“You’d been working with him for two years. Did you have to kill him?”
“Yeah.” Mason stood, walking toward the door. “Yeah, I did. He tried to steal from the company too.”
She was silent a few moments. He let himself out. Mason tossed a nod to Nancy who caught it with a smile before heading for the elevators.
“I won’t let you down, Mason.”
“I know, Carter.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He clicked an elevator button, frowning at the old school tech. Maybe Gairovald likes it retro.
“You haven’t even met me. How can you know?”
“I’m not sure.” He stepped into the elevator. “Research level. Priority.”
The elevator chimed, and a soft voice spoke. “Research level, priority confirmed.”
“What?” said Carter.
“I was talking to the elevator.”
“You didn’t answer.” Her voice was soft. “How do you know?”
Mason leaned against the glass of the elevator, his back to the clouds as the car dropped. “You haven’t let me down yet.”
She was silent as the elevator whispered down Apsel tower. Mason looked over the clouds. Lightning cracked briefly before the elevator sunk below them. Rain lashed the outside of the car. The city waited in the dark, far below. The fucking rain.
“I trust you too, Mason.”
“Carter?” Mason watched the city approach as the car descended.
“Yes, Mason?”
“Don’t get all mopey on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The link clicked off.
He smiled as the elevator car drew closer to the city. Time to get serious. He pulled his jacket close, then faced the elevator doors. Mason pulled a pack of Treasurers from his pocket, lighting one. The elevator chimed a warning at him, but he ignored it.
It was time to meet the department heads. Senior people. They made the technology that made Gairovald rich and powerful. They could make or break a career around here.
Mason’s fists clenched and he looked at them, willing them to relax. We’ll see who’s broken at the end of this.
Chapter Seven
The desert was oppressive. A hammer of sun, beating against an anvil of sand. Laia had never known such heat. The concept of a desert was as foreign as freedom. Words people said without understanding what they meant.
Cracked ground cobwebbed everywhere. Nothing grew here. Before the rain left, this might have been a mire. The smell reminded her of rotten things, now baked dry by Abinal’s aging star.
Laia looked at Zacharies. He strained, sweat dripping from him to be lost on the dead ground.
The Master took no notice, the heavy whip in his hand moving slightly, as if it had a mind of its own. She watched the whip carefully, rubbing at the chafing under her collar, then wiped the sweat from her own face.
Zacharies held the divan above the desert floor, lifting and pushing it with his gift. The Master reclined atop it, sipping blue liquid from a chilled glass. Zacharies stumbled, and the divan trembled.
Blue liquid spilled over the Master’s fingers. The whip rose cobra quick.
“Master.” Laia spoke fast. She gave the air a gentle nudge with her own gift, making a soft breeze caress the slave master’s dark robes. “We have arrived.”
It wasn’t a pure ruse. Those never worked. Truth was the best interruption.
A circular depression lay in the desert floor. Dirt became charred and cracked sand, melted in places to glass.
The Master looked at the indent, the whip holding a moment before lowering. “Good, slave.” He stepped down from the divan, drink forgotten, glass weeping in the heat of the sun. Zacharies gasped with effort as he let the divan settle against the desert.
Laia stood with Zacharies as the Master walked the blasted desert floor. They said nothing to each other, but Laia worried for her brother. The trip had been long over the wasted ground. Despite the heat, he looked pale. She almost reached out to him, then remembered the collar at her throat. She sighed and looked away.
“Slave.” The Master gestured at her. “Can you feel it?”
Laia felt out with her mind. Despite the collar, her gift hungered for this. She could feel something. A memory’s memory. “It is…”
“What?” The whip twitched.
“It’s hard to be sure. But I think it was here.”
“Good.” The whip fell back to the Master’s side. “Where did it go?”
“I…” Laia faltered. The question was meaningless as where do dreams go? “It didn’t go anywhere.”
“Do you take me for an imbecile?”
“No, Master.”
“Then don’t treat me as one.” The whip twitched again. “The demon is clearly not here.” His voice was soft now. Laia dreaded the soft voice the most.
She pointed to the depression. “The demon was here, and then it wasn’t. It’s gone.”
The Master considered her words before nodding. “Then we wait.”
Laia felt Zacharies relax. There would be no holding the divan above the hot desert floor for the return journey. Not yet, anyway. She looked at the whip. If only there was some distraction out here.
Their Master was at his worst when he was bored.
Chapter Eight
The room’s adaptive windows were tinted a dark gray for privacy. The lattice stretched under Mason’s skin. It wanted grisly purpose. Maybe later. There would be plenty of time for violence come the meeting’s resolution.
A black glass table sat between him and the room’s three other occupants. The table’s surface was full of images and icons. An information goldmine pulled from cam footage and Federate file storage. A few select pieces came from the public nets.
Carter hadn’t said specifically, and Mason never asked.
