“It’s been a long night. Cut yourself some slack.”
“I can see you’re warming up again.”
“You’ve got a meeting with Gairovald at 9.”
“Sorry.” Mason pressed a button on the Jura, watching it turn and shuffle through the coffee ceremony. The smell of beans hit him as the espresso streamed into two cups. “I thought you just said Gairovald.”
“That’s right.”
“The boss.”
“That’s right.”
“Am I being fired?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck!” Mason spun to face the room, coffee forgotten.
“Relax,” said Carter, “I’m just messing with you. You’re not being fired.”
Mason felt tension in his back unkink. “You’re an asshole.”
“Don’t forget. 9.”
He held a hand up, middle finger extended. “This is for you.”
“Cute.”
“I thought you killed the video.”
“I thought you weren’t twelve. We can both be wrong, hey?”
“Seriously. An asshole.” Mason thought for a moment. “Is someone else being fired?”
“Trust me,” said Carter. “This one’s right up your alley. Enjoy your breakfast. Don’t forget to take some stims. They’re in the medicine cabinet.” The link clicked off, leaving him alone in his head.
He sighed, then pulled out a breakfast tray. Mason started piling bacon and eggs on the bread, nestling the coffee cups in amongst it all. Meeting old man Apsel at 9, huh?
He walked back towards the bedroom. No problem. There was time for breakfast — and maybe a little something else.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
He was still rubbing his wrist where the stim had stung against his skin as he left the apartment. He’d left the girl in bed, eyes wide over black sheets, holding a white cup as she’d breathed the aroma. Maybe she’d never had real coffee before.
Mason figured it was a bonus of sorts. She’d done good work.
He carried another coffee with him, a plastic lid over the Federate’s logo against the white waxed cardboard. He passed other company employees in the corridor, people bustling on their way to work. White uniform clothing with the Apsel logo above the left breast. These assholes need to not all shop at the same store. Mason glanced down at his own darker denim and jacket, the utility of the clothing more important than almost anything. Despite that, Mason still wore the company’s small falcon high on the collar of his jacket.
It was always best to show a little flair when meeting with the big man.
He waited at the elevator with small huddle of people. They eyed him nervously; they all had different hair cuts, some with face tattoos or glowing holos under the skin, others making their own statement with perfect, clean skin. Their eyes were all the same though, watching him. The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and he stepped in. “Anyone else?”
His eyes scanned them until the doors slid closed, cutting them off from view. It might even have been justified; Specialist Services had a brand of its own. Still. “Fucking robots.”
“Sorry?”
“Not you, Carter.” Mason shifted the cup to his other hand.
“You’re running late.” She cleared her throat. “Again.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what, Mason?”
“I don’t know. Of being treated like a leper.”
“There hasn’t been a case of leprosy in over fifty years.”
“You know what I mean.”
Carter paused, then, “It’s a bit different in… my team.”
“All doing the same work?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re lucky.”
He could feel her smile through the link. “I don’t know. You get to see more people than I do.”
“It doesn’t count if they’re all assholes.”
“Fair enough. Gairovald’s been held up.”
“So I’m not late.”
“You’re still late. He’s just running more late.”
“It’s his dime.” The elevator stopped, sliding open in front of him. He stepped out, the people waiting parting in front of him. Leprosy hadn’t died out fifty years ago. It’d just got a new marketing team.
Mason walked down a long corridor, plush wool carpet — real — soft under his boots. He reached an open reception area, a white wooden coffee table set between two leather couches. A black reception desk sat further in, the spread wings of the Federate’s logo embedded as slate in the wood. There wasn’t anything subtle about it.
He nodded to the woman behind the desk. “Nancy. How you doing?”
“You’re late, Floyd.” Her face was stone, but a smile twinkled in her eyes.
“I’m doing great! Thanks for asking. How are the kids?” He put the coffee cup on the desk in front of her. “I brought you a little something.”
“You’re an angel — but you’re still late.” Nancy reached for the cup, popping the top and inhaling. “I don’t know how you still get real coffee.”
Mason looked at the cup in her hands, thinking about where it came from. I’m no angel, sister. We both know that. The lie felt easy, and he tried it on with a smile. “I know a guy.”
“You want to share the name of this guy?”
“Not really.” He winked at her. “If you can go right to my supplier, well hell. I won’t get favors ever again.”
She tossed her hair, the smile reaching her mouth. “You can go in. He’ll be along in a few.”
“Thanks, Nancy.” He stepped past the desk, then looked back at her. Damn, but Gairovald has taste. “See you later.”
“Sure, Floyd. Sure.”
