Chromed- Rogue

by Richard Parry

  Gairovald looked out across his city. There wasn’t much to see, the clouds blanketing everything like an old wool wrap. Lights glimmered below. Lights he made possible. Without him, the city would stop. Without his electricity, nothing would be possible. It was his.

  Of course it’s mine. There wouldn’t be a city without power, electricity driving industry, technology, and people. Hell, even those perverted porn merchants at Reed needed power.

  His office was quiet, a place of calm. Gairovald held distaste from his face as his eyes swept past Zane. He keyed the link. “Nancy?”

  “Sir.” Nancy’s link came online with only the barest whisper. Gairovald didn’t like the way crass, lower-class upgrades snapped online like rabid dogs. Since Nancy worked so closely with him, he’d had her link upgraded years ago.

  It was one of their little things. He tugged his cuffs. “Do we know why Reed’s chairman stood up my golf game yesterday?”

  “Sir, he’s been standing everyone up. I can’t even get a line in to Jay.”

  Gairovald’s overlay spat up details. Jay Montana, executive assistant for Harlem Smith. Smith was Reed’s executive chairman, and they’d been playing golf for more than six years now. Every other week, on a Tuesday.

  Not playing with Harlem was fine. The man’s slime. Gairovald stretched his neck, noting the kinks. “I always feel unclean after a game of golf with that man.”

  “I know, sir. The thing is…” She trailed off, her link tone uncertain. Gairovald imagined she’d bite her lower lip in the real.

  “Yes?”

  “Jay and I … we’ve known each other a long time.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not like him to—”

  “I understand, Nancy. Any idea what’s going on over there?”

  “There’s a report from TacOps. Reed pushed a new drug on the market.”

  “What does it do?” Gairovald paced on leather soled shoes to the window.

  “That’s the weird thing, sir. TacOps got it back to the lab. Coburn’s report says it doesn’t have an active agent.”

  Gairovald thought that through, coming up blank. “Nothing?”

  “Colored saline.” Nancy sent the report to his overlay, but Gairovald ignored it. “It definitely does something. But we don’t know how.”

  “A new drug.” Gairovald frowned, considered pulling Zane into the link, then trashed the idea. Zane was too useful to discard, but he made Gairovald’s stomach turn.

  “That’s what the report says, sir.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s not really my field.”

  Gairovald allowed himself a small smile. “Do you remember the time I asked you to pick out an anniversary present for my wife?”

  The link was silent for a moment, not even a hint of static. “I said you shouldn’t buy a present for that two-timing backstabbing bitch. Sir.”

  “Do you remember what happened?” Gairovald placed a hand on the black glass of his desk, feeling the smooth perfection. It seemed to suck up all light touching it. He didn’t have a picture frame there. Not anymore.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t have a wife anymore because I trust you more than I trusted her. Please, tell me what you think.”

  The link was silent for a second. “I think Coburn is maybe the best tech you’ve got in the lab. I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

  “There was something else in the report, wasn’t there?” Gairovald allowed his smile to broaden. “I knew it.”

  “I only say she’s the best because she is,” said Nancy. “This sounds a little crazy.”

  “I understand,” said Gairovald. “What was in the report?”

  “She called them ‘visually unspecific event horizons.’”

  “What?”

  “Ghosts,” said Nancy. “She said they’ve observed an energy field operating within the bounds of the city. The same energy is carried within the drug.”

  “Ghosts.” Gairovald felt his smile harden like cheap candy. “That’s what she put in the report?”

  “She’s the best.” He could imagine Nancy clutching her fingers together. “It’s in the report.”

  “It’s okay. There are stranger things on Earth than you could know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gairovald let the link drop. For his entire conversation with Nancy, Zane stood like a statue, back to the door. “You’ve made the arrangements?”

  “Yeah.” Zane’s dead eyes darted to Gairovald before returning to the busy task of staring into the middle distance.

  “When will it happen?” At Zane’s shrug, Gairovald scowled. “Zane, this is not what you’re paid for. I expect precision.”

