Chromed- Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “I’m real sorry about this,” he sent to Metatech as the link popped and cracked between them. The man’s sidearm had almost swung to bear as Mason’s fist connected with his jaw. The inductive taser loop in the gauntlet fired, and the man tumbled to the floor, sidearm falling away.

  Mason spun toward the Reed man, the taser system’s icon on his overlay showing ready to rock already. Reed fired on Mason. The impact rocked him as the round hit his helmet. Mason stumbled back.

  His overlay updated, replacing LOW THREAT with IMMEDIATE THREAT. Mason smiled, and he extended his free hand toward Reed. He lit the magnetic coils in the glove, and the agent’s gun spun from his hand, sticking to Mason’s palm. The bar’s taps groaned, and Mason felt pulled toward them. He clicked the coils off, Reed’s weapon dropping to the ground.

  Overtime sloughed away. Mason clicked his armor’s PA system on. He swallowed the taste of oranges and almonds, then turned to Haraway. “Jenni Haraway, you are under investigation for theft of Apsel Federate technologies. Under the termination clause in your contract, you are—”

  Mason saw real fear in her eyes. “Please. You don’t understand. They have—”

  “—subject to assessment and revocation of that selfsame contract.” Mason glanced at Reed, then back to Haraway. “Under the subclass B of that same paragraph, if you’re found to have received monetary or other gain by brokering that technology to another agency, organization, or department, the termination clause can be deemed … final.” Mason picked up his fallen SMG, sighing. “Gairovald is very angry, Jenni.”

  She swallowed, glancing at the sphere that hung in the air. “Do you … do you know what this is?”

  Mason pointed the SMG at her. “I’d have to be honest and say I don’t care.” The Reed agent worked his way along the bar but made no move to interfere. Mason let his armor track the man, keeping his attention on Haraway. “Do you have any items to issue in your defense?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking at her feet. Mason saw guilt and pain, gone as quickly as sun in winter. “This whole situation is sublime.”

  “Mason,” said Carter, the link edged with static.

  Haraway continued. “It’s a full clusterfuck.”

  “Mason,” urged Carter. “Shoot her. Shoot her now. The mission, Mason.”

  “What you need to know is that I’m under a code of parlay. The Federate knows.” Haraway peered at Mason, as if able to see inside his visor. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Carter sighed. “Mason, I’ve got a problem. Don’t shoot Haraway.”

  “Wait, what?” Mason’s SMG had Haraway dead to rights. “I’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

  “Gairovald is very explicit. He’s said to extend Haraway every assistance.”

  “Gairovald?” Mason looked at the Reed man, then at Haraway. “He said that?”

  “New mission,” said Carter. “New rules. I just work here, okay? No one tells me shit. It just came through. Extend all assistance to Haraway.”

  “That’s it? Extend all assistance? What the blue fuck does that mean?”

  “It means you gargle balls if you have to. Get her out of there.”

  Mason spoke over the PA system. “There has been a development.”

  “There has?” Haraway smoothed her hands on her pants.

  “Doctor, I’ve been asked to extend you every assistance.” Mason swung the SMG toward the Reed man. “And you, asshole, need to stop moving around.”

  Reed smiled but stopped walking. “Of course.”

  Haraway looked at the sphere, then back to Mason. “Okay. What we need—”

  Two figures stumbled from the sphere, a young man and a younger woman. The girl was holding the boy up, and they collapsed to the ground. Mason’s optics mapped over them, highlighting superficial wounds before updating with malnutrition bordering on starvation. What the hell are they wearing? Their clothes bordered on rags.

  Haraway looked to be having a moment. “Jesus Christ.”

  Mason turned to the two on the floor. “Orders, Haraway? I need a mission statement.”

  “Help them. God, look at them.”

  Mason stepped toward them, boots crunching on broken glass. The girl looked at him before cowering away in fear. A third person, a man with no obvious injuries or starvation, stepped through the sphere.

  The man looked into Mason’s visor, saying something, the language hard. Mason’s overlay cycled, NO LINGUISTIC MATCH flashing in the corner of his vision. The man’s hand raised into a fist.

