Chromed- Rogue

by Richard Parry

  “PR?”

  “Yeah. Get someone in Marketing on the horn. If we get in here with some relief, we look good on the news tonight.”

  “You’re not just a pretty face,” she said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You can say it was your idea, Sam.”

  “I was going to anyway.”

  Chapter Forty

  The Hole felt good and bad at the same time. Sadie’s last visit here involved an encounter with Aldo Vast. And it was Bernie’s place of business. Both bad things. But the whisky was free, and the crowds came to see her. That made it okay.

  “This isn’t the best time.” Sadie swirled liquor in her mouth, then spat it to the floor. She eased a finger around the inside of her teeth, trying to find the one knocked loose in all the corporate fuckery.

  Bernie’s eyes boggled. “Not—”

  “It’s not the best time at all.” Sadie’s finger came away bloody.

  “You’ve got to play tonight. We’ve got—”

  “I’m not playing for you, Bernie. Not now. Not ever again.” She looked at the black of her armor, the crossed sabers on the chest plate. “Look, I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.”

  Bernie crossed his arms. “What is it?”

  “You’re a cunt.” She held up a hand. “I don’t just mean that casually, either.”

  “You—”

  “Perhaps I can help.” A man in a suit and leather shoes stood behind them. He held a briefcase that said I don’t belong here but also said You need to see what’s in the case. He had a beautiful voice used to saying the right words at the right time.

  Sadie raised an eyebrow. “You a company man?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” The suit took easy steps to her, extending a hand. “John Smith. Legal counsel.”

  Sadie shook his hand. Smith, huh. Sure. “I don’t think you’re here for me, John.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Bernie, still standing with his mouth open behind the bar. “That sack of shit there owns the place.”

  Smith’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Actually, he doesn’t.”

  “What?” Bernie and Sadie said in unison.

  “If I may?” Smith lifted the briefcase onto the bar, using it to push aside dirty glasses. He popped the clasps, silver against the black leather, flipping it open. “Ah, yes. The deed. You just need to sign here, and here.” He put papers in front of Sadie, offering her a gold pen.

  She took the pen. It felt heavy and old, forged from an empire of kept deals.

  “You can fuck off,” said Bernie. “Right now. Get out of my—”

  Smith held a hand up. “Mr. Eckers?”

  “That’s right. I’m the lawful—”

  “No.” Smith looked at his watch. “You’re not.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Bernie turned away, then laughed. “It’s a joke, isn’t it?”

  Smith shrugged, glancing at Sadie. “It’s very important you sign those papers.”

  “Don’t.” Bernie’s face mottled. “Don’t you sign shit, you bitch. Put the pen down. I will have you fucking executed.”

  Sadie looked at the pen, then the papers. She leaned forward, the slats of her armor easing with the movement, and signed twice. “Like that?”

  “Just so.” Smith checked his watch again. “Right on time, too.”

  As if on cue, two men in police uniforms entered through The Hole’s large door. Bernie looked between the two of them, then ran for the back door.

  “Don’t make me run, asshole!” said a cop, breaking into a sprint as his helmet fell to the floor.

  Bernie made it to the back door, hand reaching as it was kicked open. He staggered back, hands cupping his bleeding nose. Another cop stood in the doorway, a small black taser in his hand. He pointed and fired, the wires hitting Bernie in the chest. Bernie choked, falling to the ground like a poleaxed steer.

  “Bernie Eckers?” The cop who’d chased Bernie only seemed a little out of breath. He slapped silver cuffs on Bernie’s wrists. “Bernie Eckers, you’re under arrest for drug distribution and human trafficking.”

  “Wha…?” Bernie’s speech was slurred by the taser.

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  “Go fuck—” Bernie was interrupted by the cop slamming a fist into the side of his face.

  “You have the right to an attorney.” The two officers grabbed Bernie under the arms, dragging him from the bar. The third cop was still at the door.

  Smith smiled. “Thank you, sergeant.”

  “Always a pleasure. My best to the wife.”

  “Of course.” Smith held his perfect smile.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Sadie.

  “That was payment for upholding your end of the deal.”

  “The deal?” Sadie blinked.

  “The deal.” Smith nodded. “You remember what it was, surely?”

  “I remember.” Sadie reached for the whisky. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Sadie named the bar Afterlife.

  The sign could wait to be changed until she had some money in the register. She wiped the bar down, the dawn of a new day breaking low across the city.

  It had stopped raining. Sadie wanted to cry.

  The door at the front of the bar opened, Smith walking in. Same shoes, different suit. Sadie pushed a strand of black hair from her eyes. “Mr. Smith. Can I help you?”

  “No.” Smith eased onto a stool across from her. He placed his briefcase on the bar, almost the same place he’d put it yesterday. “But I can help you.”

  Sadie straightened. “Am I going to need a drink?”

  The ghost of a smile tugged at the man’s lips. Smith nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Rock and roll. Nine a.m. bourbon.” Sadie poured into a mostly clean glass. “Thank you for yesterday.”

  The man looked surprised. “What for?”

