Chromed- Rogue Page 13

  “I see,” said the man at last. “A flaw?”

  “Sure.” Julian clapped Simmons on the shoulder, turning him to the girders, pointing. “See all that?”

  “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 craned 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 okay, though,” said Julian. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s fine?” The man seemed to relax, his shoulders descending a millimeter.

  “Sure,” said Julian. “It’s fine as long as you can turn the gate on.”

  Simmons stiffened, 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.” Simmons’ 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? What happened?”

  “Marcellus.”

  “Who?” Julian’s smile wavered as the overlay flicked through the team assigned here. It came up empty, then spanned the company tree. Tommy Marcellus, post-grad research assistant. “An assistant? Some kid assigned to link VR research?”

  “He was, yes.” Simmons tugged 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. Why don’t you take a few breaths, and let me know what happened?”

  “Okay, sure.” Simmons patted down the pockets of his lab coat. Julian reached into a pocket, offering Simmons a Camel from a crumpled pack. The long finger of flame from his lighter caught in the other man’s eyes, a tiny orange ember.

  Simmons took a long pull. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Julian pulled out a cigarette for himself. “What happened with Marcellus?”

  “It’s hard to know for sure. We looked at the cam feed.”

  “The video record?” Julian blew smoke up toward the ceiling.

  “Right.” Simmons flicked ash to 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, hmm, wasn’t quite up with the latest memo, as near as we can tell. I think the problem was in the guidance system.”

  “What, like a missile?”

  “A little, sure.” Simmons stroked his chin. “We’re pretty sure the gate can point to specific places. You just need to work out how.”

  Ah. “Where’d the gate point to?”

  “Space is really big.” Simmons paled. “As near as we can tell, it pointed at, uh, nothing. Somewhere between the stars.”

  “Marcellus?”

  “He’s 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. Sucked, blown, the kid’s a piece of space junk now.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Not really,” admitted Simmons. He pointed with his cigarette 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 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. Once the controller yanked free, the field collapsed.”

  “Interesting. Can you turn it back on?”

  “What?”

  “I said, can you turn it back on?” Julian flicked ash off his cigarette, then took another pull.

  Simmons opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “I was listening. You said 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.” Julian let some shark teeth show. “What the hell are we paying you for anyway?”

  Simmons ran a hand through too-thin hair. “Do you know where his planet is?”

  “No clue.”

  “Neither do we.” Simmons slumped. “Space is really big.”

  Julian frowned. “Okay. 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.” Simmons brightened. “I have an idea. 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 named 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?”

  “We need her. 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. 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. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “He’s already green-lit that project.”

  “You were going to get her anyway?”

  “Yeah.” Julian tossed his cigarette, grinding it underfoot. The synthetic felt safe and strong around him. “We’re going to prioritize it a little higher up the list now.”

  Tables and chairs were spread around 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. Prophet was enjoying a meal of lobster.

  “Master?” Julian approached slowly, watching Prophet eat like you’d watch a lion with a fresh kill.

  “In our world we don’t have these wonderful creatures.” Prophet cracked a lobster leg. He wore a bib to protect a dark suit of tailored wool. “They’re delicious.”

  “Yes.” Julian thought about whether Prophet would have settled for a synthetic lobster. Probably not. They’re almost extinct.

  “I know.” Prophet nodded. “So few left. None of you are very good at protecting this wondrous land you have. I have been watching your history. Your perspective is flawed. You have never known hardship. Your world is not a desert.”

  “I wanted to keep you informed. To
let you know where we’re at with the project.”

  “Yes?”

  Julian looked at the empty tables. “We’re going to prioritize the acquisition of Jenni Haraway. We need to find her.”

  “You don’t know where she is?”

  “After the event, her signal went dark. We’re sure the Federate cut her link.”

  “I know where she is.” Prophet waved a hand. “I never lost her.”

  “You can do that?” Julian blinked. “How?”

