Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  The room’s windows were tinted a dark grey, the adaptive glass darkened for privacy. Mason could feel the stretch of the lattice under his skin, pulling at him. Maybe later. The table sat between them, the black glass filled with images and icons. Information.

  Evidence.

  Mason looked at the three of them, sitting across the table from him. The table was a barrier of sorts, a gold Apsel falcon etched into each corner, wings stretched and proud. He sighed, looking at his hands splayed on the surface. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

  “Mr. Floyd. I’m not sure—” It was the fat black man, sweat showing at his temple. He cut himself off as Mason’s eyes flicked to him, and then to the empty chair.

  The woman spoke up. She sat in the middle, the fat black man to her right, the guy so thin he was gaunt to her left. Mason didn’t care what their names were, but she was the only one that looked like an actual doctor, white lab coat slung over some civilian threads. “We responded to your request as quickly as we could.” The gaunt man nodded in agreement, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

  Mason sighed again, then pointed to the empty chair. “One of you is missing.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Mason held up a hand, then pointed 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. His hand pointed 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, right. Porn.” Mason nodded to the empty chair. “Where is Haraway?”

  The gaunt man spoke up. “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—”

  Mason continued over the top of the other man. “I’m curious. What does the head of Atomics want with the head of Military?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, the gaunt man paused for a moment. “I… She never said. The doctor—”

  “She’s not a doctor. Says right here.” Information on the four heads of R&D was laid out under the cool glass of the table. Mason tapped the glass, Haraway’s photo under his finger. Cut like a cute librarian. Mason looked back at the gaunt man. “Is this some sort of job description inflation? Suddenly you’re a doctor, get a raise?”

  “No. The thing is—”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s brilliant.”

  “Are you fucking with me?” Mason looked the other man in the eye. “Right here, right now. Are you trying to be… Are you trying to be funny?”

  “I—”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  “It’s… 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 tried to huddle back in his chair. “I don’t understand—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. You don’t understand. Shut it, fatty.” Mason held up his hand as the fat black man opened his mouth to speak. The man’s mouth closed with a snap. “Of course she’s brilliant.”

  The gaunt man swallowed. “I’m… 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,” said Mason, “makes all it’s money from atomic energy. You,” and he pointed a finger at the gaunt man, “better come up with something a lot better than that.”

  The woman was looking at her hands, her breath shallow. Mason’s optics picked out stress markers on he face. About damn time they started to get worried. The gaunt man tried to speak, then 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. She’d started to sweat, beads of perspiration on her upper lip. “Out there?”

  “You think this meeting’s for, what, your performance review?” Mason stood up, walking away from them and looking out through the window to the city below. He spoke again, his back still turned. “I thought you people were supposed to be smart.”

  The fat black man managed to speak. “We — what I mean is, well. Frank is right.”

  Mason turned to look at him. “Frank? Who the fuck is Frank?”

  The gaunt man looked startled. “I’m… My name is Francesco.”

  “Good for you. You people don’t seem to understand what’s going on here.” Mason pulled out a pack of Treasurers, tapping one from the pack. He lit it, the long tongue of flame from the lighter reflecting in his eyes. Blowing out the smoke, he moved back towards the table, leaning his hands against it. “Any means necessary.”

  The woman gave a small gasp then, barely audible, but Mason caught it. She looked at him. “We’re… 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 out towards the three of them, then walked back towards the window before turning to face them again. “Hell. If you’ve had a hand in this, you’re just going to disappear.”

  He saw it then, the other two getting it a step behind the woman. She swallowed. “You… You can’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her voice was very small. “I have a family.”

  “Yes. And Uncle Gairovald is very, very unhappy with you.”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. Your husband. Your two kids. What are their names?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your kids.”

  “Sandy and—”

  “—Robert, right?” Mason cut her off, watched as her lips press tight together, the blood leaving them. “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 sat back down, and looked at her hands again.

  Mason looked back at the gaunt man. “Smarter than you?”

  “What?”

  “I said, is she smarter than you?”

  The gaunt man’s — Frank — eyes flicked towards 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, then looked back at him. His eyes flicked quickly to the fat black man, then back to 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 black of the table, flakes of ash breaking off, and 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 some of our research teams to collaborate.”

  “Did she tell you she was pl
anning to steal research from the company?” The silence lay over the three people across the table from him. “Do you know Apsel’s policy on theft?”

  The fat black man spoke up. “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. “Do they what?”

  “Do Psych know about this?”

  “I—”

  “I didn’t think so. I’ll book you in.”

  “I—” The fat black man looked at him, mouth opening and closing. No words came out.

  “You understand, of course. 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?” It was the woman. “What report?”

  Mason flicked some ash down on the carpet. He saw it was plush, expensive, Apsel’s logo highlighted in grey. “You guys must know how this is going to play out.”

  The fat black man leaned forward. “Play out?”

  “Yeah.” Mason pulled on the cigarette again. “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, watching 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 to himself. “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, a cigarette burning itself out in his hand. He hadn’t touched it since he lit it. “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 in his hand, the paper burning down towards the silver foil. He flicked ash onto the carpet. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “You’re going to get cancer.”

  “So? 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. “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.” Mason saw the Treasurer was almost burned out, pulled back the last of it before dropping the butt onto the carpet. He ground it out with his shoe. “There are worse things.”