  Mason raised an SMG. “Okay, sparky, chill out. You need to—”

  The pain that flared in his skull was like nothing he’d felt before. It was an amalgam of being cut, burned, and crushed. He cried out, falling to one knee, SMGs clattering to the ground. Mason grabbed the sides of his helmet, screaming as something red and angry pounded inside his skull.

  The impact as Harry hit the street outside rocked the bar, windows exploding a deadly rain of glass inside. The man in front of Mason stumbled, pain gone. Mason looked at the girl, his face right in front of hers. That is raw terror.

  She said something, NO LINGUISTIC MATCH flashing on the overlay again. The man started to regain his balance. Mason’s lattice took over, shoving him to his feet, overtime falling into place. The man’s eyes widened in what would probably become surprise if Mason left it long enough. The rest of the asshole’s face was hidden, a wrap — a keffiyeh? shemagh? — covering everything below the eyes.

  The pain hit again, but the lattice twisted and bunched. Mason’s hand smashed out, connecting with the man’s jaw, the induction taser firing. The pain dropped as the man crumpled. Mason stood, looking at the girl. He felt pretty good about how things turned out as Reed smashed a chair against his back.

  The armor took most of the blow, but he had to take a step to catch his balance. Mason turned his visor toward Reed, the blue of its eyepieces flaring. Mason swung a fist at the man’s face, but Reed ducked away.

  Mason twisted his neck, spine popping. “That wasn’t very professional.” He heard Harry saying something outside, then the heavy sound of a coilgun firing, the bass rough edges of a plasma cannon mixed in for good measure. At least someone’s having a good time.

  Reed cocked his head. It was hard to get a read on the man through the sunglasses. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve got here.” The words came over the link, the other man in overtime as well. An explosion came from the street, firelight flickering through broken windows.

  Mason looked at the crate, Apsel falcon clear on the side. “Looks like it’s some of our shit, doesn’t it?”

  “Mason, you need to destroy the crate and get Haraway out.” Carter’s voice was flat with tension.

  “What about this asshole?”

  “It’s a remote.” There wasn’t room in the stretched moment of overtime for much, but he was sure she was pissed about something. “Do whatever you like.”

  Mason took a knee, reaching for his rifle. Reed was already moving, running toward the bar, his steps looking slow against the overtime.

  The rifle’s stock against his shoulder, Mason fired three shots. Reed stumbled at the first, jerked and twisted at the second, and then fell at the third. The body skidded across the concrete, a wet stain of red following.

  His lattice nudged at him, tired and sluggish. He shrugged it off, but dropped the overtime, his mouth flooding with the taste of chocolate. Mason racked the rifle, then collected his SMGs. He checked the weapons, locking them in place on his belt.

  Mason looked at the girl and boy at his feet. The girl’s eyes were wide, her mouth open. The boy — maybe more than a boy, a late teen — was out, unconscious or dead. Not much you can do about either. The mission.

  His feet crunched against glass on the floor as he walked to Haraway. “We need to clear the area.”

  “Mason Floyd.” Haraway nodded, like she remembered him from somewhere. Maybe she did. He’d cleaned enough of her division’s dirty laundry. �
�Help me pack this up.”

  Mason laughed, the PA system roughing the edges of it. “I’m not a porter.”

  “But you’ve got to—”

  “I’ve got to keep you breathing. I’ve got to make sure Federate tech doesn’t fall into rival syndicate hands. Pack your own bags.”

  Her eyes widened a moment before he heard a sharp intake of breath. Mason spun to see Reed wrestling with the girl. The syndicate agent had managed to pull the boy from her and was hustling him toward the door. The girl was trying to stop Reed, but she was a kid and he was a super-enhanced killing machine. Hardly seemed fair.

  “You don’t fucking die, do you?” Mason pulled an SMG from his belt. “You’re like a zombie robot.”

  The girl turned at Mason’s voice. Reed pushed her away. Her heel snagged, and she tumbled. Way to go, asshat.