  “It is what I used to do.” Prophet smiled, not looking at Julian. “I have touched her mind. I know its shape and weight. I can find her.”

  “You didn’t tell me.” Julian wondered what it would be like to run from a man who could find you anywhere.

  “It wasn’t necessary to tell you.” Prophet looked 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 figured 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, red liquid trailing down the glass as it settled. “Are you sure this is what we need?”

  “Yes, Master. It is the only way we know of to find your world.”

  “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 highlighted a twist in the air next to the Master, like a heat shimmer. Prophet tilted his head as if listening.

  “Yes.” Prophet spoke something only he could see. “It’s time. We’ll find them too. Her especially.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hangar stood pretty much empty.

  It had the usual machinery. Opened vehicles, left like unwanted Christmas presents only partially unwrapped. A stack of treads, covered in dirt, lay beside the APC they’d come from. An engine bay on an ATV still smoked.

  Just Harry, Gairovald, and his two dark-suited, serious-motherfucker bodyguards stood inside. A tech’s cigarette still smoldered in an ashtray next to the ATV, the smoke drawing a lazy line to the roof high above before wisping to nothing. A half-drunk cup of coffee still showed a bloom of orange on Harry’s thermal.

  Harry held the chassis still, a contrast to Gairovald’s pacing. “He wasn’t there, sir.”

  Gairovald had hands on hips. Man, he looks pissed. Pissed or not, the signature flower still peeked at Gairovald’s lapel. He drew in a deep breath. “Fuentes?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Here it comes.” Lace’s voice was quiet over the link, like she was afraid but too tired to put any hip into the swing.

  “Floyd wasn’t there. The whole thing was a setup.” Gairovald wasn’t asking. Yep, he’s pissed.

  “There’s another theory,” said Lace. “Don’t they read my memos?”

  “Sir? There’s another theory.” Harry’s optics tracked Gairovald’s bodyguards. He flicked over to thermal for a quick scan. Mostly cold and dark, a bright spark of fusion power in the core. They’re more machine than I am.

  Gairovald stopped pacing. “I’m listening.”

  “Our comms are compromised, sir. Three thousand people at the park dropped in on us. Attacked us. There’s no way…” Harry caught himself before he used Mason’s first name. Don’t be too familiar. Gairovald’s possibly the smartest person you’ve ever met. Maybe smartest guy on the planet. “Floyd doesn’t have the resources. It’s a syndicate-level play.”

  “That’s my theory,” hissed Lace. “Did you just steal my theory?”

  “You think our links are hijacked?” Gairovald turned to a bodyguard. “Is it possible?”

  “It’s as likely as rain on the moon.” The bodyguard glanced at Harry, dead eyes cold and blue. Harry’s link tried to find his name, coming up blank. “It’s possible.”

  “You think this is a serious possibility?” Gairovald brushed invisible lint from his sleeve.

  “I don’t have another working theory,” admitted Harry. “We got schooled, and we got schooled hard. Someone set us up. Whether Floyd is in on it isn’t the issue. Our bigger problem is which other player wants into the party.”

  Lace sighed. “I told you, it’s Reed. It’s their tech. Hypno robot mind control bullshit.”

  “If it’s true, it’s likely to be a Reed play,” mused Gairovald. “This smells like their brand of product.”

  “I was just going to say that, sir.” If Harry had teeth, he would have smiled.

  “Like hell you were,” said Lace. “My damn theory.”

  Gairovald looked to the ceiling. “Carter? You there?”

  Her voice came loud and flat through the hangar’s audio system. “Always, sir.”

  Gairovald smiled. “You’ve been listening.”

  “It was that or surf the net for porn.” Carter cleared her throat. “I don’t get many personal emails. That’s how Lace spends her time.”

  “That bitch,” said Lace.

  “Shush,” said Carter, the link quiet between the three of them. “The grown-ups are talking.”

  Gairovald laughed. “Carter? Has our communications network been compromised?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. Pretty sure that’s not what happened.”