  Zane’s dead eyes wandered back to Gairovald. “They went off-link. She left the Federate in her wheelchair, then went offline.”

  Gairovald sighed. “I expect you’re taking the usual steps.”

  “Yeah.” Zane flexed one shoulder then the other, as if his suit didn’t fit quite right. “Plausible deniability, though.”

  Gairovald nodded. “Indeed. I have one more name to add to the list.” Zane raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “Coburn. Sasha Coburn. She’s learned too much.”

  “No problem,” said Zane.

  The speakers in Gairovald’s office clicked on. “There might be a small problem,” said Carter.

  Gairovald looked at the ceiling. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Sir?” Carter sounded uncertain. “You said,” the speakers eased out a perfect recording of Gairovald, “‘When you’re next in contact, I want you to report it to me straight away.’” Her voice returned. “That was your instruction.”

  Zane took a step forward, something close to life coming to his eyes for a second. “Mason fucking Floyd.”

  “Zane, this one’s above your pay grade. Maybe your IQ grade, too,” said Carter.

  “Bitch, I’m going to—”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Enough,” barked Gairovald. His tools shouldn’t bicker. “Carter, where is Mason right now?”

  “Can’t say.”

  Gairovald’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Has his link gone offline?”

  “It’s a fair question. I want to be really clear, when I answer this, so there’s no doubt. What I mean is you cunts can go fuck yourselves. I’m not telling you where Mason Floyd is.”

  Gairovald’s eyes went wide. His mouth hung open for a moment.

  “What?” said Zane.

  “Zane, you should have been killed off years ago. I reckon I have just the man for the job.” Carter’s voice was large and loud in the room, the speakers pushing authority into the words. “You’re not a very nice man, Zane Aster.”

  Gairovald leaned on his desk, needing something solid under his fingertips. “Sublime, cluster—”

  He was cut off by a whining sound, then the speakers in the ceiling shorted, smoke bursting out.

  “Carter?” Gairovald looked at the ceiling.

  “She’s cut us off.” Zane looked like he wanted to smile but thought it wasn’t the right time. Gairovald wondered if it was respect or fear he saw on the agent’s face.

  He tried his link, but it was down. Gairovald moved to the door, yanking it open. Nancy’s desk was right outside. “You too?”

  “Sir,” Nancy nodded, her face pale. “If you mean the link? Mine’s offline.”

  Gairovald turned to Zane. “Can you do it?”

  Zane smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  So much investment lost. So be it. “Take whatever you need. Whomever. Go take care of Carter.” Gairovald realized his fists were clenched. He forced himself to relax. “Silence her. End her. I want her to be a distant memory.”

  Zane nodded, still smiling. “Any restrictions on the engagement?”

  Gairovald thought about the people who worked in the Federate, the floors of them between here and the basement. A sound broke his concentrati
on, a growing roar outside. He turned to the window.

  A Federate gunship scudded past. Gairovald glimpsed the empty pilot canopy — there’s no one flying it — before Zane grabbed him. They spun, Zane putting his back to the window as the gunship’s chain cannon opened fire. The bullets slammed into the side of the building, but the glass only popped and ticked as its armored surface took the rounds.

  The gunship peeled away from the window, engines dying as it fell from the sky. Asset denial. I wonder who taught her that? Zane let Gairovald go, straightening his suit’s jacket. “Sir. Any restrictions on the engagement?”

  Gairovald stepped past Nancy’s wide eyes and open-mouthed horror to the window. He touched the glass. It was a little warm. He turned his mind again to the people in the Federate tower, then thought of the creature in the basement, the monster he’d created. “No. Get it done.”

  Zane’s smile died like a light going out, the dead eyes remaining. He nodded at Gairovald, then headed toward the stairwell.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lace’s new lawn looked too young to die. Just like me. Harry tried not to walk on it, but the metal feet of the chassis seemed to always be wider than he expected. Even after five damn years of living in the metal coffin.

