Chromed- Rogue

by Richard Parry

  “To be fair, that was more of a first-floor window. This is an actual door. Look. No horrible face-eating mutants.”

  “Sure. You go first then.”

  “Don’t say chivalry’s dead.” Mason walked through the doorway, shadows holding him close as he stepped from view. Asshole. A traitorous small smile touched her face anyway as his voice carried to her from the interior gloom. “If you had a link, I could share the overlay with you.”

  “I don’t want your company shit in my head.” Sadie stepped inside, placing a boot on the fallen door. It didn’t rock as it took her weight.

  The place was crammed with all kinds of things. A rack of old clothes caught her eye, some garments nothing but heaps of rotten cotton and leather on the floor. The walls boasted a few faded posters, some of the writing and art still visible on those toward the back of the store where the light wasn’t welcome. She ignored all that, her eyes looking for the promised guitar.

  There.

  It stood at the back of the store, sitting neck-up in a rack of black metal. Rust and decay hadn’t touched it. Sadie knew what it was and what it would sound like, her fingers itching to hold it.

  “Is it okay?” Mason stepped out from shelves lined with old books. “I don’t know if—”

  “It’s a Fender Stratocaster,” she breathed.

  “Okay.” Mason stared at the guitar. “Is that good?”

  “It’s not a Gibson Les Paul. But … it’s a Fender. Stratocaster.”

  “That’s good, then?” He looked from the guitar to her. “It’s hard to tell, because you’re not using words I understand.”

  “Floyd, it’s possible you’re not the complete company cunt I took you for.”

  “It’s good, then. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  “It’s perfect.” Sadie saw some of the tension ease out of him and wondered why he was carrying it. Oh. “Floyd?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is better than a start. Thanks.”

  He grinned, then ducked behind the shelves and into the gloom. Sadie stood in front of the guitar, reaching for it. She could feel the need to play but held herself back. First, an amp. She found one near the guitar, an old pre-acquisition Yamaha. If she could find cables, she could wire it up.

  “What do you think?” His voice dragged her attention away from the guitar. He carried an old dress, the style so long gone it may never have been in. She thought ball gown, then no, not even ball gowns look that bad. The lace was still pure and white, not the yellow she was expecting.

  “Are you trying to be funny? I’m not putting that on.”

  Mason frowned. “It’s not for you.”

  “Whoever it’s for needs a better sense of humor than me.”

  He carried the frown like it weighed him down. “It’s a ball gown.”

  “I can see that. You planning on going dancing with someone?”

  “Not exactly.” Mason looked away.

  “You look like a kid at your first party. You are going dancing with someone.” Sadie wondered who he wanted a dress for so bad he’d carry it back from the edge of the world.

  “It’s for a friend.”

  “Right,” agreed Sadie. “But a friend with breasts.”

  “It’s not like that.” Mason paced around the shop like a caged animal. “See if you can find a box or something for it.”

  “You realize your girl’s not going to like you giving her an out-of-style dress, right?”

  He smiled, small, like he’d forgotten how somewhere along the way. “Yeah. I get that.”

  “You’re going to give it to her anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  “When we get back to the world?”

  “Maybe.” Mason’s tone said the maybe meant no.

  “I don’t follow. It’s not like you can get FedEx to come here.”

  “I think I can get someone else. Someone more reliable than FedEx.”

  Sadie thought that through, coming up empty. “How you figure?”

  “Find me a box, I’ll show you.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Sadie looked anyway. It didn’t take long. They found an old suitcase out the back with hinges still attached. The metal clasps didn’t fit quite right, but well enough to hold it shut.

  Mason beamed. “Now, for the tech.”

  “Tech?” Sadie wanted to get back to the guitar. “Out here?”

  “There’s an electronics store up a couple doors.”

  “With things that still work?”

  “Maybe.” This time his maybe meant probably.

  Sadie shrugged. “I’d prefer it if we found some food.”

