Julian walked the long corridor Reed’s Tower Prime executive level. Past the empty offices. Past the bodies, and the bloodstains. He made it to a door, old oak polished to a sheen. Julian paused, his hand almost on the handle. Behind the door was pain.
There’s always pain.
“Come in.” Prophet’s voice, muffled by the door, was also clear in Julian’s mind.
Watching his hand as if it belonged to someone else, Julian gripped the knob. The door opened onto a room of dark wood and plush carpet beyond. Prophet stood at the window — always at that window — his back to Julian. “Master?”
“Yes.” Prophet didn’t turn. “How is the repair of the device coming along?”
“It’s pretty trashed.” Julian shuffled his feet. “But you knew that already.”
“Yes, I knew. Having you here gives me someone to… What’s that delightful word you use? I have someone to hold accountable.”
Julian swallowed. “I—”
“Do you know why I want it?” Prophet turned. “Do you know what Prophet means?”
“A soothsayer. You predict the future.”
Prophet’s face twisted into a smile. “I am a teacher, Julian. I can’t see the future. But I follow a prophecy. A map of how the world is meant to be. Our scripture says this Heaven you live in is a place of wonder, and a savior will be brought from here to redeem our world.”
Julian looked at the window and the cloudscape beyond. He’s mad. “I’ve heard stories like that before.”
“This isn’t a story. This is a real thing, as tangible as the leather of your very expensive shoes.”
“Real? Master, forgive me, but there’s no—”
“The future is laid out. Oh, it’s not rigid like the metal you make your wonderful machines with. It’s soft, like the clouds. But they’re still real. You can see them form and move. The future is like that.”
How does he know? He seems so certain.
“Yes, I am.” Prophet tapped his temple. “I can’t see the future. Only once in ten generations is an oracle born. The gift is rare. But we always find them and extract the truth. The last was born hundreds of your years ago, and the records show she screamed right to the end.” He turned to the window.
Julian looked to the black stain against the wall where a man had died. Prophet hadn’t ordered it cleaned. Probably some kind of message. We get it. “What did she say?”
“That a bridge would be formed to Heaven. Three people would cross the bridge. That an angel would be brought back to enforce rule.”
“She said that?” Julian frowned. “Three seems pretty specific.”
“Interpretation is the art of prophecy. Fortunately, we don’t need to rely on interpretation. She didn’t say it. It was laid out in her mind.”
“And you’re the angel.”
“If you like.” Prophet spread his hands. “I ask again. How is the repair of the device coming? I need to rebuild the bridge.”
“We don’t even know if the Federate device is—”
“Are you blind or stupid?” A stab of pain lanced between Julian’s eyes. He screamed, falling to his knees, clutching his head. Prophet stood over him, the pain increasing.
Julian’s stomach roiled, the pain bypassing the link’s buffers. He threw up. Julian raised a hand. “Master! Please—”
“Did you not see me walk out of the air? Did you not watch the bridge die as the machine was destroyed?” Prophet turned away and the pain stopped, leaving Julian gasping.
“I…” Julian looked down at his puddled vomit. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We don’t understand the science of it.”
“What do you need?” Prophet glanced at him. “Ah. I see it. You don’t know how it could work. You need access to the Federate and their scientists.”
“We have an angle. We can—”
“Who is Marlene?”
“She’s no one. Dead. Marlene was part of a failed deal a few years back. But her sister—”
“Is the head of Atomic Energy Research and Development at Apsel, yes. I understand.” Prophet frowned, facing the window. “How can you bring her back from the dead?”
“We won’t have to. But Master, I need—”
“You need to get into a synthetic so you can be strong again.”
“Yes. I’m more use to you … I’m better in the field.” And, with luck, no longer a close throat to choke.
Prophet laughed, the sound rough. “This is why I keep you alive. You’re correctly incentivized to come up with solutions. Very well. Do as you will. No one else must have this gate. Destroy the Federate. Wipe them from the Earth. I don’t care what it takes. You will have soldiers.”
“Yes, Master.”
“It’s time to get this carpet cleaned. See to it.”
Julian left Prophet’s presence, closing the door behind him. Now he wants the carpet cleaned. Chrissakes.
Chapter Sixteen
Mason stared at the Metatech agent’s outstretched hand. The moment held, Richland’s quiet surrounding them like a mausoleum. The wind struggled to rustle leaves. Metatech smiled. “Seriously, did I catch you at a bad time?”
Mason reached out, accepted the hand. The agent’s grip was firm without being a vice. Not a challenge. Mason let his eyes move past the man to who stood behind him. Six men and a late-teenage boy. He shared Laia’s coloring and the shape of her nose, all while carrying a lean hunger. Looks like Laia’s brother, but now’s a bad time for assumptions. “Who’s the kid?”
There was a squeal behind him. Laia passed Mason and the Metatech agent, leaping into a fierce hug with the kid. The kid rocked back a step, hugging her back just as hard, and lifting Laia off her feet.