  Reed held the boy in front of him as a human shield, smiling. Too-bright blood seeped from his lips. “Low-risk acquisitions, Apsel. It’s the way of the future.” His sunglasses were gone.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Mason squatted next to the girl. He helped her up, then steered her behind him toward Haraway. “Tech still a bit janky?”

  Reed spat on the ground, red and wet. “It’s not productionized yet.”

  “You look cross-eyed.” Mason shrugged. “Whatever. You’re not making it out that door.”

  Reed shook the boy, the kid’s head lolling. Out like a light. “You going to stop me? I’ve got quality bargaining capability here.”

  “There’s a total conversion outside. He’ll stop you.”

  “No, he won’t.” Reed shook his head. “If I see an enforcer when I walk outside, this kid’ll be turned into a set of parts.”

  “Why do I care?” Mason scanned the room. Limited options.

  “I heard the doctor. New mission, right Apsel? This way, you still get to try to collect on your orders. You won’t succeed, but you can give it your best shot.” Reed backed through the bar with the boy, making for the door.

  “Carter.” Mason’s link was cluttered with static. “Get Harry out.”

  “On it.” The link snapped like a flag in wind at her words. “How you going to play this?”

  “No clue. Getting two kids and a wizard out wasn’t part of the original mission brief.”

  “Wizard?”

  “Later.” To the Reed man, Mason said, “Harry’s leaving.”

  “Harry’s the enforcer?”

  “No, he’s a circus clown. Yes, he’s the enforcer.”

  “You talk big, Apsel, for a man with limited options.”

  Mason looked at the sphere still glowing in the air. He glanced behind, where Haraway held the girl. “Maybe. But I’ve recovered all the assets from the original brief. This? Maybe it’ll affect the percentage of my bonus, but that’s probably negotiable.”

  Metatech’s gun pressed against the side of Reed’s head, firing. The remote’s head sprayed into fragments, and Metatech grabbed the boy before he could fall.

  “Thanks.” Mason lowered his SMG. “Sorry about the taser.”

  “Don’t thank me,” said Metatech, holding the boy in front of him like a shield. “Same deal. I’m out with the kid.”

  “That’s just super,” said Mason. I love how this day is turning out. He turned to Haraway. “Out the back.”

  The girl in her arms struggled, trying to break free. Mason crouched in front of her, holding up a hand. He lowered the PA system to a whisper. “Not like this. There will be another time.”

  Mason had no idea if she understood him, but she stopped struggling with Haraway. Mason nodded, his armor’s blue eyepieces reflected sparks in her eyes. He stood, facing Metatech. Mason keyed the link to Carter. “Is Harry gone?”

  “Harry is pissed.”

  “But is he gone?”

  “Maybe.” Carter’s voice held the certainty of sand. “He hasn’t stopped swearing at me.”

  Mason turned the PA up. “Okay, Metatech. You’re clear out the front.”

  “It’s just business,” said Metatech. His face crinkled, and it took Mason a moment to place the expression.

  He looks sad. How about them apples?

  “It’s always business,” growled Mason. “I’ll be seeing you real soon.”

  They looked at each other before Metatech gave a single nod. He shouldered the kid, jogging for the door. Mason stepped to the Apsel crate, unclipping a small explosive device from his belt.

  “What are you doing?” said Haraway.

  “Clearing the scene.” Mason dropped the explosive into the crate. “Back door. Go.”

  Haraway gaped at Mason. “You don’t know what that’s going to do to—”

  “No,” agreed Mason. “We’ve got about fifteen seconds before we find out. I’d recommend running, doc.”

  “There are still enemy syndicate representatives holding at the rear of the building, Mason,” said Carter. “What’s your play?”

  Mason tossed a glance at the unconscious man sprawled on the ground, shemagh over half his face. He looked over at where Eckers had gone to ground behind the bar. Mason replayed Haraway’s instructions on his overlay, the woman etched against the top right of his vision.

  I need a mission statement.

  Help them. God, look at them.

  Mason didn’t answer Carter, running for the door behind Haraway and the girl. He didn’t look back at the sphere, shifting in the air, lightning sliding across its surface in uneven bolts. He saw Bernie Eckers make his way to the asshole who’d come through the gate with the kids, dragging him behind the bar.