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason was leaning back in the big leather chair as Gairovald Apsel walked in. Mason picked out the signature flower in his breast pocket — something pink today — as the man walked up to the big boardroom table. His tailored suit was immaculate, and color-matched to the two guards who followed him in, their ebony skin dark and clean. They took up stance at either side of the door, leaving Gairovald’s side, eyes locked on Mason.
“Mason.”
“Sir.” Mason stood, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s a rare privilege to talk with you in person. What can I help you with today?”
“That’s one of the things I like about you, Mason.” Gairovald sat at the other end of the long table, gesturing with a hand. There was almost no trace of his German accent. “You’re to the point. That, and you get results. Please, sit.”
Mason let a small smile onto his face, sitting back down. When the boss tells you to jump, you jump — sitting’s easy. “Thank you, sir. I’m just happy that I’ve been able to help with some of the company’s… opportunities in the past.”
“Opportunities.” Gairovald showed perfect teeth. “You have a curious way of thinking. I read Carter’s report on this morning’s incident. It was well-handled. However, it’s not the end of it.”
“Sir?”
“Are you aware of our research division?”
“It’s one of our leading assets.” Mason quickly scanned the numbers Carter flicked up on his overlay. “Some 34,000 employees — and change — are in that division. Mostly working on new initiatives. I don’t have details on that, it’s above my classification level.”
“Something’s run sour.” Gairovald pursed his lips. “A rather unique piece of research has been stolen.”
“I—” Mason tapped his fingers against the vast mahogany of the table. It was almost certainly real wood. “I see. Is it related to this morning’s endeavor?”
Gairovald smiled with his mouth, not his eyes. “Very perceptive, Mason. How did you know?”
“You asked us to find and recover the technology causing the hallucinogenic atmospheric effect.” Mason coughed. “Not much was left at the site we found, but there was clear evidence our tech was involved.”
“Our tech?”
; “Atomic Energy.” Mason frowned. “What I don’t get—”
“Yes,” said Gairovald. “Atomic Energy. Someone’s been selling my tech, Mason. Someone I employ, someone I’ve housed. Put food on their table, clothes on their back. They want to steal from me.”
Mason nodded. “I’m guessing it’s big.”
“Why’s that?” Gairovald straightened his cuffs, then looked Mason in the eyes. “Why do you think it’s big?”
“Because of them.” Mason tipped his head to the guards on the door. “Because of you.”
“You understand the situation.”
A laugh broke from Mason. “I don’t pretend to understand anything, sir.” He leaned forward, putting a hand against the table. “I don’t need to. It’s not my job. But I promise you. If someone’s stealing from the Federate — stealing from you — then I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Gairovald looked at Mason in silence for a few moments. “I think I made the right choice. You’re very dedicated.” He held up a hand to Mason. “No, don’t interrupt. Your file speaks for itself. There was a classified… R&D project within Apsel.”
“The rain?”
“The atmospheric effect, yes.” Gairovald looked at the cufflink on his left sleeve, an intricate gold affair inlaid with diamonds. “The atmospheric effect is a… byproduct.”
“A…” Mason swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Byproduct?”
“Yes. When you were sent to… acquire the technology behind the atmospheric effect, well. We didn’t know we already had it. The files? We have no reference to this sort of outcome.”
“That’s a pretty big byproduct.” Mason leaned back in his chair. “R&D didn’t know about it?”
“It’s not quite that simple.” Gairovald held Mason’s gaze. “It’s one of my earlier projects. It’s been mothballed for quite some time, despite having significant future value to the Federate.”
Holy shit. Gairovald hasn’t done the heavy lifting on the science in thirty years. Mason nodded to himself. “Ok, sir. So — new mission?”
“New mission,” said Gairovald. “Different outcome.”
“You want me to catch the thief.”
“No,” said Gairovald, standing. He started walking towards the door, then turned back to Mason. “No one steals from me. I want you to kill the thief.”
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason stared out the boardroom window. He pressed a hand against the cool glass, the cloudscape stretched out below him grey and ugly. “Did you get that?”
“Of course, Mason.” Carter sighed. “Why do you treat me like an idiot child?”
“For all I know, you could be an idiot child.” Mason’s lips twitched. “A savant, I mean.”
“I get it.”
“You know. Like a chess master.”
“I said I get it.”
“Or—”
“Mason? I got it.”
“Speaking of getting things. Have we got a file?”
An icon flashed onto his overlay, information flicking over the uplink. “Of course,” said Carter. “Some of this is from Gairovald’s office.”
“Some of it?”
“I don’t spend my days surfing the Internet for porn, Mason. I do research.”