Metatech looked behind him. “That’s her brother Zach. Military hardware and family reunions. It’s what we’re best at.”
Mason laughed. Laia and Zach spoke to each other, words bouncing back and forth in a language the overlay couldn’t identify. She’s happy. My God, she’s happy. “Before we go on…”
“You want to know if I’m going to shoot you and leave your bodies to rot in a town that’s not on any maps. Right?”
“Something like that.”
“You’d be dead already.” Metatech cranked his smile up a few amps. “How’d you people get an entire town to disappear? Satnav says this is a forest ringing an industrial spill.”
“It’s almost true.” Mason looked toward the reactor site. “There’s some things I should show you. But first thing first.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“I’m Mason Floyd. We haven’t been introduced.”
Metatech’s face cracked into a smile showing clinic-perfect teeth. “Mike Takahashi. It’s good to meet you.”
“It’s a package deal.” Mason looked around the huddle of people. Mike. Haraway. Sadie. And the radio, with Carter. Metatech agents had set up a small field kitchen behind them, the smell of coffee around like a familiar blanket.
“I’m not sure you’re in the best position to negotiate.” Mike said it like the truth couldn’t hurt.
Sadie bridled. “Hey, fuck you guys. I don’t get to have a say?”
“No,” Mason and Mike said together. Mason spread his hands. “It’s not like that.”
“You want me to become a company robot?” Sadie frowned.
“No.” Mason offered her a smile, a little careworn. “I don’t think the company needs a musician.”
“Exactly my point,” said Mike. “We don’t need her. We’re here for—”
Mason held up a hand. “You’re here to offer me a job.”
“Maybe. Depends what’s on the table.”
“Let’s not play this game.” Mason leaned forward. “Not today.”
Mike frowned across the small table, then lifted the pot. “Another cup?”
“Your coffee sucks,” said Sadie.
The pot hit the table a little too hard. Mike didn’t let go of the handle. “Seriously?”
“It�
��s true.” Haraway’s voice was flat, her arms crossed.
“You should drink more coffee,” suggested Sadie.
“I don’t feel like it,” said Haraway, looking at Mason.
Mike swirled the pot. “I don’t see you guys with any alternatives. You don’t like my coffee? Fine. Don’t drink it.”
“She should drink it.” Sadie pointed to Haraway with her chin. “Serotonin. It’ll make you feel happier.”
“I don’t want to feel ‘happy.’” Haraway’s hands clenched. “I want—”
“Were your parents siblings?” Sadie sighed. “We need you to have your A game here, Jenni.”
Haraway glared, but lifted her cup toward Mike. “She’s right. This really is bad.”
Mike blew out his cheeks, looking at Mason. “Are they always like this?”
Mason nodded. You have no idea. “Pretty much.”
“Hey!” said Sadie, at the same time Haraway said, “That’s not fair!”
Mike held up a hand. Mason narrowed his eyes a little, waiting. “Musician’s in the package? Okay, fine, whatever. Here’s the deal.” He raised his fingers, counting as he spoke. “One. We get exclusive access to the girl. Two, we—”
“She’s not a cow,” said Sadie. “Or a chicken, or something. She’s a fourteen-year-old kid. You don’t get to trade people.”
Mason watched as Mike looked down at his hands, then flexed his shoulders. “Can I finish?
“Sure,” said Sadie.
“Two, we—”
“It’s just that you’re talking like she’s a piece of property, and we agreed that wouldn’t happen.” Sadie looked at Mason, a single glance laden with meaning.
Mike cleared his throat. “Two, we sign employment contracts for all of you. That gives you some protection under the Syndicate Compact.”
“Because assault on one of us will be considered a violation of the Compact.” Haraway nodded. “It’s a good idea. Still. You’ve got a wrinkle you’ll need to work out.”
“What’s the wrinkle?” Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Neither of the kids are citizens.” Haraway swirled coffee around in her cup.
Mason sighed. “That’s true. They won’t be protected by the Compact.”
“You know that,” said Mike. “I know that. Does Apsel?”
“How could they not know?” asked Sadie. “It was their devil gate that got them here.”
Mason grinned. “No. He’s onto something.” He slapped the top of the radio. “Carter? You there?”
“Yeah, Mason.”
“I wondered because you weren’t saying anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mason paused. Danger! Warning! He bulled on. “It’s just—”
“Are you trying to be funny? Because you’re not. Besides, I’m busy,” said Carter.
“Doing what?” said Mason.
“My fucking nails.” The radio crackled for a second. “Oh, and keeping you assholes alive.”
Mason stood, looking over the street. His optics picked out leaves being tossed by the gentle wind. His overlay mapped the scene, trying to find something to latch on to. He switched it off.
“Mason?” Haraway was quiet.
He turned. “What?”
“We lost you for a second there.”
“Yeah.” Mason caught movement up the road. Laia and the other kid. Zacharies. They walked together, talking. He left the gain down on his audio so they could have their privacy. They’re not speaking English anyway. “What was it?”