  “Gairovald’s going to pitch a fit.”

  “Because I smoke?”

  “Because you stubbed out a cigarette on the carpet.”

  “That?” Mason smiled to himself, still watching the three of them in the meeting room. “It’s all a part of the fiction.”

  “I wonder.” Carter coughed. “I think you’re wasting your time because none of them know anything.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “It seems likely. Haraway didn’t turn up for work. If one of them was in on it, they’d have made a pretext to leave today before your meeting.”

  “Could be a double blind.”

  “I’ve read their email.”

  “That’s more like it.” Mason pulled out another cigarette. “That must be tedious to read.”

  “You always smoke more when you’re stressed.” She paused. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It’s tedious. Mostly stuff about R&D, or some kid’s birthday party, or a barbecue at the weekend.”

  “You understand the R&D stuff?”

  “Mostly,” said Carter. “It’s not my area.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of it. It’s not like I spend my weekends reading up on nuclear energy.”

  “What do you spend your weekends doing?” Mason rolled his shoulders. “Almost time for round two.”

  “I’m not going out bowling, Mason, so stop asking.”

  “Jesus Carter, who said anything about bowling?” He grinned to himself. “It’s like you’re obsessed.”

  “I—” She sighed. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going in there with a bunch of coffees. I’m going to talk to them about how this has all been a terrible mistake.”

  “You’re going to do what?”

  “And then you’re going to watch them. After they leave.”

  “I’m sorry?” Carter paused again. “I thought you said I was going to watch them. All three of them.”

  “That’s right.” Mason’s grin grew broader. “Unless you had something else to do this weekend.”

  The link went dead. That’s coming along nicely. Mason started to whistle as he headed off for the cafeteria. He’d never been in the one on this floor. The fat black man looked like a moccachino kind of guy. The gaunt man probably had it black. And the woman?

  Chai tea. Maybe with soy.

  ⚔ ⚛ ⚔

  Haraway’s office wasn’t what he’d expected. Mason had pictured a lab of some kind, white walls, half-finished experiments on the tables, maybe some components scattered about, wires hanging loose. What he got after cutting the yellow tape criss-crossing the door was… different.

  The walls were dark, inlaid with some kind of wood veneer. Rainforest plants were set in planters around the room, big green leaves reaching for a sky they’d never see. When he walked in the room warmed for him, light spilling from the ceiling like the sun. Underfoot was a carpet, plush with long twists of fibre; they reminded him of noodles.

  Or grass. That was probably what Haraway was going for. The whole rainforest thing.

  The middle of the room featured a small table — some sort of black stone — and a lounge chair. Inset into the wall Mason picked out a dispenser, standard fare for Apsel executives. He walked towards it, punching in an order for Scotch. The machine spat out a chunky tumbler, a single hunk of ice landing a second later with a clatter. The glass filled to an exact two fingers with an amber liquid.

  He took a sip, looking at the desk. It was glass, and sat in the back corner of the room. The ceiling was dark over it, but his optics picked out the terminal on it, a small desk lamp, and the back of a photo frame. Sentimental, Haraway? Mason walked away from the dispenser, doing a slow circuit of her office.

  “What kind of woman are you, Haraway?” Mason swirled the drink around the ice in the glass. It was good Scotch.

  “What?”

  “Not you, Carter. I’m talking to m
yself.”

  “Do you need me to make a booking with Psych?”

  Mason continued to walk around the room, his feet silent on the carpet. “I don’t get it.”

  “Delusions and confusion are common first markers for mental instability.” Carter paused. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Psych?”

  “What? No.” Mason stopped in front of the small black table in the middle of the room. He leaned down to get a closer look. He ran a hand along the top. “This table.”

  “The table? What about it?”

  “It’s not smooth. The surface. It’s kind of…” His optics clicked in to zoom.

  “It’s obsidian, Mason. Didn’t you go to school?”

  “I went to school. I was more into sports and watching cheerleaders. How can you tell it’s obsidian?”

  “Conchoidal fracture.”

  “Are you speaking English right now? I can’t tell.”

  Carter sighed down the link at him. “You’re going to be the one that breaks me, Mason.”

  “You weren’t a cheerleader, were you?”

  “I—” Carter cleared her throat. “We’re not going bowling.”

  “Who said anything about bowling? Look, just drop the bowling thing.” Mason tapped the surface of the table again. “This thing is junk. The surface is uneven. You couldn’t even put a coffee on here without spilling it.” He put his scotch on it, the glass tipping slightly, the liquid off-level. “See?”

  “Do you know what an atom is?”

  It was Mason’s turn to sigh. “Of course.”

  “I’m just checking. It’s really hard to know the edges of your education.”

  “Spit it out, Carter.”

  “Fine, fine. When molten rock—”

  “Molten rock?” Mason picked up his glass and took another sip. “I thought you were talking about atoms.”

  “When molten rock cools fast enough, the atoms inside it can’t get themselves into a crystalline structure.” Carter sighed again. “When that happens, and you break the rock, you get a conchoidal fracture.”

  “You can see the atoms of this thing through my optics?”

  “I can see that it is black, looks like glass, and has conchoidal fracture lines. It’s obsidian. She imported a giant hunk of volcanic glass for a coffee table.”