Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  Sadie shrugged. “Janice.”

  “Janice told you?”

  “She didn’t mean to, of course.” Sadie picked up a brush, teasing at her hair. “Or, she did.”

  “She did or she didn’t, Sadie.” Aldo swallowed again. “Look, stop screwing around, and just play a straight song. We can talk this out—”

  “She asked how our breakup was. How I was feeling,” said Sadie. “You know, trying to make sure there was no hard feelings.”

  “Janice… She wouldn’t…”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Sadie. She shrugged, then turned back to face him. “You’re a user and a taker, Aldo Vast. I loved you once, but then you stopped the music.”

  Aldo’s hands clenched in the air in front of him. “This is bullshit. You’ve got it all wrong, Sadie. Janice, she’s trying to get between us—”

  “Why would she do that, Aldo? You’re already fucking her!” Sadie’s voice rose at the end towards a scream, then she got a hold on it. “Just get the fuck out.”

  “We’re… We’re playing tonight.”

  “I can play without a drummer.” Sadie waved her hand at the door, turning away from Aldo. “I don’t need a drummer. Go screw Janice some more, whatever.”

  She saw him come up behind her in the mirror, and he touched her arm. She shook it off, and his lips twisted into something ugly and angry. His hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.

  “Now you listen, Freeman,” he said, pulling her close against him. Sadie could see the glint in his eyes. “You and me, we’re not done.”

  She tried to push him away, and he grabbed her with his other hand. They stumbled, rocking back against the dresser, and one of her wrists slipped free, her elbow clipping him against the jaw.

  It wasn’t much of a hit. She hadn’t even meant to hit him. But there was no mistaking it when his eyes went flat and dead, inches from her face. He pulled back the hand she’d slipped free of and brought it down against her face with a crack. Her head snapped back and smashed into the mirror. She could taste something in her mouth, and spat red in his face.

  “You bitch!” He was yelling now, anger burning wild and free. His hand clenched into a fist, and he brought it down into her face again, pain blooming in one of her eyes. The force knocked her loose from his grip, and she fell to the floor. Sadie couldn’t see right, something was wrong with the eye where she’d been hit. She fumbled along the ground for her bag, managing to slip a hand through the strap just as Aldo’s hand closed into a fist in her hair.

  She screamed as he pulled her back upright, twisting her head back and driving a fist into her stomach. He was raving at her. She couldn’t make sense of the words coming from him, her head still ringing from the hit.

  Or hits. Sadie couldn’t remember. Had she been hit? Her good eye fell down to the bag in her hand, and she saw it. Black, small, her pale fingers closed around the grip and pulled it out. Aldo twisted her around again, and she fired the taser at him.

  His eyes bulged, and he bit down on his own tongue, his throat locking tight. He didn’t make a sound, falling to the ground with a thump.

  Sadie spat blood out again, spatters hitting the floor, and turned her head around. Her jaw clicked. She looked at the bag she held, and the taser in her other hand. The crossed sabers of the Metatech logo were above the charging lights, the red ticking up to green again. Sadie moved slowly back to the mirror, to see what —

  She looked away. Maybe she wouldn’t play tonight after all. Her good eye caught Aldo on the ground. He groaned, his movements stiff.

  That’s when she heard it. From outside the room, towards the front of The Hole, it sounded like a… We’ve been struck by lightning. And then, shattering glass, and the ground shook with something.

  She stumbled against the dresser, her hand reaching out, and she cut herself against the broken mirror. Sadie looked at her hand, then at Aldo, then at the door.

  Fuckit. She wasn’t playing tonight anyway. No sense staying in the dressing room. Her hand found the doorknob on automatic, and she started to shuffle towards the front of the bar.

  ⚔ ⚛ ⚔

  The wall was cool against her face. Sadie leaned against it, her eyes closed. One of them was swollen shut, the other closed.

  She tried to push herself away, but her body felt heavy. She couldn’t think straight. Where am I? Why am I out here?

  Open your eyes.

  It seemed so hard. Sadie breathed out, feeling something loose in her jaw. She swallowed blood, then pushed her one good eye open. The wall in front of her was ordinary, just plain blood and graffiti —

  Blood? Whose blood is that?

  Her hand came up to her face, and she winced. Her good eye looked at her hand, sticky and red.

  Why can’t I open my other eye?

  A door slammed open to her right, and she turned her head sideways to look. A man —

  Aldo.

  — crashed out into the corridor. He had a fragment of something shiny, something sharp —

  A broken mirror. My mirror. He broke my mirror.

  — held in his hand. He looked away from her first, then spun, seeing her. Something nasty worked its way from his eyes to his lips, a smile twisting them.

  “You bitch. You fucking bitch.” He moved towards her, listing to his left, knocking against the wall.

  Sadie drew a breath. She couldn’t remember —

  Run. You’ve got to run.

  She turned away from Aldo and ran down the corridor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Overtime.

  The room trickled and slowed, the light bleached out around the edges. Mason fell towards the floor, the subs in his hands flaring as he dropped. Glass shimmered and spun around him as he fell, the moment held in overtime like a dewdrop about to tip from a leaf.

  Metatech. One man stood near where he was going to land, a hand already reaching into his jacket. Mason’s overlay tracked the motion, MT marked above the man’s head. His optics fed a line of text next to the man, UNKNOWN stenciled next to the weapon he was pulling from his jacket.