Mason looked at the three of them. The fat black man, the woman in the lab coat, and a man so gaunt he looked like a cancer patient. This is the best we can do? The table was a barrier of sorts, a gold Apsel falcon etched into each corner, wings outstretched in victory. The barrier wasn’t to keep them from him. It kept them from leaving. The evidence shown was an anchor, a thousand sins dragging them to earth.
Mason sighed, hands splayed on the surface. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”
The fat black man looked like he wanted a piece, despite the sweat beading at his temples. No doubt he feels I’ve dragged him from a very important meeting on corporate performance. “Mr. Floyd. I’m not sure…” His volume wound right down as Mason glared at him. The fat black man’s mouth hung open, flesh wattling around his neck, before giving a furtive glance at the one empty chair.
The empty chair said this is why you fuckers are here.
The woman spoke but looked like she didn’t want to. “We responded to your request as quickly as we could.” She was wedged between the fat black man and the gaunt asshole. They could have moved the chairs. Made things more comfortable.
It wasn’t that kind of meeting.
Mason didn’t care what their names were. She was the only one that looked like an actual doctor, white lab coat slung over some civilian threads. The gaunt man nodded in agreement, fiddling with his cufflinks. They looked expensive.
Mason gestured to the empty chair. “One of you is missing.”
“Yes, but—”
Mason held up a silencing hand. Let’s get this back on track. He held his hand out, palm up, at the gaunt man. “Military Applications?”
The man nodded. “That’s right, Mr. Floyd—”
“Shut it.” Mason pointed at the woman. “Medical?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. Good. He aimed a finger at the fat black man. “Let me get this straight. Porn?”
The fat black man swallowed. He’d already sweated through the armpits of his shirt, the dark red fabric stained black. “Entertainment. Synthetic Entertainment. It’s not—”
“Right. Porn.” Mason nodded to the empty chair
. “Where is Haraway?”
The gaunt man figured it was his turn. “I was supposed to have a coffee with her this morning. She never showed.”
“She heads up Atomic Energy.”
The gaunt man nodded. “That’s right. What—”
“I’m curious,” Mason continued, running over the top of the guy like he was roadkill, “about what the head of Atomics might want with the head of Military.”
His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, the gaunt man paused, considering his words. At least one of them’s awake. “She never said. Doctor Haraway—”
“She’s not a doctor. Says right here.” Information on the four heads of R&D shone under the cool glass of the table. Mason tapped the surface, Haraway’s photo under his finger. Cut like a cute librarian, some top-shelf clinic work without a doubt. Mason gave the gaunt man a hard stare. “Is this position description inflation? If you’re a doctor, you get a raise?”
“No. The thing is, she’s brilliant.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Mason looked the other man in the eye. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“I—”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
“What?”
“I asked if I look like I’m laughing.” Mason leaned forward, his voice going soft. “Look me in the eye and tell me that I’m laughing. I dare you.”
The gaunt man huddled back in his chair. “I don’t understand—”
“No.” Mason shook his head. “You don’t understand. Shut it, fatty.” Mason glared as the fat black man opened his mouth. The man’s mouth closed with a snap and a wobble of flesh. “Of course she’s brilliant.”
The gaunt man swallowed. “What?”
“You said she was brilliant.”
“She’s—”
“Haraway is brilliant because this is Apsel Federate. She is brilliant because she is the head of the Atomic Energy division. Apsel Federate makes all its money from atomic energy. You,” Mason leveled his finger at the gaunt man, “better come up with something a lot better than that.”
The woman looked at her hands. Mason’s overlay showed her breath was shallow, heart rate elevated. Increased blood flow in her face. Stress markers from top to bottom. About damn time they started to get worried.
The gaunt man coughed. “Can I get some water?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I offer you anything?” Mason’s voice was still quiet.
“Uh. No.”
“Then you can’t have any water!” Mason’s palm slammed down on the desk, making all three of them jump. “You people. You live your life down here in your labs. You have no idea what goes on out there.”
The woman looked up, startled. Perspiration beaded her upper lip. “Out there?”
“You think this meeting’s for your performance review?” Mason stood, looking out the window to the city below. He spoke, back still turned. “I thought you people were supposed to be smart.”
The fat black man stepped into the silence, like he’d been waiting for just this moment. “We … what I mean is, Frank is right.”
Mason turned. “Frank? Who the fuck is Frank?”
The gaunt man looked surprised. “I’m … my name is Francesco.”
“Good for you. You don’t seem to understand what’s going on here.” Mason pulled out his Treasurers, tapping one from the pack. He lit it, the lighter’s long tongue of flame reflecting in his eyes. Blowing out smoke, he leaned his hands against the table. “Any means necessary.”
The woman gave a small gasp, barely audible, but Mason’s audio caught it. She looked a deer in the headlights, ready to bolt. “We’re … being fired?”
“Do I look like I’m from HR?”
“But you said—”
“I’m not from HR. I’m not going to fire you.” Mason took another drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the three of them. He leaned against the window. “Hell, if you’ve had a hand in this, you’re just going to disappear.”