  “Reed’s protein bars not working for you?”

  “They’re working fine,” she said. “There’s not many left.”

  “Let’s get the electronics, and I’ll show you how we get the company to come to the rescue with food. Maybe coffee.”

  Coffee. Sadie felt her own shoulders relax a shade. A morning after whisky without coffee was harder than playing for an empty room. “I might be warming to you after all.”

  They met back at what passed for their group lounge. Sadie gave up on waiting for Mason, setting back by herself, the guitar clutched close. Mason stumbled back carrying a box that looked like normal people would find it heavy. He carried it like it was empty, his bionics making it easy.

  That, or he spent a lot of time in the company gym.

  An old bulb in the ceiling glared at the room. Haraway had coaxed power from Reed’s van, just like she’d promised.

  Mason set the box on their communal table. Sadie leaned forward. “What is that piece of shit?” It’s got knobs, for Chrissakes. Haraway and Laia huddled closer. It didn’t look like they had much of a clue what was going on. Haraway showed some professional interest in the box, which made Sadie angry for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “Hand me that cord, would you?” Mason nodded toward a dull orange bundle of cable. It was thick and old, crumbling in places. The lamp in the ceiling flared for a moment before fading back to a sullen glow.

  She shook her head. “You can get someone else to help with your Frankenstein experiments.”

  “It’s just a radio.”

  “It’s not a radio, Floyd. Look at it.”

  Mason sighed. “Haraway? Tell her.”

  “It’s a radio,” said Haraway.

  “See?” Mason turned back to the radio. “Now hand me that cord.”

  Sadie didn’t move. “You realize you could die. Using that, I mean.”

  “It’s just an old radio. Besides, my bionics are well-insulated.” He flashed a grin.

  “It’s not old, Floyd. It’s prehistoric. Stone age. Or space junk from a lost civilization that fell out of orbit.” Sadie rubbed her hands against her pants. Looking at the radio made her feel nervous and unclean in equal measure. Not because of what it was, but what it could do.

  At the other end of the radio would be the company.

  Haraway walked past Sadie, grabbing the cord. She plugged one end into an old socket. Some of the plastic flaked away.

  “What’s a radio?” asked Laia. “I don’t know what the word means.”

  “It’s not one of those.” Sadie pointed at the radio

  Laia frowned, ignoring her. “What does it do?”

  “It…” Haraway paused, brow furrowed. “It sends sounds across the air.”

  “Sounds?” Laia looked puzzled. “What kind of sounds?”

  “Music,” said Sadie.

  “Or voices,” said Mason.

  “It can pump data around,” said Haraway.

  “Voices, like the Master’s thoughts.” Laia took a step away from the box, her heel snagging at the edge of an old chair. She sat.

  Sadie crouched in front of the girl. “Hey. It doesn’t read minds. That one,” she threw a glance toward the box, “isn’t really a proper radio.”

  “Does a proper radio do what the Masters do?” Laia’s eyes were round, frightened.


  Sadie put a hand on the girl’s arm. “No. Not much really does.”

  “I’m not sure I buy it,” said Haraway.

  “Buy what?” Mason plugged the orange cord into the back of the radio. Orange flakes of insulation peeled off in his hands, falling in faded fragments to the ground. “Don’t touch the wires.”

  “I don’t buy these Masters reading minds. It’s a bit science fiction, isn’t it?” Haraway pushed the orange cable away from her with her shoe. “I mean, seriously—”

  “Science fiction?” Sadie stood.

  “Yes. As in, not real.” Haraway put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why you’re so ready to believe.”

  “Because this girl just blew all the blood out of someone’s body with her mind.” Sadie held her hand out to Laia. “How’s that for a convincer?”

  Haraway looked at Sadie for a few beats. “Fair point. That was pretty convincing.”

  “The thing is, she can do awesome shit.” Mason turned a knob on the radio, then slapped the top of it. It clicked before returning to silence.