  “For … for doing your job,” she said.

  “Well, I have some bad news.”

  “Okay.” Sadie braced herself. Was Smith here to take the bar? Was it all a mistake?

  “Your sister is dead.”

  “My what?”

  “Sister,” repeated Smith, pushing papers across the bar. “Carter Freeman.”

  Sadie looked at Smith, then at the papers. Most of it was legal speak, but she picked out words here and there. Investments. Property.

  Money.

  “My sister?”

  “She left you a lot,” said Smith.

  “Awesome.” The thin form and black hair of Aldo Vast stood at Afterlife’s doorway. “We’re rich.”

  “Get out of my bar.” Sadie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Not your bar, baby.” Aldo swung onto a seat beside Smith. “How much money do we have?”

  Smith leaned away from Aldo. “Aldo Vast?”

  “You’ve heard of me?” Aldo smiled, something slick and easy in it. “Of course you have.”

  “Yes.” Smith checked his watch. “You’re a little early.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Early.” Smith reached into his briefcase, pulling out a taser. Aldo almost had enough time to scream before the taser dropped him to the floor.

  The sergeant from yesterday walked in, taking in Aldo and Smith. He tipped his hat at Sadie. “Ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry, sergeant. He was early.” Smith offered the taser to the officer. “I hope I haven’t breached protocol.”

  The sergeant smiled. “This one the guy who cut up that girl?”

  “I believe so.”

  “It’s fine.” The sergeant took the taser. He gauged the distance, then took two quick steps and slammed his foot into Aldo’s stomach. Aldo groaned, raising a hand. “Hell, it looks a lot like resisting arrest.” The sergeant fired the taser, and Aldo convulsed.

  On the third day, Sadie had a clean cup waiting on the bar before Smith walked in. It was just on nine in the morning.

  The man looked at the cup, smiling at her. “Coffee?”
/>
  “Black as sin, rich as the syndicates.”

  Smith nodded, taking a sip. “Your sister.”

  Sadie nodded. “Carter Freeman.”

  “Carter paid us quite a generous sum. A retainer, if you will.”

  “What for?”

  “Whatever you need.” Smith smiled over his cup.

  “Mr. Smith, I might need help with something.”

  “I’m at your service.”

  Sadie leaned forward. “What do you know about making a startup company?”

  “What kind of company?”

  “Software. Computers.”

  “Oh.” Smith checked his watch. “I can probably make some calls.”

  Sadie wanted to play again. She’d started dressing the bar in the right kind of dirty. She wanted the fans. Sadie wanted a new band.

  She felt like Zacharies looked, the kid walking silent through the bar between the back and the front. Sadie had set a room up for him, a place he could crash outside of the company halls. A place to think, maybe.

  He looked like he’d been doing a lot of thinking, but he wasn’t ready to talk. That was fine. She wasn’t big on talking either. She just wanted to play. But she couldn’t, not yet.

  Sadie needed to learn new music. Start over.

  She looked at her phone on the bar top, old and battered. They didn’t make them anymore, not really, the syndicates pushing down the rest of the world. It was a link or nothing. The phone still worked despite the syndicates. She pulled out a pack of Treasurers, lighting one with a long tongue of flame.

  Funny. Two months ago, she couldn’t afford regular meals. Today, silver-filtered cigarettes. She wouldn’t even have known they existed, except for…

  Except for Mason. Sadie took another pull, the sweet tobacco smoke hazing the air. She picked up the phone, finding Mike’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

  “You’re on the mic with Mike.”

  Sadie laid out her plan. He listened, then laughed. She waited for him to finish laughing, then said what she’d already said again.

  “You’re crazy,” he said. “I’m in.”

  Sadie sat at the end of the bed, looking down at the fat black man and his skinny wife. He was ugly, she was pretty. Sadie looked across at Mike, then at Zacharies.

  Family.

  The room reeked of money. Polished floors. A fireplace. No one burned wood anymore. Not unless they had something to say. It was cheaper to burn cash.

  Almost.

  There was even a damn Apsel falcon over the bed. Sadie glared at it. Is this for real? What kind of person would have the company logo over where they slept? Sadie knew the answer, of course. The head of an R&D division might. The head of Synthetic Entertainment.

  Mike hefted his taser. Waiting.

  Sadie kicked the base of the bed. The fat black man jerked awake, his wife starting upright next to him, screaming.

  Mike winced. “Ma’am? Please don’t do that.”

  “Do you know who we are?” asked the fat black man.

  Sadie thought he’d recovered well. A life of corporate bullshit probably did that to a man. She leaned forward, foot resting on the end of the bed. “Yes. You’re vile.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said you’re vile. You know. Slime. Scum. The stuff that comes out when you—”

  The skinny wife screamed again ran for the door. Mike sighed, lifted his taser, and shot her in the back. She jerked and stumbled, crashing to the floor.

  The fat black man tried to rise and found he couldn’t. Zacharies held a hand out, the bed lifting off the ground.

  “Who are you people?” The fat black man’s eyes were huge.