  Neither of them was the mission. The mission was Haraway, the girl, and the boy. One thing at a time.

  Mason ran past Haraway. Doors marked the walls to the left and right of the corridor. “Stay close, doc. But stay behind me.” The sprinklers in the ceiling sprayed water, slicking his armor, the white coming clean as the dust washed free. Haraway’s hair plastered to her head. She held the girl close to her.

  The explosion from the bar rocked them sideways. Mason steadied himself against the wall. The timed charge had gone off, Apsel’s stolen tech gone. That’s part one of the mission brief put to bed.

  “Keep a hold on her.” Mason risked a look at the girl. Her eyes were trying to look at everything at once. The kid had something Latin in her under all the dirt and grime. “I’m going to get us out, but you need to help me. Know how to use one of these?”

  He offered her an SMG, grip first. Haraway shook her head. Mason sighed. “Like I said, stay on my six.”

  “Six?”

  “Do you not watch movies?” Mason started walking, SMG pointed in front. His overlay chattered to itself, painting doors, the suit including a thermal map of the rooms. Where is everyone? “There’s no one here. They’ve all gone.”

  “Eckers said he was going to clear the place out. For the…” Haraway trailed off, sounding like she needed a drink more than any other human alive.

  “For the what?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  Mason frowned. The mission. That’s what you get paid for. He moved down the corridor, thermal playing out cold and empty rooms in blue. A haze of red worked its way behind a door at the end of the corridor, and Mason switched his optics to visible light.

  A woman stumbled through the door. Her hair slicked against her head, eyeliner running dirty tears down her face. Her. From the bar, before. She looked like she’d been in the shit, one eye swollen shut. She stared at the three of them, dazed. Mason’s optics tracked her, overlay updating. Facial bruising. Dilated pupils, most likely a concussion.

  “Hey,” he said, the PA system raised loud enough to be clear, but not so loud as to terrify. “You know where the back door is?”

  The woman’s eyes swept past them, then back to the door she’d entered through. A shaky hand pulled it shut, and she backed toward Mason, Haraway, and the girl.

  “Mason.” Carter still sounded stressed. “Mason, you need to
get out. Reed are staging a deployment at the front.”

  “Metatech?”

  “Pretty sure he got clear.”

  Mason walked to the woman. He took one of her arms. She looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Her lips were shiny and wet from the sprinklers. “Who the fuck are you?”

  The door she’d closed yanked open, a man coming through. Long greasy hair matted his head. He held a fragment of something sharp and silver, the edges of his hands cut and bleeding around it. “Bitch, I’ve got you now.”

  Mason smiled. This asshole. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman, stepping around her.

  The man looked at Mason, taking a step back. His eyes flicked to the Apsel falcon on Mason’s armor. “This doesn’t involve you, company man.”

  “Fair enough. Do you know a back way out of here?”

  “Yeah,” said the asshole.

  “Where is it?”

  “Oh,” the asshole turned toward the door he’d come in through, “through there, take the second door on your left. You’ll find a room where you can go fuck yourself.”

  “Okay.” Mason pointed an SMGs at the asshole’s left leg. He pulled the trigger, the weapon roaring. Cords stood out on the man’s neck as he screamed, a high-pitched sound. Both his hands went to grab his leg, the fragment of mirror falling forgotten. He slid to the ground, the wall behind him stained black and red.

  The woman looked at the man on the ground. “I know a way out.”

  “You do?” said Mason. “Look, I don’t want to rush you, but—”

  “I can’t quite…” She stepped up, put her hands against the wall, and kicked the man on the ground in the stomach once, twice, three times. She breathed heavy after that, unsteady on her feet, but her eye was clear as she looked at Mason. “I remember, now. It’s through here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Julian stood in The Hole, taking it in.

  The floor was scorched where the ball of lightning dropped three strangers into their midst. The bar looked like a pile of matchsticks, shattered glass resting amongst the wreckage. Whatever Apsel had dropped in the case did a number on this place. They’d find nothing here worth salvaging. The technical term is ‘proper fucked.’