Chromed- Rogue Page 15

  Lace didn’t see him, eyes down, until she made a turn on the ramp. Her hands froze, holding the rims steady. Lace’s eyes were red. She pulled her hood higher, lowered her face, and continued down the ramp.

  She’s been crying. Harry looked at one of his metal hands, the downpour running off it the closest to tears he’d ever get. Lace reached the bottom of the ramp, wheeling herself toward him. Her face was a twist of pain and anger. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Hello, Lace.”

  “Fuck you, Harry.”

  “Can I walk you home?”

  “I thought you’d fucking died. The link went dead, and you vanished off the face of the fucking Earth.” A shudder ran through her.

  He bunched the chassis down low, trying to see her face. “It’s not safe.”

  “It’s never safe!” Her hands gestured at the chair, at herself, the movement sharp and angry. “Every day. I’m trapped in this goddamn chair, and it’s never safe. Not since—”

  “They’re going to come for you.” Harry stood, chassis hissing. “They’re going to come for both of us.”

  “What? Here?” Lace lifted her head, but the edge of the hood hid her expression. “It’s in the middle of Apsel central.”

  “No.” Harry scanned the people leaving the Federate. “You won’t see them coming.”

  Lace sniffed, rubbing a sleeve under her nose. “I’d like you to walk me home. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long way.”

  “I’ve got nowhere else to be.” What Harry really wanted to say was, I’ve got no one else I’d rather be with.

  Lace slaved her chair to GPS, hands on her lap as it moved silent and quick down the sidewalk. “I can’t get through to Carter.”

  “I know.” Harry used his PA system. Neither of them wanted to trust the link. “She told me.” Harry’s chassis kept pace with Lace’s chair. Traffic was slow out here, the world dark under the rain. “She said—”

  “She’s cryptic. I hate the bitch.”

  “You do?”

  “No.” Lace still looked at her hands. “I … no.”

  “When they come for us, I want you to know—”

  “She’s not okay.” Lace peeked out from under the hood. “I think she’s in trouble. Carter’s in big trouble.”

  Harry was silent for a moment. A car blared at him as it passed. He extended a massive middle finger as it sped away. Lightning slashed the sky ahead. “Why do you think that?”

  “She cut the link. When the boss was talking, she cut me off from the link.”

  “I know.” Harry nodded. “She said as much.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “She told me they’d be coming for us.”

  “She said that?” Lace turned back to her hands. “Man.”

  “She didn’t say it. She meant it, though.”

  “They’re going to be coming for her too.”

  “Maybe.” Rain bathed the chassis. Harry wished it could wash him clean, but there wasn’t enough water in the world for that. “She’s pretty careful.”

  Lace twisted the hem of her hoodie, her fingerless gloves dark and wet. “Just before she cut me off, Gairovald said something. Do you know what it was?”

  Harry shook his head. “He spoke about Reed.”

  “I don’t think he was talking about Reed at all. Can you access your recording?” Lace pointed at him, but meaning, the chassis. “Your systems record everything you see and hear.”

  “Wait one.” Harry pulled up a replay window on his overlay. He scrubbed back to the hangar. Well, shit. “It’s blank. There’s a chunk of time gone.”

  “How much is blank?” Lace’s voice was ragged. “Where does it cut out?”

  “Let’s see. Here we go … Gairovald’s talking. One of his goons says something. Here’s Gairovald being an asshole—”

  Lace laughed. “You shouldn’t talk like that. Not even out here.”

  “I think it’s too late for that. Okay. It cuts out right after Carter says she tries.”

  “Right,” said Lace. “Same with mine.”

  Harry would have stopped walking if he still had legs. The chassis stomped on through the rain. “What do you mean?”

  “TacOps records are gone. System’s been flushed. I spent some time looking back over time. You know what else is gone?”

  “I know you’re dying to tell me, Lace. Photos of your last birthday?”

  “I don’t celebrate birthdays anymore.” Harry didn’t say anything. After a moment, Lace looked up. “Sorry. I…”

  “It’s okay.” Harry flexed a hand, the servos stuttering at the edge of the motion. “I don’t go in for birthdays much anymore either. It’s the cake. Makes my hands sticky. You ever try justifying to a tech how you got pistachio flakes in the gears?”

  Lace smiled, but it was tired and faint. “The mission when Floyd and Haraway went off-grid.”

  “Right. Those assholes had me in high orbit, dropped me in to—”

  “Yeah, that one. I took a look at the feed from Floyd’s overlay.”

  “You can do that?”

  “No, but I did it anyway. Carter’s not the only one with tricks.” Lace’s smile was tight and angry. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

  “Do I want to know what’s on it?”

  “Nothing. That’s what I’m saying. It’s scrubbed.”

  “Mason went off-link.” Harry used a big metal hand to tap the face of his chassis. “He dropped comms.”

  “He didn’t drop comms until well after. They’re covering something up. And I think I know what it is.” Harry clanked along without saying anything, waiting for Lace to finish. “Do you use the word ‘sublime’ a lot?”

  “I don’t think so.” Harry swiveled to look at her.