“I don’t know where you find the time.” Mason was already flicking through the information on his overlay. “Something’s not right.”
“Something in particular?”
“Sort of.”
“That’s not very particular, Mason. Do you know what ‘particular’ even means?”
Mason highlighted a section of information. “Here.”
Carter was silent for a moment, then she said, “I see it.”
The information Mason had highlighted was an image from the old hotel’s basement, when —
Dead hands reached for him, the Tenko-Senshin screaming back at them in the darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, and he stumbled back as parts of people fell and burned in front of him.
— he’d found the epicenter. Mason swallowed, then cleared his throat. “This one. The image is from the box.” Highlighted on the image was a charred piece of metal, the stenciled letters APSEL FEDERATE — ATOMIC ENERGY DIVISION still visible against the carbon scoring.
Carter was silent for no more than two heartbeats. “It doesn’t have the R&D logo on it.”
“You’re pretty quick for an idiot child.”
“This wasn’t mothballed research at all. This was live tech, taken from Atomics.”
“Maybe,” said Mason. “It doesn’t really matter though.”
“It doesn’t?” Carter sounded distracted. “I’m going to pull together a… meeting between you and the department heads.”
“A meeting, sure. The thing is, I don’t care if the tech came from R&D, or from Never Never Land. Someone stole it. Mission’s clear on that. If it’s Peter fucking Pan, he’s going down.”
Carter cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“About… About your last handler.”
“Yeah.” Mason let a breath out, realized he’d been clenching his fists. “He made a bad call.”
“You’d been working with him for two years.”
“Thereabouts.”
“Did you have to kill him?”
“Yeah.” Mason stood, walking towards the door. “Yeah, I did, Carter. He tried to steal from the company too.”
She was silent a few moments, and he let himself out. He tossed a nod at Nancy, then headed for the elevators.
“I won’t let you down, Mason.”
“I know, Carter.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He clicked the button on the elevator, frowning. Old school. Maybe Gairovald liked a bit of 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 tell me. Why you know.” Her voice was soft.
Mason leaned against the glass of the elevator, his back to the clouds as the car dropped. “You haven’t let me down yet, Carter.”
“You—” She stopped for a few moments. The elevator whispered down the Apsel tower, and Mason turned to look out over the clouds. Lightning cracked briefly through them, and then the elevator sunk below them. Rain lashed the outside of the car and the city, dark far below. The fucking rain. “I trust you too, Mason.”
“I didn’t say—” Mason watched the city approach as the car descended. “Hey. Carter?”
“Yes, Mason?”
“Don’t get all mopey on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mason.” She clicked the link off.
He smiled as the elevator car got closer to the city. Time to get serious, Mason. He pulled his jacket closer to him, then turned to face the elevator doors. Mason pulled a pack of Treasurers from his pocket and lit 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 clenched his fist again, looking at it. We’ll see who’s broken at the end of this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laia looked over at Zacharies, the strain clear against his face. Sweat was dripping off him in the heat of the desert.
The Master took no notice, the heavy whip in his hand moving slightly, as if it hand 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 was holding the divan above the desert floor, lifting and pushing it forward with his gift. The Master was on top of it, sipping a blue liquid from a chilled glass. Zacharies stumbled, and the divan trembled in the air, the bl
ue liquid spilling over the Master’s fingers.
The whip came up.
“Master.” Laia spoke fast. She gave the air a gentle nudge, the softest breeze touching the slaver master’s dark robes. “We have arrived.”
The whip stayed up in the air, then slowly lowered. The Master looked down from the divan to the circular depression in the dessert floor. The sand was charred and cracked, melted in places to glass.
“Good, slave.” He stepped down from the divan, drink forgotten, glass weeping in the heat of the sun. Zacharies breathed out as he let the divan down to touch the floor of the desert.
They stood together and watched as the Master walked around the blasted desert floor. They said nothing to each other, but Laia looked over at Zacharies. She worried for her brother. The trip had been long over the wasted ground, and despite the heat he looked pale. She almost reached out to touch him, then remembered the collar at her throat. She sighed and looked away.
“Slave.” The Master gestured at her. “Can you feel it?”
Laia reached out with her mind, touching the ground whisper soft. “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 man’s side. “Where did it go?”
“I—” She faltered. “It didn’t go anywhere.”
“Do you take me for an imbecile?”
“Master! 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.
“I—” She gestured at the circle in the ground. “The demon was here, and then it wasn’t. It’s gone.”
The man’s hood nodded. “Then we will wait.”
Laia felt Zacharies relax at her side. 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 NINE
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