  “Now you’re starting to ask the right questions,” said Sadie. “You’ve already made it past who-the-fuck-you-are and into who-the-fuck-we-are. Names aren’t important. Do you want to know why I think you’re vile?”

  “What?”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. It started with the business case.”

  “The what?”

  “Business case,” repeated Sadie. “I’ve never had to write one before.”

  “She’s really bad at it,” said Mike.

  Sadie shot him a look. “The thing is, to violate the Syndicate Compact there needs to be … What’s it called?”

  “Incentive. We need the right incentive.”

  “That’s it. “‘Incentive.’ Do you want to know what the incentive is here?”

  The fat black man looked between Sadie and Mike before making a lunge for the side of the bed. The bed slipped away from the wall, and he floundered, falling from it. He landed on the floor, face first. He came up holding his nose.

  “It wouldn’t help.” Sadie shook her head. “We cut the alarm system. You can push all the buttons you like. Link’s suppressed. No one will save you.”

  “No one? What about the people outside?”

  “They’re not coming.” Sadie sighed.

  “They’re dead?”

  “Some of them.” She shrugged.

  “You’re crazy,” said the fat black man.

  “I said that,” said Mike. “Didn’t I say that? I said you were crazy.”

  “Yeah, you’re very clever. Here’s the thing. We know that your shitty Apsel fusion reactors aren’t reactors.”

  “They’re not?” The fat black man looked confused, unsure of which way the wind blew.

  “No.” Sadie thought about how few people knew the truth. “That’s probably above your pay grade.”

  “Above my—”

  She held up a hand. “Doesn’t matter. The thing is, we need someone who knows the math.”

  “Math?” The fat black man looked between the three of them.

  Zacharies nodded. “And the coordinates.”

  “See, the business case to bust your balls was based on the incentive,” said Mike. “Getting the math, and the tech, for your precious Apsel gates.”

  Zacharies smiled. “But the real thing we want is my … we want our people back.”

  “Our family.” Sadie offered what she hoped was a bright smile. “It’s what you’d call a win-win. And there’s just one person we can think of who knows the math. Who knows the coordinates. Can you think of who we’re talking about?”

  The fat black man goggled. “No.”

  “I’ll give you a hint,” offered Sadie. “It’s why I think you’re vile.”

  “What?”

  “You’re vile,” she said, “because you make slaves. You made a friend of mine, and you made her a fucking slave. She was born under your shackles and—”

  “Easy, tiger,” said Mike. “It’s wasted on him.”

  Sadie smoothed her hands down the front of her body armor. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I think he’s slime too.”

  The fat black man looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned. “You’re talking about Carter. She’s not a person. She’s not a she. She’s… It’s—”

  “I’ve got one question for you,” snarled Sadie. “You need to answer it very, very carefully. If you don’t, I will execute you and everyone you love. I’ll start right here. I’ll put a bullet in the back of Miss Washington over there first.” The fat black man nodded, jowls wobbling. “Do you know how a computer works?”

  The fat black man blinked at her. “Is that the question?”

  “Don’t be retarded. Carter was a person, but she was a person made inside a computer. A computer is bits, slices of data. All that data sits there. In the computer.”

  “In memory,” said the fat black man.

  “In memory,” agreed Sadie. “And we all know what you do with useful data.”

  “You back it up,” said the fat black man.

  “So.” Sadie leaned forward. “Where’s the fucking backup?”

  You’ve finished Chromed: Rogue! I hope you loved it.

  If you want to know what happens next, check out the sequel, Chromed: Restore. It’s more kick-ass cyberpunk sci-fi where heroes
save the world through action scenes and clever dialogue. An excerpt is available at the end of this book. Buy it here:

  [https://www.books2read.com/ChromedRestore]

  WAIT. Don’t go!

  Thanks for reading my Chromed book. If you liked it, would you share your experience with your fellow organics? Reviews are helpful to readers by ducting like-minded people to books they’ll enjoy.

  Review Chromed: Rogue at your retailer and Goodreads [http://hit.mondegreen.co/ReviewRogue]

  FYI, an angel gets its wings for every five-star review.

  ICYMI, you can get more cyberpunk action in the Future Forfeit City Stories. You’ll get acquainted with Chromed: Restore’s villain, Austin Ainley. Maybe fall for Delilah Griffiths in Chromed: Delilah. And vacation with Mike Takahashi in Chromed: Meltdown.

  They’re fun, action-packed vignettes. If you liked my Chromed series, these’ll enrich your reading experience of the final book in the trilogy.

  Story 1: [https://www.books2read.com/ChromedConsensus]

  Story 2: [https://www.books2read.com/ChromedDelilah]

  Story 3: [https://www.books2read.com/ChromedMeltdown]

  Check ‘em out!

  About the Author

  Richard Parry worked as an international consultant in one of the world’s top tech companies, which sounds cool, but it wasn’t all cocaine parties. He lives in Wellington with the love of his life, Rae. They have a dog, Rory, who chases birds. The birds, who have the power of flight, don’t seem to mind. Richard’s online hood is:

  www.mondegreen.co

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