Chromed- Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “Yeah.” A smile worked its way onto Julio’s face. It looked like it belonged there, like he’d been wanting an excuse to smile all week. “That’s what my old lady says too.”

  “Great. I understand. Look, I’m going to…” Harry trailed off, looking at the cart beside him. How did you explain fixing a fence as a way to mend the hollowness in your gut?

  “Sure.” Julio smiled again. “You need anything, you ask.”

  Harry watched as Julio walked away, the crowd drifting with him. The overlay did quick ID scans of people’s faces, dragging information from the link. When it finished, he knew who they were, and where they lived. The link told him everything except why they were here.

  He turned it off. Harry didn’t need the uplink here. As soon as he cut it off, it snapped back on. He would have sighed, but it wasn’t worth the static.

  “What are you doing, and why have you shut me out of your link?” Lace sounded brittle, anger vying with concern. “I’m only getting audio from you. It’s like you’ve fallen off the edge of the world.”

  Edge of the world. “Something like that,” said Harry. “Just a little personal business.”

  “You don’t have personal business.” The link snarled, hissing and popping. “I’m getting interference.”

  “I’m not shopping, if that’s what you’re asking.” Harry stamped into the yard, scanning the dead grass and blasted plants. A small lemon tree clung to life near the front door beside where the steps used to be. A ramp leaned there now, because Lace couldn’t use stairs. Not after what Harry had done.

  “You still do that job, don’t you?” asked Lace.

  “Which job?”

  “Being an asshole.”

  “What is it about my personal business that interests you so much?”

  “I don’t mean to pry. But what could you possibly need?”

  “Something I’m not going to tell you about.”

  “People here are getting nervous.” The overlay said Lace’s voice carried stress markers.

  “No, they’re not,” said Harry. “And if they are, you can tell them to fuck off.”

  “How do you know they’re not getting nervous?”

  “Because I’m online and haven’t left the city. Geofencing would have triggered. I’m not anywhere near Mason. If there was a risk I’d bump into him, city CCTV would have got him first. We’d know what underwear he had on today. The Federate has bigger things to worry about than my personal business.”

  “If it’s not shopping, what is it?”

  Harry shut down the link, then sighed. It’d taken him a little while to find the right tools, ones that he could hold and use like the man he used to be. It’d taken him longer to do that without Lace working out what he was up to.

  She wasn’t stupid.

  He pulled the cart into the yard, hooking a piece of digging equipment up to his chassis. Finding farming equipment with the same mounts as Apsel combat hardware hadn’t been as hard as he’d thought. Some bean counter in Finance had embarked on a standardization program years back, making “industrial” the same thing as “military.” It was a mistake that had cost millions, but there were still a few pieces of industrial equipment in warehouses. It’d just been a matter of getting them delivered without anyone knowing.

  Carter probably knew where he was. She knew a lot more than she let on. She hadn’t said anything to Lace, though.

  The reactor on his back hummed as he turned the cracked earth over. The fans in the chassis kicked in, venting heat out the back as he shifted dirt. He built a pile of dead foliage, flowers that used to be red or blue now a uniform brown, dry, brittle.

  There weren’t any bees. Not anymore.

  Harry returned to the trailer. The plants in the back were the best he could find. And hell, at least they were alive. He looked at his metal hands, then at the plants.

  Shit. It’s not like he was built for delicacy.

  Julio stood at the fence line, holding beer in a generic brown bottle. No syndicate branding. Home brewed, maybe. If so, it was flat-out illegal. There weren’t any yeasts left that weren’t under patent. “How’s it going?”

  Harry swiveled. “So-so. What do you think?”

  “Very … flat,” offered Julio. “You want a hand?”

  “I couldn’t ask that of you.” Harry’s chassis hummed. “It’s my problem.”

  Julio set his bottle down at the crumbling fence line. “Hey, company man. I’m not a charity. I’m hoping I help you here, you help me out too.” He pulled a plant from the cart, glancing at Harry’s hands. “Didn’t think it through, did you?”

  “Not this part,” said Harry. “The rain stopped, so I figured it might be safe to try planting something again.”

  “It’s okay. You get started on the fence.”

  “Thanks.” Harry clanked around the fence line, tearing posts from the ground, crumbling concrete yielding from the earth. Once the old supports were gone, he hefted a posthole digger from the cart, working his way around the property. Each point where the overlay suggested the optimal place to dig, he hunched, the chassis bracing. Pneumatic rams in his arms fired. Each hole was perfectly carved, cut instantly into the dirt.

  Sometimes being less than a man made things easier. But only sometimes.

  Julio and Harry worked throughout the day. Harry did the hard, heavy things. Julio helped with the delicate jobs, occasionally heading off to get more beer. By the time they were finished, the day had turned to dusk, light failing under hard gray clouds.

  Harry put equipment into the trailer before turning to Julio. “Thanks.”

  Julio shrugged. “Think nothing of it. She deserves it.”

  “Yeah, she does. Thanks anyway.”

  “Doesn’t look done yet.” Julio spoke with the expert air of a man who’d dug more than one garden.

  “No. She’s on the clock. Double shifts. Won’t be home for a while.”