  “No one does,” said Lace. “The word stuck with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I like old music. There’s this band—”

  “Forget I asked,” said Harry. “I hate your music collection.”

  “You never complained at the barbecue.”

  “I like steak more than I hate your music collection. Liked, anyway. Sublime’s a song?”

  “It’s a band,” said Lace. “Long time ago. Haraway used the word in-mission. And Gairovald used it as well, right before comms got dumped.”

  “So?”

  Lace looked up at him. Her eyes were tired and sad, like her soul was worn to nothing. “Do you know what human coded conditioning is?”

  “No clue.”

  Lace looked at her hands, hair cascading forward. “Let’s say you take a human, and you crack their head open—”

  “Like literally crack their head open?”

  “Maybe.” Lace nodded. “Could be drugs. Could be we pop the top of your skull off. Might even use the link wetware. It’s wired in pretty deep. Anyway, we crack their head open, and put in certain words.”

  “Like teaching them German?”

  “Not even a little bit like it.” Lace frowned. “I can speak German. It’s easy enough with the link. Takes a few seconds, and bam, ich spreche Deutsch.”

  “You know German?”

  She sighed. “Let’s try again. Using a word, or combination of words laid out in a certain way, can make you do something.”

  “Like what?” Harry stepped around a pile of garbage. “Do your taxes on time?”

  “Yes. You’ll do whatever you’re told. If that’s taxes, fine. But what if it’s killing someone, or betraying everyone you’ve ever known?”

  Harry stamped on for a moment without speaking. “Carter’s been human, uh, human—”

  “Human coded conditioning. Yeah, I think she’s been coded. Carter’s on mission. She’s Mason’s handler.” Lace looked at her hands for a long time. They clenched in her lap, the chair pushing her along on silent wheels. “Yeah.”

  Harry thought it through. “What about Mason? And Haraway?”

  “I don’t know about Mason.�
� Lace threw him a glance, then looked away. “Seems pretty capable.”

  “It’s okay.” Harry wanted to hit something, but there’d be time enough for that later. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I know.” Lace’s voice was small.

  “What about Haraway, then?”

  “Thing is, I think Haraway’s a problem.” Lace leaned back, sighing like the words cost her to let them escape.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. If I’m right, she used the same goddamn code words.”

  “As Gairovald?”

  “Same words, Harry. Same words as the boss.” She looked up at him, her face miserable. “I spent this afternoon wondering what it’s like to live as a slave. If I’m right, Carter’s been living like that for a lot longer than an afternoon. You asked me if I hated her. I don’t hate her, Harry. I don’t hate her at all.”

  “You think she’s a slave?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Tell you what,” said Harry. “Let’s make it through the night and see if we’re still alive enough in the morning to do something. They’re off-link.” Harry swiveled forward. “They come back on, we can talk to them.”

  “I wish I knew where they were.”

  “Me too.” Harry clanked on beside Lace, the rain falling like it would never stop.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mason made the excuse of going on a sweep. Mike made the excuse of keeping you company. The two syndicate agents strolled through Richland’s streets, not close enough to be buddies, but not far enough apart to be foes.

  Dark windows watched them. If Mason listened, he could hear Metatech drones zipping around their perimeter. The weapons fire had dropped in frequency, which meant the monsters were learning.

  Or maybe they were all dying, like the people in Richland had before them.

  Mike blinked, still processing Mason’s last comment. “We’re doing what?”

  Mason frowned. “You’re talking like it’s a big deal.”

  “It kind of is.”

  “You don’t have guns?” Mason looked at the Metatech logo on Mike’s lapel, then back to his face. “Don’t you guys make guns?”

  “Reed make guns too,” said Mike. “Not as good as ours, though.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “There’s probably a hundred A-grade guys in there. A lot more B-team. We’re probably going to die.”

  Mason kicked a stone, running a hand through rain-slick hair. “That’s going to happen anyway.”

  “What?”

  “Zacharies.”

  Mike stopped walking. “What about him?”

  “Thought so.” Mason smiled. Got to you too, didn’t they? “It’s like this. You know about the rain?”

  “The kid told me. Says it’s got a demon in it. I said bullshit.”

  “I don’t think it’s bullshit.” Mason scanned the windows. You could never be too careful.

  “You on drugs?”

  “Mostly alcohol. Drugs make the lattice edgy.”

  “Yours got that glitch too? I wish the geeks in R&D would iron that out.” Mike smoothed his tie.

  “They’re never going to. Wrong incentive.”

  “Yeah. It’s bad for the company if their assets go out on mission half-jacked.”

  “Or all the way jacked.” Mason rubbed the back of his neck where water walked down to meet his armor. “Thing is, we’re talking around the issue.”

  “What’s the issue?”

  “The kid.” Mason breathed. Say what you will about Richland, but the air was clean.

  “Zacharies? Or Laia?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Mason glanced at Mike. “You feel responsible.”

  “The hell I do. Kid dropped out of the sky on my lap. I’m just…” Mike stopped talking, mouth slightly open.

  “They kind of get under your skin, don’t they?”

  Mike said something under his breath. “What’s your point?”

  “Reed.”