  “I don’t do awesome things.” Laia’s voice was small. “I just—”

  “You do things no one here can do.” Sadie waved her arm, meaning everyone.

  “Like, in this room?” asked Laia.

  “Like, in this world,” said Sadie.

  Laia looked at her hands. They were clutched together on her lap. “But this is Heaven.” Her eyes found Mason as he worked on the radio. “These are—”

  “Trust me, girl. He ain’t no angel, and this ain’t no heaven.” Sadie rubbed grit from the corner of her eye. “He’s barely a human being.”

  Mason turned. “Hey, that’s—”

  The radio burst into life, a hiss of static followed by popping before it dropped to a low hum. Laia eyed the radio. “Is it alive?”

  “On,” corrected Haraway. “It’s not alive. It’s a machine.”

  “I don’t feel anything.” Laia stared at the radio like it was a viper. “It’s not saying anything.”

  “There needs to be someone at the other end,” said Haraway. “Which brings me to a question. Who are you going to call on that?”

  Mason turned a dial, the radio hissing and chattering as it moved across the bands. Bursts of voices fell from it, fragments of phrases and words won and lost as he spun the dial. “I hope she’s listening.”

  Laia’s eyes widened. “So many voices. So many people.”

  “Yeah,” said Sadie. “It’s hard to get airtime just to get your music out there.”

  “The Masters…” Laia’s voice trailed off, some horror of memory playing across the girl’s face. Sadie wanted to help her, but there wasn’t one of these Masters here to punch. “There are only a few who speak with their minds across the air. With this, anyone can.”

  “With this we can call in the cavalry.” Mason looked like he expected people to be happier than they were.

  “Or the enemy,” said Haraway. “How are you going to avoid people listening in?”

  “I’m not. In fact, I’m counting on it.” Mason’s hand slowed, the needle of the dial falling over a frequency toward the top of the spectrum. The hissing from the radio died, the channel empty. He picked up the mic. “Hey.”

  “About goddamn time.” A woman’s voice, flattened by the signal, still managed to sound angry.

  Sadie warmed to her already. “Who’s that?”

  “Carter.” Haraway gave Sadie an appraising look, eyebrow high. “She’s high-spirited. You’ll like her.”

  “I heard that,” said Carter. “How are you enjoying your camping trip? Shitting in a hole in the ground giving you what you need?”

  “See?” Haraway nodded at the radio, as if Carter sat there. “All class.”

  “I thought you company people had standards,” said Sadie.

  “We do,” said Carter. “Sometimes you get the B-team though. How’s the town, Mason?”

  “It’s crap,” he said. “We need to keep this brief.”

  “It’s okay,” said Carter. “I mean, who’s stupid enough to use shortwave for company business?”

  “You’re right,” agreed Sadie. “I do like her.”

  “Ah,” said Carter. “Sadie Freeman.”

  “How’d you—”

  “It’s my job to know, Sadie. Mason?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Ammunition.” Mason rubbed his jaw. Sadie hated to admit it, but the company man made stubble look good. “A vehicle.”

  Sadie strode to the table, pushing Mason and his stubble aside. She grabbed the mic. “Carter?”

  “Yes, Sadie Freeman?”

  “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “He very rarely does.” Carter sounded like she smiled.

  An answering smile tugged at Sadie’s lips. “We … I need just one thing.”

  “I’m listening,” said Carter.

  “Coffee. Can you get coffee?”

  “I like the way you think.” Carter’s voice fuzzed with static as the ceiling bulb flared again. The radio hummed, Carter’s voice came back strong and loud. “Mason? They’re trying to find you.”

  Mason held out his hand for the mic. Sadie handed it to him. Mason cleared his throat. “I guessed as much.”

  “All joking aside, Mason, I’m pretty sure they’ll track you down eventually.” Carter sounded like she was reading an annual report. Calm. Bored.

  Mason glanced at Sadie, Haraway, and Laia. “Can you get a message to Harry for me?”

