“I said, I think I’ve got another wrinkle.”
He shrugged, tossed a glance at Mike. “What is it?”
“We need to get into Reed.” She looked down at her hands.
“Reed? Why the… Why?” Mason turned, took a step back towards the table. “They’re assholes.”
“Mike here,” and Haraway jerked a thumb at him, “came up with a showstopper.”
“Negotiating,” said Mike. “It’s called negotiating.”
“It’s… Sure,” she said. “He wants the gate tech.”
“The devil hole to another world?” said Sadie. “Why’s that a problem?”
“We don’t have it,” said Haraway. “We need to get it.”
“Wait,” said Mason. “You have it. You used it.”
“Yeah,” said Haraway. “Back at the grunge bar.”
“Hey,” said Sadie.
“It’s true,” said Haraway. “It’s a grunge bar. Not grungy. I meant the kind of music.”
"That’s right,” said Mason. “I dropped a grenade into the box.”
“Right action at the time, I’ll give you that,” said Haraway, “but longer term it’s provided a bit of spice.”
“I play… My music isn’t grunge,” said Sadie. “It’s more freeform.”
“Have you looked at yourself?” said Haraway. “The black. The eyeliner. The leather.”
“Sure,” said Sadie. “I like black. Who doesn’t?”
“The thing is,” said Mike, “we want that asset.”
“The bar?” Sadie frowned. “Why do you want the bar?”
“No,” said Mike. “We want the gate.”
“It’s nice to want things,” said Mason. “I want a real coffee, just as a simple example.”
“I said if you didn’t like the coffee—”
“The real problem,” said Haraway, “is that Reed probably has the box.”
Mike nodded. “They locked down the scene pretty tight after you dropped a total conversion on both our teams.”
“One sec,” said Mason. “We were engaged in a retrieval—”
“Bygones,” said Mike. “I wasn’t trying to get you excited. It’s just a point of… It’s just some history.”
Mason stared at him for a second. “Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Ok.” He turned away from the table. “The thing is, we figured you guys would try to take it. That’s why Harry was—”
“I know,” said Mike. “Bygones. It’s not even a factor in the contract.”
“Thing is, we don’t have the box,” said Mason.
“Do you know what’s inside the box?” Mike looked at Haraway. “If you saw one, would you recognize it?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Right,” said Mike. “So, Haraway’s plan was to bust into Reed and get the box back.”
“The box full of broken junk,” said Mason. “The one that I dropped a grenade into.”
“Sure,” said Mike. “That box.”
“You want a box full of broken junk?”
“Reed will have been trying to fix it,” said Haraway. “They’ll be working on it.”
“That’d be tricky, right?” said Sadie. “I mean, I’m not a rocket scientist—”
“Clearly,” said Haraway.
“—but I know that you can’t just take a box of junk and make a devil gate.” She glared at Haraway.
“Doesn’t matter if they’ve fixed it or not,” said Mike. “We want the bits in the box. The box, plus Haraway, equals an odds decent chance of getting it rebuilt.”
“Fair enough,” said Mason. “Why don’t we get a working box from Apsel?”
Haraway nodded. “It’s a good question. It’s—”
“Apsel make the box, right?,” said Mason. I mean, it’s from your division, Jenni.”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“The research was mothballed. In storage.”
“You’re telling me that a piece of tech that opens doorways to another world has been sitting in storage?” he said. “That no one knows about it?”
“Someone knows,” said Haraway. “Gairovald knows.”
Mason blinked. “We need to take a break.”
“What?” said Sadie. “This is just getting interesting.”
“Yeah—” said Mike.
“Please. Clear out,” said Mason. “Not you, Haraway. You stay right there. We need to finish our talk.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“I’m not sure you understand the situation,” said Julian. “This really isn’t the best approach.” He breathed through the synthetic, feeling the lattice alive around him in a way that it wasn’t in his own skin.
“He’s got to understand,” said the man in the white coat. “He’s asking for miracles.”
Julian looked at the other man. His overlay spat out a name. Simmons. Head of Special Projects. “Simmons?”
“Yeah?”
“I really don’t think he gives a fuck,” said Julian. “He’s not real patient. You get me?”
Simmons waved a hand behind him at the clutter of machinery. “You brought us back a box of broken junk.”
“You think he cares?”
“It’s just that—”
“No, I tell you what,” said Julian. “I’ll get him down here. You can tell him yourself.”
“No!” Simmons took a step back. “No. I mean—”
“Simmons?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck either. Open the damn gate.”
The other man’s face twisted, desperate. “It’s not stable, Mr. Oldham. It’s—”
“Am I speaking French?”
“What?”
“French. Are the words coming out of my mouth in a foreign language?” Julian tugged at one of his cuffs. This is a game I know how to play. Finally.
“I—”
“Yes or no, Simmons. It’s a simple question.” Julian looked up at the roof, taking in the machinery, pipes, and equipment hanging from the girders. Some heavy cables snaked through it all, tying it together. It hummed.
