling away. “Sorry,” he said again.
“It’s not you,” she said. She looked away.
“Yeah, it is,” he said. Or what I am. He let the bottle go, grabbed his glass, and tossed back the liquor. “Fuck it. Today? Today we’re going shopping.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“You have significantly overstepped your remit, Mr. Oldham.” The board secretary looked down the table at Julian, the old oak — real wood, like they could buy themselves class — buffed to a dark gloss, catching the dim overhead lights in its surface.
“Yeah, about that,” said Julian. “It’s not—”
“I haven’t finished, Mr. Oldham.” The Secretary cleared his throat, looking left and right at the board members, stacked in perfect rows in immaculate suits down the side of the table. “Please do not interrupt.”
“Of course not, sir.” Julian shifted his weight and swallowed. He could feel the pile of the carpet, thick under his feet. Probably real wool — they’ve put that in since I was last up here.
“You’ve instigated a manufacturing run without the involvement of Marketing. Or, as near as we can tell, R&D. Is this correct?”
“Kinda,” said Julian. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
“I don’t think I like your tone,” the Secretary said. His face was lined, the kind of years he carried no longer easily pushed aside by treatments.
“I apologize,” said Julian, looking down at his shoes. It’s not like it’ll make any difference.
The Secretary looked at him a few moments longer. “Very well. The manufacturing run has been pushed out without the usual clinical trials. The syndicate could be heavily exposed if this new product turns out to be hazardous.”
“More hazardous,” said Julian.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said ‘more hazardous.’” Julian shrugged. “Than our usual products, I mean.”
“Our products are well tested.”
“Yes,” said Julian. “We know exactly how they break, and how to manage the media.”
“Quite,” said the Secretary. “You do show a good understanding of the key principles. Why, then, did you contravene your remit within your department?”
“I had to,” said Julian.
“You what?”
“I had to.” Julian turned to look out the window at the rain — ordinary, wet, heavy, shitty rain — and straightened his tie. He threw a glance back at the Secretary. “You’ll understand shortly.”
“I—”
“It’s quite simple,” said Julian. “You think you’ve got me on, what, a trial, right?”
“We’re not a court.” The Secretary frowned at him, then looked sideways at one of the board members. The other man shrugged.
“Whatever,” said Julian, waving a hand. “The truth of it is, you’re on trial.”
“I beg your pardon?” The Secretary had started to rise from his chair.
Julian turned to face him. “Sit the fuck down.”
The man goggled at him. “What?”
Julian tugged at one of his cuffs, then brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve. “You’ve all been sitting here, talking at me, measuring dicks under the table, right?”
“I—”
“Exactly,” said Julian. “And while you’ve been doing that, my friend—” His voice caught for a second, and he cleared his through. “My friend outside has been sucking you dry.”
“I have never—”
“Probably not,” said Julian, nodding. He started to walk around the table. The men in their chairs, not a woman amongst them, swiveled to track him as he walked around the table to stand by the Secretary. “You’ve invested quite a bit in me, haven’t you?” The secretary swallowed, looking up into his face. Old and weak. “There’s just one thing left I need to do.”
“What… What’s that?”
“I need to kill one of you. Apparently he needs to understand what your stress response is like.”
The Secretary blinked at him. “What?”
Julian leaned forward. He lowered his voice, made it soft, almost a whisper. “It’s ok. It won’t hurt. I promise.”
“What… What won’t hurt?”
“No, you’re right,” said Julian, standing up. His voice cracked, and a sliver of laughter, bright and fragile, burst out. “You should choose. Who’s it gonna be?”
“I—”
“It’s a simple question.” Julian looked down the table.
The man to the Secretary’s right leaned forward, the
movement small. “Excuse me,” he said.
“Yeah?” Julian looked at him sideways.
“Did you just say that you’re going to shoot one of us?”
“No,” said Julian.
“Thank God,” said the man, leaning back.
“I didn’t say I’d shoot anyone at all. It’d be hard to get a weapon in here, right? I said I was going to kill one of you. The method… He left the method up to me.”
The man swallowed, then looked at the Secretary. “I’ve called security.”
“Good for you,” said Julian. He turned back to the Secretary. “Ok, boss. Who’s it going to be? Which one of these fools gets to die?”
“I—”
“Hell, you can vote on it if you like.” Julian turned away, looking out the window again. A bolt of lightning stabbed down across the city, the bright arc filtered out by his optics. “Only thing is, you don’t have all day. I need your… nominee in the next thirty seconds.”
He heard the movement start behind him, the surge of people towards the door. It was locked, of course. Voices raised, the rattle of the door handle. Angry shouts, edged with panic and fear.
Fear. They didn’t know the meaning of the word. Not yet.
Tugging at his shirt cuff again, he turned back to the room. Most of them were gathered by the door, eyes frighted. One man stepped forward, opened his mouth to start speaking.
“Can it,” said Julian. “I really couldn’t give two shits what you’ve got to say, unless it’s a name.”
The man blinked. “I… I nominate the Secretary.”
“Seconded,” said a man behind him.
“What?” The Secretary was pushed forward by the men around him to stand in front of Julian. “I—”
“This should be a pretty good lesson, don’t you think?” Julian patted the Secretary’s shoulders, almost gentle. “I’m real sorry about this. But you are kind of an asshole.”
“You—”
Julian stepped forward, overtime dropping in around him. He went to work, and he was thorough.
The Master had been very specific about that.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Julian looked at the table, the dark wood smeared along one side. The board was seated back around it, two of them with bright red splashes on white shirts. He glanced over at the —
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