  “Is it going to get me killed?” Sadie marveled at Carter’s calm. Like being killed by your own syndicate was just a cost of doing business.

  “Probably. If it’s any comfort, they’ll want to kill me first.”

  “I’m a closer throat to choke,” said Carter.

  “They’ll want us all.” Haraway’s voice was quiet.

  “All of us?” said Laia. “Who will want us?”

  “Who’s that?” asked Carter. Sadie raised an eyebrow. The first thing Carter seemed excited about wasn’t being killed, but the voice of a fourteen-year-old girl.

  “My name is Laia.”

  The radio hummed for a few moments. When she spoke, Sadie thought Carter was back to being bored. “The language pack seems to have taken well.”

  “Can you do it?” Mason tapped on the table.

  “Do what?”

  “Get a message to Harry for me.”

  “Yeah,” said Carter. “What’s the message?”

  Mason cleared his throat. “Got a pen? You’ll want to write this down.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Right.” Carter spoke just above a whisper, like she was afraid of being overheard. “Are they gone?”

  “Yeah.” Mason slumped into a chair. He remembered Sadie’s half-hopeful, half-wary look as she’d left, herding Laia before her. He hated how he hadn’t earned the former, and how he deserved the latter. “They’re all gone. High on Jesus and the promise of coffee. They’re going to count protein bars or something.”

  “Great.” The light on the radio stuttered as Carter spoke. “What’s the real message?”

  “I still want you to get a message to Harry.”

  “Figures.”

  Mason ran a hand through his hair, then loosened the clamps holding the armor around his leg. It ached. They’ll fix it back in the world. “What I said before was the pep-talk version.”

  “Is this the thing we talked about? You said we’d never need to use the contingency plan, but we had to have one anyway.” Carter’s voice sounded hesitant.

  “It’s kind of that thing,” agreed Mason. “I’m tired, Carter.” Mason looked through dirty windows, the setting sun outside casting a red light over the world. The radio cast a shadow so black it looked solid. “I’m just … tired.”

  “You’re old,” she said. “You’re a sixty-five year old man kept upright by clinics, and you’re giving up.”

&n
bsp; “What?” Mason forgot the pain in his leg for a moment. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Carter. “See? You’re not tired. You’re just not angry enough.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “There’s another way. There’s a … path you can follow.”

  “Bad pun, but I’m not following you.”

  “You don’t know what a pun is. Say. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

  “Astronaut.” Mason didn’t have to think about it. “Before they privatized the space program and NASA fell under a couple of different syndicate interests.”

  “Ah, NASA. Good at science, bad at politics. Too many dreamers, not enough assholes.”

  “I guess.” Mason frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Until you said ‘astronaut,’ a more general place.” The radio hissed for a moment. “Now, somewhere specific. What do you know about Metatech?”

  “They make guns.” Mason stretched his neck. It was stiff despite the rapid healing support of his bionics. “Tanks. Armor.”

  “They also make orbital cannons. They lease time on space lasers to excise entire cities.”

  Mason nodded. “We’ve got the same kind of thing. Except ours isn’t a space laser. It’s a nuclear strike.”

  “It’s a fusion emitter,” corrected Carter. “You really didn’t study, did you?”

  “I still don’t know the difference between fission and fusion.” Mason rubbed his temples. “Carter? I really am tired.”

  “You should know the difference. Apsel does fusion. It’s our thing. Atomic Energy, remember? We’re all about making limitless, clean energy.” Mason stared at the radio. There was a thudding sound, like Carter was tapping her mic. “You with me?”

  “I’m with you. I know what our business is.”

  “You just said—”

  “We make energy. We can fire that energy from space canons, or light cities, or even power this armor I’m wearing. I don’t give two shits about whether it’s fission, fusion, or black sorcery.”

  “You’re a Neanderthal.”

  “I want to sleep at night,” said Mason. “I don’t want to read science journals.”

  “Your loss. I read stuff other than science journals.”