“No,” said Simmons. “You’re not speaking French.”
“Ok,” said Julian. He pointed. “That crap up there.”
“Yes?”
“What is it?”
“What?”
“French or English, Simmons.”
“I—” Simmons swallowed. “It’s what we think holds the field in place.”
“Great,” said Julian, slapping a big smile on his face. “Amazing. So you’re making real progress.”
“Yes,” said Simmons. “The machine—”
“There’s a flaw I can see, though.”
Simmons looked at him, mouth slightly open. He’s wondering what the hell someone like me who knows nothing about particle physics or interstellar macrame or whatever they do down here, he’s wondering what I could possibly have thought of. Julian smiled, waiting for Simmons.
“I see,” said the man at last. “A flaw?”
“Sure,” said Julian. He clapped Simmons on the shoulder, then turned him to the girders, pointing. “See all that?”
“I… Yes.”
“It wasn’t in the box.”
“It wasn’t in the box?” Simmons frowned. “No. It wasn’t. We, uh, added that.”
“But you don’t know how it works, am I right?”
“We’ve got some theories—”
“So. You’ve been down here, burning the company dime, building all kinds of God knows what.” Julian tilted his neck, then realized the synthetic’s neck wouldn’t pop and release. Damn stress. “What I’m hearing is that you can’t turn the gate on, but you’ve added some shit you don’t know if you need.”
“I—”
“It’s ok, though,” said Julian. “It’s fine. Simmons? It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” The man seemed to relax.
“Sure,” said Julian. “It’s fine as long as you can turn the gate on
.”
Simmons stiffened again, tuned-up like a lightning rod. “I—”
“Can you turn the gate on?” Julian held a smile on his face. “Can you turn it on?”
“We don’t know what it will do.” His eyes were pleading.
“You’ve tested it though. I know you have.” Julian’s smile grew a little wider. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
“It’s just that—”
“What happened?”
“Marcellus.”
“Who?” Julian’s smile wavered as the overlay flicked through the team assigned here. It came up empty, spanned the company tree. Tommy Marcellus, post-grad research assistant. “An assistant? Some kid assigned to VR research?”
“He was, yes.” Simmons pulled at his collar. “You need to understand—”
“He turned it on, didn’t he.”
“It’s just that—”
“And you didn’t authorize it, did you?”
Simmons looked desperate. “It wasn’t my fault. He came in here after we’d locked up, the security seals were in place, and he just—”
“I get it,” said Julian. “Kid wanted a promotion.”
“Maybe,” said Simmons. “The thing is—”
Julian snapped his fingers. “He couldn’t get in here past the seals unless he had clearance.”
“Yes,” said Simmons. “Clearance.”
“Tell you what,” said Julian. “Why don’t you take a few breaths, and let me know what happened?”
“Ok, sure,” said Simmons. He patted down the pockets of his lab coat. Julian reached into a pocket, offering Simmons a Camel from a crumpled packet. The long finger of flame from the lighter caught in the other man’s eyes, a tiny orange ember.
Simmons took a long pull. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Julian, pulling out a cigarette for himself. “What happened with Marcellus?”
“It’s hard to know for sure,” said Simmons. “I mean, right, ok, we looked at the video. We’ve seen what’s on the video.”
“The video?” Julian blew smoke up towards the ceiling.
“Right.” Simmons flicked ash onto the floor. “He flicked that switch over there, and God damn but the gate came on.”
Rock and roll. “Great, right?”
“Kinda. There was a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The kid, hm, the kid wasn’t quite up with the latest memo, as near as we can tell,” said Simmons. “I think the problem was in the guidance system.”
“What, like a, a missile?”
“A little, sure,” said Simmons. He waved the cigarette in the air, pointing. “See, we’re pretty sure the gate can point at specific places. You just need to work out how.”
Ah. “Where’d the gate point at?”
“Space is really big,” said Simmons. “As near as we can tell, it pointed at, just, uh, nothing. Somewhere between some stars and dust out there.”
“Marcellus?”
“He’s now out there. In space. The video showed the gate fire up, held steady for a couple frames, and then Marcellus was sucked through.”
“Isn’t it blown?” Julian frowned. “Space doesn’t suck, right?”
“Whatever,” said Simmons. “Sucked, blown, the kid’s a piece of space junk now.”
“Do you know where?”
“Not really,” said Simmons. He pointed with his chin at a piece of machinery, shiny and new. “See that?”
“Yep.”
“That’s the new guidance computer.”
“Where’s the old one?”
“Next to Marcellus. We actually lost a bunch of stuff — it’s what saved this planet from being sucked through a hole into outer space.”
“What else did you lose?”
“Main controller,” said Simmons. “Once the controller pulled out of the system, the field collapsed.”
“Interesting,” said Julian. “Can you turn it back on?”
“I — what?”
“I said, can you turn it back on?” Julian flicked ash off his cigarette, then took another pull. “The gate, of course.”
Simmons opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I… Weren’t you listening?”