  “You’re standing on the lawn,” said Lace. “Again.”

  “Sorry.” Harry lifted a foot, looking for somewhere safe to put it. The concrete path seemed promising.

  “It’s hard for me to dig it up and plant it again, what with the chair.”

  “I said I’m … wait a second.” Harry swiveled. “I planted this damn thing…” He broke off at the smirk on her face.

  “Too easy, Fuentes.” Lace leaned back into her chair, breathing out. She had on her signature fingerless gloves but added a thin jacket. It was a relic of some hiking-wannabe store, the kind of place that shoved ads on your overlay. A virile life in the Yukon, as close to nature as you’d like, and you could drive right up to it in your SUV.

  Lace hadn’t been hiking. Not since the accident, and maybe not ever. He looked at her hands, gloves resting on a rifle stock. Harry wasn’t sure why he’d noticed the gloves more than the rifle. “Where’d you get that?”

  “I know a guy.” Lace hefted the gun. “You like it?”

  “I think it’s a little small.”

  She looked down, doubt creasing her brow. “I don’t know. It’ll put a hole in you.”

  “That what the guy who gave it to you said?”

  “Guy sold it to me,” she said. “Didn’t give it. Cost money.”

  “He lied.” Harry scanned the street. Nothing yet, but it wouldn’t be long. “That thing’s not bad, but it’s not great either.”

  “You don’t think it’ll punch a hole right through you?” Lace’s rifle had a Metatech logo embossed on the stock, a single amber light glowing soft and low under the barrel.

  “Tell you what.” Harry stepped sideways, standing in front of her. “You give it your—”

  A shot rang hard against the back of his chassis, the ricochet singing into the night.

  “What was—” started Lace, but Harry had already kicked overtime in, her voice slowing like a recording played at the wrong speed.

  He spun the chassis around, the overlay already mapping the most likely source of the shot based on the impact strength and angle. Got you, motherfucker. His optics zoomed on a building, an open window as clear an advertisement as any. He lifted his arm, the chain cannon mounted underneath giving a harsh clank before it spun up, a thousand rounds a minute roaring off across the cityscape. He could see the rounds through the overtime, bright and white as they burned through the air.

  The face of the building crumbled, brick and mortar spraying into the air, falling like hard rain onto the street below. Harry heard Lace screaming. The cannon slowed, stopping with another harsh clank, smoke rising from the glowing barrel.

  “Lace?” It was easier to talk through overtime with the chassis than when he had a body. He wasn’t really speaking, not anymore. She panted, mouth open. “Lace? I’m going to need you to get inside.” He made his voice as gentle as the chassis allowed. “You can’t help me here.”

  She shook her head, hair whipping about her face. “I can!”

  A gunship came in, right on the deck. Harry saw it before he heard it, the aircraft supersonic. Harry snatched Lace out of her chair, then grabbed the chair with his other hand and tossed it into the air. He pulled the arms and legs of the chassis into a ball around her.

  The gunship fired a rocket, a jagged line of burning air chasing the chair. A second rocket tore through her fence, the newly planted garden ash in a second. He felt the impacts against the chassis, hunching tighter to keep the fire from her.

  The smoke, lazy with overtime, reached her. Lace’s expression was a kaleidoscope of fear, panic, and coughing. Fuckit. Harry rose, the reactor coming on bright and fierce as he slammed through the side of her house. His free arm swung like a wrecking ball, shouldering walls aside. He caught a glimpse of her life, a big television falling from the wall in her rumpus, a set of pictures in a line in the hallway before they were smashed aside. The kitchen, all white marble set low for the chair. Harry’s feet tore through the floor, cracks walking like spiderwebs through the stone. His rush was pure escape. Harry tried to get her away from the fire, those terrible flames that burned forever in his memory.

  He cleared the house, overlay snapping targets up in quick succession. There. Three on the roof across the street. Two more in the backyard, and that asshole had a rocket launcher. The gunship, still in the air, banking around tight and hard. No human pilot could crank those Gs. The coilgun cleared its mount on his back, ratcheting up as the targeting solution fired off five rounds as he swung the hand holding Lace behind him.