  “Motherfuckers, sure.” Mike showed teeth. “I’m not following, though.”

  “Zacharies talk much about their old master?”

  “Little bit.” Mike looked at his shoes. “Not a lot. Sounds like a real asshole.”

  “And where is this real asshole right now?”

  “Reed. They’ve got some new mind-controlling drug—”

  “I don’t think it’s a drug, Mike.” Mike walked along for a few moments, not saying anything. Mason raised an eyebrow. “He’ll be trying to get them back.”

  “You sure about that?” Mike looked around. “I don’t see him here.”

  “He’s here.” Mason lifted his arm, palm up, in a see? gesture. “The rain.”

  “Hell, if he were here, I’d be running at him. Or away. I’m not sure.” Mike frowned. “Probably at him. He sounds like he needs his face punched in.”

  Mason nodded. “I’m tired of running.”

  Mike looked back the way they’d come, the streets dark. “You sure that’s why you’re tired?”

  Mason stopped walking. “That girl saved my life.”

  “Figures.” Mike offered a small smile, but a genuine one. “I knew Apsel was soft, but I didn’t figure you for being saved by kids.”

  Mason laughed. It felt good. “Yeah. Well, it’s true. I’m pretty sure that kid saved me. Not just my life. And you know what? It’s time someone saved her.”

  Mike looked at him for a moment. “There’s no going back. The Syndicate Compact—”

  “That thing’s been broken to pieces. It’s an excuse.”

  Mike gave a slow nod. “How are we going to do this?”

  “Let’s get back to the guns. How many have you got?”

  “A lot.” Mike smiled like a cat.

  “What about dudes? You got a lot of people?”

  Mike frowned. “I’ve got six guys.”

  Mason looked up at the rain. “Then that’ll be enough.”

  Metatech’s APC waited in the street, doors open. The outside was armored, matte-black, built for war. The interior was soft, also black, and welcoming. Mason missed padded seats and air conditioning.

  Not to mention hot and cold running water.

  “Shotgun!” Sadie held her guitar case in front of her with both hands.

  Mason frowned. “You want to ride in the front?”

  “Damn straight. Last time you shut me in the back with the orphans and drones.” She tossed Haraway a glance. “No offense.”

  “I think I’m going to pull rank.” Haraway strode toward the APC like she owned the syndicate already.

  “What kind of rank? We’re in the—”

  Haraway flashed perfect teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “On the scale of corporate power, do you think that a research scientist is higher or lower than a musician?”

  Sadie scuffed a black boot. “It depends who you talk to, I guess.”

  “In the back,” suggested Haraway.

  “Fuck.” Sadie’s grin said there was the start of something else in there somewhere.

  Laia came out of the building they’d been using as a hotel for… God, how long’s it been? Days feel like months, out here away from the world. Mason tossed her a smile. “You going to be okay?”

  Laia laughed, fierce and bright. “Mike brought my brother back. Yes.”

  “Oh. Hey. One sec.” Mason turned away.

  “Where are you going?” Laia’s voice tethered Mason. “We’re leaving.”

  “It’s okay.” Mason looked at his hands. “I forgot something. I won’t be long.” He jogged toward their shelter, black the Metatech armor light on his shoulders. Say what you will about them — hell, us — but they make good combat tech. The local link to the suit was live and hot, and he could feel the texture of the wooden door through his gloves as he pushed it open.

  He looked around the room. A few scattered items littered the room. He glanced at the table where he and Laia had shared whisky. Enough.
Mason rolled his shoulders.

  The old tatty box stood in the corner where he’d left it, leather handle on the top, waiting to be carried. He flipped it onto the table, releasing the clasps, and looked at the dress. Sadie was right, the style was lost to the world years ago. He touched it, feeling the rustle of the fabric against the tips of his gloves. The sensation sparked down the link.

  “Hey.” Sadie stood in the doorway.

  “Hey yourself.” Mason turned. “I almost forgot—”

  “Who’s it for?” Sadie leaned against the doorframe, not quite looking at Mason. “You never said.”

  “A friend.”

  “She a dancer?”

  Mason looked into the case and its old, withered dress. “No. I don’t think she is. But sometimes you’ve got to pick the right gift at the right time.”

  “It’s for a girl, isn’t it?” Sadie sniffed. She said something else, too low to hear.

  “What?” Mason snapped the clasps shut, hefting the case.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sadie turned away.

  “She’s a friend, Sadie. I don’t…” Mason looked down at the case. She wouldn’t understand.

  “You don’t what?” Her head tipped like she was listening.

  Mason tried it out to see how it sounded. “I don’t have many of those.”

  Sadie nodded. “No, I guess you don’t.” She half-turned her head. “A piece of free advice, company man?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not everyone will look after your heart as carefully as… Not everyone will be careful. With you.”

  Mason looked back down at the case. When he turned to the doorway, Sadie had stepped outside. He heard the crunch of boots as she walked away. Well, shit. Mason followed her, case in hand.

  Mike was by one of the APCs. “You good?”

  “I’m good.”

  “What’s in the box?” Mike looked at the case. “Looks like a piece of crap.”