“I was listening,” said Julian. “You just said that a kid turned it on. You got the damn thing to work.”
“In a manner of speaking! We lost an assistant—”
“Who would have been fired anyway.”
“We lost an assistant, because we didn’t know how to point the gate.”
“Best you work it out then,” said Julian. “What the hell are we paying you for anyway?”
Simmons ran a hand through too-thin hair. “Do you know where… Do you know where his planet is?”
“No clue.”
“Neither do we,” said Simmons. “Space is really big.”
Julian frowned. “Ok. Who would know?”
“He would.”
“He comes from a backwater desert planet without indoor plumbing,” said Julian. “It’s not likely, is it?”
“No, I guess not,” said Simmons. He brightened. “I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“You said this was an Apsel gig. You got this tech from them, right?”
“Right. There were three of their operatives on the scene. A total conversion we haven’t ID’d yet. An operative — Mason Floyd, but records on that motherfucker are sparse.”
“Just a grunt.” Simmons took a step closer. “Who else was there?”
“Jenni Haraway.”
“Haraway? From Atomics?”
“The very same,” said Julian. “Why?”
Simmons was talking faster now. “You… We need her.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Simmons. “She turned the damn thing on in the first place. She pointed it somewhere. She’ll be able to tell us where.”
“You want me to extract Jenni Haraway, one of Apsel’s top researchers, in direct violation of the Syndicate Compact?”
Simmons shrugged. “I don’t know about any of that,” he said. “What I do know is if you don’t want Prophet to pull both our brains out through our eyeballs, you need to get that woman here.”
Julian looked at his shoes. “Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah, ok,” said Julian. “He’s already green-lit that project.”
“You were going to get her anyway?”
“Yeah,” said Julian. He tossed the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it underfoot. The synthetic felt safe, strong around him. “We’re just going to prioritize it a little higher up the list now.”
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
“Master?” Julian approached slowly, watching as Prophet ate. The tables and chairs were spread around the inside of one of Reed’s atriums, filtered light falling from high above. Somewhere, a bird sang. It probably wasn’t real, but you could never tell.
“Do you know, in our world we don’t have these wonderful creatures,” said Prophet, the cracker crunching through a leg of the lobster. He wore a bib to protect a dark suit of tailored wool. “They’re delicious.”
“Yes,” said Julian. They’re almost extinct.
“I know,” said Prophet. “So few left. None of you are very good at protecting this wondrous land you have.”
“It’s just that—”
“I have been watching your history,” said Prophet. “Your perspective is flawed. You have never known hardship. Your world is not a desert.”
“No,” said Julian. “About that—”
“Ah,” said Prophet.
“I wanted to keep you informed. To let you know where we’re at with the project.”
“Yes?”
Julian looked around the empty tables. “We’re going to prioritize the acquisition of Jenni Haraway. We… We just need to find her.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“After the event, her signal went dark. We’re pretty sure that the Federate has
cut her link.”
“I know where she is,” said Prophet. He waved a hand. “I have never lost her.”
“You can…” Julian blinked. “How?”
“It is what I do,” said Prophet. He smiled, not looking at Julian. “Used to do. I have touched her mind. I know its shape, its feel. I can find her.”
“You didn’t tell me,” said Julian.
“It wasn’t necessary to tell you,” said Prophet. He turned to look at Julian. “You think you’re safe in that synthetic body next to me, but I know where your flesh lives. I can feel the tide of your thoughts, despite your body lying in a coffin far below, Julian Oldham. I can find her. Do not forget it. I hate having to break my tools.”
Sweet baby Jesus. Julian thought he’d be safe in the synthetic, but that’d have been too damn easy, wouldn’t it? On the plus side, Prophet hadn’t touched him with the pain, so he was probably doing okay for results. “Yes, master.”
“Finding her is something I can do. The farther away they are, the more I need to… focus.” Prophet took a sip of wine, the red liquid pulling trails down the sides of glass as it settled. “Are you sure this is what we need?”
“Yes, master,” said Julian. “It is the only way we know of to find your world.”
“Very well,” said Prophet. “Come back to me no later than this evening. I will talk to you again then.”
Julian nodded, giving a small bow. Prophet ignored him as he backed away. Julian’s optics snagged on something, a pull in the air, a thing that tugged and moved. Prophet tilted his head as if listening.
“Yes,” he said, but he wasn’t talking to Julian. Julian watched as Prophet licked his lips. “Yes, it’s time. We’ll find them too. Her especially.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Harry looked down at the other man, holding the chassis still. “He wasn’t there, sir.” The hangar stood empty around them, some vehicles open for repair, reactor housings up for maintenance. An engineer’s cigarette still smoldered in an ashtray next to an APC, the smoke drawing a lazy line to the roof high above before getting tugged aside by the aircon.
Gairovald had his hands on his hips. Man, he looks pissed. “You’re telling me…” Gairovald stopped talking, drew a deep breath in. “Fuentes?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Here it comes,” said Lace. Her voice was quiet over the link.
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