  Five clouds of red mist held themselves in the air, the rocket launcher tumbling, lazy and slow, to the ground.

  The gunship started another run. The coilgun spoke to the heavens, parts of the gunship tearing off. It burned and spun in the sky.

  Silence, or near enough, Lace’s harsh breathing the only noise.

  A scrap of sound made him turn. Harry glimpsed a man as he leaped off what was left of Lace’s roof, landing with a thump on the top of his chassis. Harry reached a metal hand up, servos whining, but the man was fluid as oil. A cutting laser, red and bright, sheared through the arm holding Lace, and she crashed to the ground.

  The chassis lurched, off-balance for a second, and he crashed to one knee.

  This is how it ends. Goddamn monkey on my back.

  A single shot sprayed red rain across his optics, painting the world before his vision cleared a second later. The man on his back tumbled off, a marionette with its strings cut. Harry looked at Lace lying on the ground, her useless legs still tangled in the remains of his arm.

  She held that damn Metatech rifle, braced and steady. “I… I…”

  Harry’s chassis whined as he stood. A white fluid as viscous as turned milk leaked from where his arm used to be. He could hear a siren, nowhere close enough to matter. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s just…” Lace held onto the sob, turning it into a cough.

  “They won’t be back. Not tonight.”

  “Good. If you hadn’t been here—”

  “If I hadn’t been here, you’d be fine,” he said. “If I’d had the good sense to die a couple years ago, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Lace looked around her yard. Flames caught in her house, pushing back the night in fits and starts. “No. I wouldn’t be fine, Harry. I’d be a long way from fine.”

  He thought on that for a moment before speaking. Harry tasted almonds as the overtime faded. “Do you think we—”

  “I’ve never killed someone before. I don’t really want to again.”

  “It’s—”

  “Haven’t finished.” Lace voice was hoarse with smoke and emotion. “I figure, you need to have a really good reason.”

  “Like saving your
life?”

  “Like saving yours,” she said.

  Harry thought about that, flexing his remaining hand. No faults found. Good to go. “It’s weird.”

  “I wouldn’t call killing people weird. It’s fucked up. It’s crazy. I’ve got dead guys on my lawn.”

  Harry clanked over to a body. It was what was left of the asshole who’d had the rocket launcher. His optics switched to thermal, doing a scan. “This one’s the same as the rest.”

  “Dead?”

  “Normal,” said Harry. “Or close to it. Only a few upgrades. He’s mostly meat. Smart weapon, sure.” Harry turned the body over, blood slicking the edges of his metal hand. “But he’s just a grunt.”

  “You sound disappointed.” Lace tried to lever herself upright, using Harry’s severed arm as a brace.

  “Surprised, more like.”

  “You’re just one guy,” offered Lace.

  “I used to be one guy. I’m not a guy anymore.” He stood, swiveling the chassis toward her. The night hid the finer details, but metal gleamed as he rose. He held his hand out in front, palm up. “Look at me.”

  “I see you.” Lace’s voice was uncertain.

  “I can tear the ass out of a tank. You don’t send a bunch of normals to take me on. You send the big guns. There’s no big guns here.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Maybe I’ll shit snow tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” said Lace. “I was just saying.”

  “Sorry. Point is, the big guns aren’t here,” said Harry. “What’s going on?”

  “Are you complaining because … you survived?”

  Harry shrugged, the chassis whining. White sludge trickled from his side. “No, I guess not.”

  “Good. Now pick me the hell up. You’re bleeding. You’ve got semen, motor oil, or some other shit coming out the side of you.”

  Harry lifted Lace up to the height of his optics. “Where are we going?”

  “Get your arm fixed.”

  “It’s a bit past that,” said Harry.

  “I know a guy.” Lace looked smug.

  It made Harry suspicious. “Who?”

  “You’ve met him.”

  “Julio? The alcoholic?”