  “What do you think happened?” Gairovald’s smile look welded on.

  “Social hacks,” said Carter. “They got to someone.”

  “Makes sense.” The nameless bodyguard took a step closer to Harry, almost managing to make it look accidental. “More probable than rain on the moon, or our comms being compromised.”

  Harry bridled. “Hey—”

  “You have fun down the club last weekend, Zane?” Carter sounded bored. “You enjoy your entertainment?”

  The bodyguard, Zane, looked with dead eyes at the ceiling. “Well enough. I know you watch. I think you like it.”

  “No, that’s your problem. You don’t think. There’s only so much of your shit I can shovel. This one was expensive. Her face? It’s more than a weekend in the chair to fix that. You see—”

  “That’s enough, Carter,” said Gairovald.

  “Sir.” Carter shut off like a faucet.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Carter?” Gairovald’s smile turned to the playful phase of his act. Harry wasn’t fooled. It’s how rattlesnakes looked at mice.

  “I don’t know the meaning of the word, sir.”

  Gairovald laughed. “Oh, you are good, aren’t you?”

  “I try.” Carter’s voice held an answering smile.

  “Yes, I think you do.” Gairovald tugged one of his cuffs, the motion small. “I find the idea of our communications network being compromised sublime in the extreme.”

  “What the actual fuck?” Lace sounded tense before her link dropped, snipped off with a hiss of static.

  Gairovald continued, “It’d be a real clusterfuck if it were true.”

  “Lace?” Harry tried to connect the link, but she was gone, her side of the link flat and empty.

  “Do you think you could get someone from Reed on the horn? Start a parlay. Find out what they know.” Gairovald’s smile grew wider. “Could you do that, Carter?”

  “No problem.” Carter’s voice echoed from the hangar walls.

  “Excellent.” Gairovald looked at the roof. “Carter, has our communications network been compromised?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where Mason Floyd is? Or Jenni Haraway?”

  “Right now? No. They dropped out of link contact a couple of days ago,” said Carter.

  “Fine.” Gairovald sighed, the movement so small Harry would have missed it i
f the overlay’s emotion mapping routines hadn’t highlighted it. “When you’re next in contact, I want you to report it to me straight away.”

  “No problem. You’re the boss.”

  Gairovald nodded, walking toward the hangar doors where a black car waited in the quiet of the night. His bodyguards trailed like angry smoke.

  “Carter?” Harry hoped she was still on the link.

  “Yeah.”

  “What was all that about?” Harry watched Gairovald get into the car, Zane in the back with him, the other bodyguard in the front.

  “Can’t say.”

  “Can’t say?”

  “Literally can’t say.” Carter sounded about three percent angry and ninety-seven percent resigned.

  “What did you do with Lace’s connection?”

  The link was quiet for a moment, then she sighed. “I’m trying to save her life, Harry. Can you trust me?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Harry. “How does cutting her off save her life? How does cutting her off from me help her?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Harry fired the chassis to life, walking it toward the hangar exit. His feet clanked loud in the real.

  “You shouldn’t trust me. I need you to, but you shouldn’t. You’re going to have to make a call. I can’t help with this one.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I wasn’t cutting her off from you.” Carter dropped the link, leaving Harry alone in the hangar.

  He stopped moving and started thinking.

  Harry stood, chassis caught mid-stride on the way to the exit, exactly where Carter left him. Workers started back in the hangar after Gairovald left, creeping back in around the edges of the space, ignoring Harry.

  All but one. It was the tech he’d talked to the other day. The man came up to him, cigarette in hand. “Hey. Guy.”

  “Yeah?” Harry’s optics zoomed on his face. Earnest. Concerned.

  “Help you?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Harry. “Can you?”

  “Maybe. You need an oil change? You’re standing in the middle of our workspace. You’re big. You’re in the way.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Harry didn’t move.

  A pause stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable, like too-tight pants. “Hard meeting with the boss?”