  Julio nodded. “You’ve still got time, then.”

  “Yes,” said Harry. “What about you?”

  “I got everything I need.” Julio sighed. “I’m pretty sure—”

  “You said I could help you out,” interrupted Harry. “You probably weren’t thinking about me keeping quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  “The illegal beer.”

  “There’ll be another time, Harry.” Julio laughed. “But you did help me.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah.” Julio retrieved his bottle as he walked out of the yard. “Because you helped her. That’s how it works.”

  “Around here?”

  “No, it’s how it works everywhere. You company people? You’ve just forgotten.”

  Harry watched him go. He checked what they’d achieved in Lace’s garden. Dusk made shadows of everything, but he could imagine what it would look like when the sun returned. It wasn’t much. It sure as hell was what she had had before.

  He fired up the chassis’ lamps. Plenty more needed doing, but what he and Julio had done today was a start.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fixing Richland? Impossible. But Sadie hoped fixing Richland enough so they could get a tiny sip of power was possible. With a reactor meltdown in the heart of a nest of monsters, it was unlikely to be prime real estate anytime soon. They needed enough power for the little things.

  “I don’t get why we’re out here.” Haraway kicked a stone, sending it skipping away. “It’s late. There are zombies.”

  “They’re not zombies.” Brushing black hair over her undercut, Sadie grabbed two harnesses from the van. They had lights, which in her view was essential for grubbing around in a city full of monsters. “I’m going with mutants.”

  “Zombies, mutants, whatever. I don’t read fiction.”

  “Didn’t look like fiction to me.” Sadie handed Haraway a harness. The company woman’s clinic-perfect blond good looks were unmarred by roughing it. Sadie pulled her own harness on. The black nylon straps felt unforgiving through her shirt,
like even syndicate designers hated illegals.

  I’m not illegal. I don’t want their shit in my head.

  Haraway held her harness at arm’s length, like it was a snake. “What am I doing with this?”

  “Putting it on.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t do fieldwork. This was your idea, remember?”

  Haraway tossed Sadie a crooked smile. “All this?” She raised her hand, as if saying behold this dead city. “It’s new to me.”

  “That’s no problem. Put the harness on.”

  Haraway ran a hand through hair that looked like it needed to spend more time in the company clinic. “Why aren’t we inside with them?”

  “You wanted power.”

  “Power can wait until tomorrow. We don’t need to turn power on at midnight.”

  Sadie tightened her harness. “You kill anyone today?”

  A couple of seconds passed. Haraway sighed. “I shot … things. I don’t know if I killed them.”

  Sadie offered a sigh of her own. “In there,” she jerked a thumb at the gap in the wall, “there’s a girl who’ll be afraid of the dark forever if we don’t get the lights on. Because we couldn’t hold a fucking line. Because we couldn’t see.” Sadie wanted to say, see your company bullshit or see what you’ve done, what you’ve always done, but she stopped at Haraway’s expression. The woman looked like a tree felled in a storm. Still had leaves, sure, but might be dead soon.

  Haraway’s voice was soft. “I get it. More than you know.” She straightened, dragged her head through the harness straps, then turned on the lamps. Beams of light pushed against the dark. Rubble raised fingers of shadow against the buildings. “It’s quiet, isn’t it?”

  “Long may it last.” Sadie hauled a toolbox out of the van, offering it to Haraway.

  Haraway took the box from Sadie. “Everything here is ruined. It’s broken down, used up. You can’t kickstart a reactor.”

  “You’re the scientist. I’m here for moral support.”

  “Moral support?”

  “It’s what I call sticking an axe in anything that tries to eat your face when you’re coming up with the real answer.”

  Haraway laughed. “Fair play, Sadie Freeman.”

  Sadie leaned against the van, a smile she hadn’t realized was there falling from her face. “I play guitar. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  “You’re not a prisoner, Sadie.”

  “I know.” Sadie scuffed her boot against rubble. “You don’t give prisoners weapons.”

  “Right, you’re a part of the team.”

  Sadie straightened, anger’s fire going right to the heart of her. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  Haraway took a couple of steps back. “I don’t—”

  Sadie stalked toward her. “You people shoved me in a van. Brought me here. I didn’t choose to be here. I’m not a part of your team.” She spat the last word out, bringing her face close to Haraway’s. “I’m not company.”

  Haraway held a palm out, the movement slow. “Freeman, I didn’t plan it like this. You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  Sadie glared. “What do you mean?”

  Haraway turned, shoulders slumping. “It doesn’t matter. Just … I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  Sadie grabbed Haraway’s shoulder. “Hey. Don’t turn away!”

  Haraway slapped her hand away, eyes bright. The bright white lights of Haraway’s harness glared, and Sadie couldn’t make the other woman’s face out. “Don’t touch me. You have no idea what this has cost me. You’re worried about being on an unplanned camping trip? Shit happens. Deal with it.”

  Sadie felt her anger growing, fingers curling into a fist. Steady. Listen. Not to what she said, but what she meant. She made her hand relax. Haraway was rigid, caught between staying and running. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Oh, you want a favor? From the company?”