Finally, they got it, the men a step behind the woman. She swallowed. “You … can’t.” Her voice was very small. “I have a family.”
“Yes. And Uncle Gairovald is very unhappy with you.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. Your husband. Your two kids. What are their names?”
“Sandy and—”
“Robert.” Mason cut her off. He watched as her lips pressed together, leaving a bloodless line. “We keep detailed files.”
“No.”
“No?”
She started to stand. “Please—”
“If you leave this room, I’ll assume you’re one of Haraway’s accomplices. I’ll need to investigate your affairs.” Mason took another drag on the cigarette. “Very closely.”
She collapsed like someone cut her strings, looking at her hands again.
Mason looked back at the gaunt man. “Smarter than you?”
“What?”
“I said, is she smarter than you?”
Frank’s eyes flicked toward the woman. “I don’t—”
“Not her. Haraway.”
“What?”
“You said she was smart. You were trying to be funny.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Is she smarter?” Mason turned away, taking another pull on the cigarette, giving the gaunt man a chance to collect his thoughts. Off balance was fine, but too far and he’d get nothing useful from them. When Mason looked back, he let his eyes find the fat black man before settling on the gaunt man. “Answer the question.”
“Smarter than any of us.”
“What was your meeting about?”
“Our meeting?”
“You said you were going to have a coffee with her today.” Mason stubbed out the Treasurer against the table. Flakes of ash wilted to the ground. He pulled another one from the pack. The lighter flicked again. “What was the meeting about?”
“She said she wanted to talk about mutual interests. Getting our research teams to collaborate.”
“Did she tell you she was planning to steal research from the company?” The silence lay over the three of them like death’s shroud. “Do you know Apsel’s policy on theft?”
The fat black man rallied. “Mr. Floyd, surely you don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think, except that maybe you’ve stopped giving a shit.”
“What?”
“Look at yourself.” Mason waved a hand at the man’s stomach. “You’ve let yourself go. The last time I saw someone that fat was in a bankruptcy case.”
“My wife likes it.”
“Your wife needs therapy. I wonder if Psych know about this.” Mason’s fingers tapped softly against the table. “Do they?”
The black man swallowed. “I—”
“I didn’t think so. I’ll book you in.”
“I…” The fat black man’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. No words came out.
“You understand, Apsel needs to know our people are the very best. Especially in the porn industry.” Mason let his mouth twist in disgust. “It’s no wonder she was able to steal it. None of you people look outside your own cubicle. I’m wondering if I should include this in my report.”
“Your report?” The woman saw fit to look up from her hands. “What report?”
Mason flicked more ash to the carpet. It was plush, Apsel’s logo in modest gray. “You must know how this is going to play out.”
The fat black man leaned forward. “Play out?”
“Yeah.” Mason dragged on the cigarette. “When I find out who was involved—”
“It was just Haraway,” said the fat man, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
Mason raised an eyebrow. “When I find out who was involved, there will be a report. It’ll highlight who was involved in the theft.” He paused, feeling the silence grow. The three of them were trying not to look at each other. The knives will come out soon. “And…”
The fat black man leaned
forward, his face desperate. “And?”
“And who was helpful.” Mason nodded. “There’s usually one or two who are willing to go above their job description. Work with us.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Usually there’s a bonus.” He leaned back and watched them. He could almost hear the wheels churning in their heads.
It was the gaunt man who spoke first. “A bonus?”
Mason’s smile broadened. Gotcha.
Mason stood in the corridor outside the meeting room, his cigarette burning out its life, ignored. He didn’t want a cigarette. Mason wanted time. “What do you think?”
“I think none of them is going to get a good night’s sleep for a month.” Carter sounded bored. “I think you’re wasting your time. I think you should cut down on your smoking.”
“My smoking?” Mason looked at the Treasurer, the paper smoldering down toward the silver foil. He flicked ash to the carpet. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“You’re going to get cancer.”
“Again? That’s a solvable problem.” Mason watched the three R&D heads arguing with each other in the room. The fat black man was still sitting in his chair. The gaunt man was leaning against the table, gesturing with a hand. The woman stood alone by the window. “It’s not a big deal.”
She sighed. “Never mind.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I said don’t worry about it. Smoke all you like. Hell, even I’ll order you some more. Treasurers, right?”
“No, I mean why do you think I’m wasting my time?”
Carter sighed again, theatrical enough for a stage performance. “You’re like a child.”
“Because I smoke?”
There was a moment’s silence, then she said, “Children don’t smoke.”
“Some of them do. I did. When I was a kid.” The Treasurer almost burned out. Mason dragged back the last of it before dropping the butt to the carpet, grinding it out with his shoe. “There are worse things.”
“Gairovald’s going to pitch a fit because you stubbed out a cigarette on the carpet.”
“That?” Mason smiled, wondering if Carter watched him from the cams. Of course she does. It’s her job to keep tabs on you. “It’s all a part of the fiction.”
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