“I said, I think I’ve got another wrinkle.”
He tossed a glance at Mike. “What is it?”
“We need to get into Reed.” Haraway looked at her hands.
“Why?” Mason took a step back toward the table. “They’re assholes.”
“Mike,” Haraway jerked a thumb at the Metatech agent, “came up with a showstopper.”
“Negotiating,” said Mike. “It’s called negotiating.”
Haraway didn’t smile. “He wants the gate tech.”
“The devil hole to another world?” Sadie leaned back in her chair. “Why’s that a problem?”
“We don’t have it.” Haraway looked embarrassed, hair falling over her face. “We need to get it.”
Mason did a double-take. “You have it. You used it.”
“Yeah, back at the grunge bar.” Haraway nodded.
“Hey.” Sadie looked like she was warming up to some company woman insults.
“It’s true.” Haraway’s shoulders sagged. “It’s a grunge bar. Not grungy. I meant the kind of music.”
Mason remembered. “I dropped a grenade into the box.”
“Right action at the time, I’ll give you that.” Haraway’s expression said, what else can you do with a pit of snakes? “Longer term, it’s provided a bit of spice.”
“My music isn’t grunge,” said Sadie. “It’s more freeform.”
“Have you looked at yourself?” said Haraway. “The denim. The eyeliner. The leather.”
“I like black. Who doesn’t?”
Mike slipped in before things could get more off-course. “We want that asset.”
“The bar?” Sadie frowned. “Why do you want the bar?”
“No, we want the gate.” Mike sighed.
“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,” interjected Haraway, “is Reed probably has the box.”
Mike nodded. “They locked down the scene pretty tight after you dropped a total conversion on both our teams.”
Mason growled, “We were engaged in a retrieval—”
“Bygones.” Mike waved his hand. “I wasn’t trying to get you excited. It’s history.”
Mason stared at him for a second. “Okay. The thing is, we figured you guys would try to take it.”
“I know,” said Mike. “Bygones. It’s not even a factor in the contract.”
“Thing is, we don’t have the box.” Mason spread his hands.
“Do you know what’s inside the box?” Mike turned to Haraway. “If you saw one, would you recognize it?”
“Sure.”
Mike looked like a man who’d found a fly in his soup. “So, Haraway’s plan was to bust into Reed and get the box back.”
“The box full of broken junk?” Mason crossed his arms. “The one I dropped a grenade into.”
“Sure,” said Mike. “That box.”
“You want a box full of broken junk?”
“Reed will be fixing it.” Haraway rubbed her neck. “It’s what we’d do.”
“That’d be tricky, right?” Sadie drummed her fingers on the table. “I mean, I’m not a rocket scientist, but I know you can’t take a box of junk and make a devil gate.” Sadie offered Haraway what Mason felt was a prime, A-grade glare.
“Doesn’t matter if they’ve fixed it or not.” Mike showed his teeth. “We want the bits in the box. The box, plus Haraway, equals an odds even chance of getting it rebuilt.”
“Fair enough. Why don’t we get a working box from Apsel?” asked Mason. “Seems the shortest path. Apsel make the box. 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?” Mason gaped. “That no one knows about it?”
“Someone knows.” Haraway looked down. “Gairovald knows.”
Mason blinked. “We need to take a break.”
“What?” Sadie looked between Mason and Haraway. “This is getting interesting.”
“Clear out,” said Mason. “Not you, Haraway. You stay right there. We need to finish our talk.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m not sure you understand the situation.” Julian breathed through th
e synthetic, feeling the lattice alive in a way that it wasn’t under his own skin. “This isn’t the best approach.” He eyed a structure of metal, girders and plastics and control consoles.
Julian stood beside a tech in a white coat. The tech looked nervous, perspiration beading on his upper lip even though this place was his domain. Big lab. Would have cost plenty, back when money ran Reed. The man in the white coat wrung his hands. “He’s got to understand. He’s asking for miracles.”
Julian’s overlay spat out a name. Simmons. Head of Special Projects. “Simmons? I don’t think he gives a fuck. Prophet’s not patient. You get me?”
Simmons waved a hand 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.” Julian smiled. “I’ll get him down here. You can tell him yourself.”
“No!” Simmons took a step back.
“I don’t give a fuck either. Open the damn gate.”
Simmons’ 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 a cuff. This is a game I know how to play. Finally.
“I—”
“Yes or no. It’s a simple question.” Julian took in the machinery, pipes, and equipment hanging from girders. Heavy cables snaked through it all, tying it together. It hummed.
“No,” said Simmons. “You’re not speaking French.”
Julian pointed. “That crap up there. What is it?”
“What?”
“French or English, Simmons.”
Simmons swallowed. “It’s what we think holds the field in place.”
“Great.” Julian slapped a big smile on his face. “Amazing. You’re making real progress.”
“Yes. The machine—”
“There’s a flaw I can see, though.” Julian waited for Simmons to catch up. The tech stared, 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, could possibly have thought of.
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