  “Not really,” said Sadie. “From you. Could you turn your lights off? They’re in my eyes.”

  The moment stretched, then Haraway laughed, a broken, fragile sound. She turned the harness lights off.

  “Thanks.” Sadie blinked, trying to clear her eyes. Night vision? Gone. “Do you think you can do it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been hard to get here.”

  “What?”

  Haraway shook her head. “What were you asking?”

  “I wanted to know if you can get the power back on.” Sadie kept her voice low.

  “Oh.” Haraway looked into the street, quiet for a moment. “I thought you meant something else. It doesn’t matter. I can get the power back on, sure.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going to find the distribution center. Be a building. Lots of cables. Can’t miss it.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re going to hook the reactor in the van up to it.”

  Sadie looked at the van, trying the idea on for size. It didn’t fit. “It’s a van. It can’t possibly power a town.”

  “Why not? It’s got a reactor in it. One of our reactors. This is what we do, Freeman. The Federate makes clean, limitless energy.”

  “Reed put an Apsel reactor in their van?” Sadie frowned. “I thought you syndicates tried to shop local.”

  “When we can,” said Haraway. “Reed bought this van from someone who used our reactors. Sort of a supply-chain thing.”

  “You know a lot about this,” said Sadie.

  “I make reactors. I know where we sell them.”

  “Okay.” Sadie thought about it. Reactor in a van? Sure. But powering a city? “How are you going to make a reactor in a van power a city? They seem different levels of hard.”

  “Now that is a trade secret. You leave the science to me. If we can get to the distribution center, I can make this van give us as much power as we need.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Prophet stood with his back to Julian. The Master looked out the window of Reed Interactive’s Tower Prime. They were in the highest executive suite. The previous owner … fell.

  Clouds reached, gray and ugly, over the city below. Julian blew across the surface of his coffee before putting the plastic lid on. “I’m sorry, Master. I still have some … trouble understanding how this works.” He stood back — quiet, respectful, or the pain starts again — but he could see the flash of lightning. The boom came less than a second later. Motherfucker calls himself Prophet. Julian clamped down on the thought. Things like that led to more pain.

  “You do not need to understand. That’s not your function.”

  “Of course, Master. It’s just that—”

  “Does pain excite you? I’ve known some like that.” Prophet didn’t move. “They need to be discarded. Too hard to shape, like clay that’s been already fired.”

  “Master, please.” Incentives. Go with incentives. “I feel if I don’t do my best for you, you may hurt me more in the future.”

  Prophet turned slowly, his face pulled tight with anger. “If it’s my wish you feel pain, then you’ll be hurt.” Julian held himself still. “But you have been a useful tool, Julian Oldham. It is a poor craftsman indeed who doesn’t listen to the hum of the tools under his fingers.”

  “Master?”

  “Speak, Julian Oldham. Speak, and I will listen.” Prophet turned to the window. “If your words do not please me, then there will be pain. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, Master.” Prophet could lift the thoughts from Julian’s head, so this was some kind of sick test. Was there a right answer? Julian looked down at his hands, the shake in them something that hadn’t gone away since the night he’d awoken in the crypt.

  Julian’s mind shied away from the memory. He knows what you’re thinking. Lead with it. “Have you heard the word incentive, Master?”

  “The taste of this word is familiar, but I do not know its meaning.”

  “It is a mechanism of sorts. It influences the way people
make decisions.” Julian’s breath came short and shallow, fear stirring his thoughts in a way no boardroom presentation ever had.

  “Ah,” said Prophet. “Is this from those imbeciles in Marketing? They have not pleased me. Vacuous, intangible morons.”

  “No, Master. I mean, yes, Marketing are morons. This is not their term. This is…” Julian struggled with the right words. The words that would prevent pain. “It is economics.”

  “Is this to do with this thing you call money?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I do not need money.” Prophet stared down at the cloudscape. “Do you see how they scurry and run? Of course not. You have only your eyes. But I can see their minds. All those people live their lives wrong. They make mistakes, cause harm, and disrupt the natural order. I have been sent to return them to their place. Order will be restored.”

  “Yes, Master.” For a moment, Julian forgot who he was speaking to. “It is just that—”

  “You contradict me?” Prophet’s shoulders bunched before relaxing. “No. I said I would let you say your piece. Say it and be done.”

  “The right incentive makes people do a thing, and at the same time believe they wanted to do it.” Julian felt his nerve trickling away, water down a drain. Harden up. Make the play. “They do what you want, but think it is their choice.”

  “They will do that anyway.”

  “Of course. But they will do it faster with the right incentive.” Julian took a half step forward. “Out there, your … agent—”

  “The demon. What of it?”

  “As you say. Your demon—”

  “It is not mine, any more than my arm is mine. We are the same thing, Julian Oldham. Why is this so hard for you to understand?” Julian could feel the touch, light and delicate as a feather, as Prophet reached for his mind. The pain would start soon. “You still want to speak your mind, while you have one. Know that my patience grows short.”

  “They hide, Master,” said Julian. “Before you came, people learned to hide from the rain.”

  “You can’t hide forever.”

  “No, but if people didn’t want to hide, how fast would you get what you wanted?”