  Reed. Another man stood by the bar, sunglasses turning up towards him as he fell. Mason saw the man’s head turn up before he’d finished punching through the skylight, RI stenciled above. He’d started to pull a sidearm from under his jacket. The overlay marked it as LOW THREAT, and Mason turned his attention back to —

  Haraway. She stood, trapped like a fly in amber, motions slow in the real. He could make out the shock start to move across her face, and ignored her for the moment.

  He felt the tremble of the reactor at his back as he dropped through the air. Status icons lit against his overlay, marked as the armor’s systems came online. The floor pushed up at him, and he landed in a crouch as glass shattered into fragments in a ring around him. The concrete floor of The Hole cracked as one of his knees came down against it, and he lost the grip on one of his subs. He stood as Metatech’s weapon cleared his holster.

  “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 on Mason as Mason’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. The inductive taser loop in the gauntlet fired, and the man was spun back to the floor, sidearm falling away.

  Mason turned towards the Reed man, the icon on his overlay for the suit’s taser system already back live and ready. Reed’s weapon was pointed at Mason, and the man fired. The impact rocked Mason back as the round hit his helmet, and he stepped back a pace.

  His overlay flickered, replacing the LOW THREAT with IMMEDIATE THREAT. A smile started to pull at his lips as Mason extended his free hand out in front of him towards Reed. He lit the magnetic coils in the glove and the other man’s gun spun out of his hand, clattering against Mason’s palm. The taps set into the bar groaned, and Mason felt himself being pulled towards the steel in them. He clicked the coils off, Reed’s weapon dropping to the ground.

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

  “Please,” she said. “You don’t understand. They have—”

  “—subject to assessment and revocation of that selfsame contract.” Mason looked at Reed, then back to Haraway. “Under the sub clause 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 bent to pick up his fallen sub, then sighed. “Gairovald is very, very angry, Jenni.”

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

  Mason lifted the sub, pointing it at her. “I’d have to be honest and say I don’t really care.” The Reed man had started to work his way along the bar, but made no move to interfere. Mason let his suit 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 before looking back at Mason. “This whole situation is sublime.”

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

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

  “Mason,” said 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 looked at Mason, as if able to see inside his visor. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

  “Mason,” said Carter. “Mason, I’ve got… Do not shoot Haraway.”

  “Wait, what?” said Mason. “I’ve got a bit of a situation here, Carter.”

  “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, ok? 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?” said Haraway. She smoothed her hands against her pants. “What kind of development?”

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

  Reed smiled at him, but stopped walking. “Of course.”

  Haraway looked at the sphere, then back to Mason. “Ok. 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, picking out —

  Superficial wounds. Starvation, most likely borderline malnutrition. The boy has lesions —

  — what the hell were they wearing?

  “Jesus,” said Haraway. “Jesus Christ.”

  Mason looked at Haraway, then at the two on the floor. “Orders, Haraway? I need a mission statement.”

  “Help them. God, look at them.”

  Mason nodded, stepping towards the two on the ground, boots crunching on broken glass. The girl looked at him, then cowed away in fear. A third person, a man, stepped through the sphere behind them. Mason paused, and the man looked into Mason’s visor.

  He said something, the language hard. His overlay cycled, NO LINGUISTIC MATCH flashing in the corner of his vision. The man’s hand raised into a fist.

  Mason raised a sub at the man. “Ok sparky, chill out. You need to—”

  The pain that flared in his skull was like nothing he’d felt before. He cried out, falling to one knee, subs clattering to the ground beside him. He 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 and glass shattering at the back of the bar. The man in front of Mason stumbled, the pain gone. Mason looked at the girl, his face right in front of hers, saw something scared in her eyes.

  She said something, NO LINGUISTIC MATCH flashing again. The man started to regain his balance, and the lattice pushed Mason to his feet, overtime falling into place around him. The man looked at Mason, eyes wide with surprise. He couldn’t make out a face, a wrap — a keffiyeh? shemagh? — covering everything below the eyes.

  The pain hit again, but the lattice twisted and bunched against it. Mason’s hand smashed out, connecting with the man’s jaw and the induction taser firing. The pain dropped away as the man crumpled to the ground. He stood looking down at the girl, just in time for Reed to smash the chair against his back.

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

  Mason twisted his neck to the left and right, his spine cracking. “That wasn’t very professional.” He could hear Harry saying something outside, then the heavy sound of a coilgun firing, the bass rough edges of a plasma cannon mixed in against the noise.

  Reed licked his lips, head tipped slightly towards the door. 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. Something exploded out on the street, the firelight licking through the broken windows at the front of the bar, stitching tall fingers brief and bright against the ceiling.

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

  “Mason,” said Carter. “You need to destroy the crate and get Haraway out.”

  “What about this guy?”

  “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 dropped a knee to the floor, reaching a hand over his shoulder for the stock of the rifle. Reed was already moving, running towards the bar, his steps looking slow against the overtime.

  The rifle snapped out and over, Mason putting the stock against his shoulder, and he 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 stretching behind it.

  His lattice nudged at him, tired and sluggish. He shrugged it off, but dropped the overtime, his mouth flooded with the taste of chocolate. He racked the rifle again, then bent to pick up the subs. He checked the weapons, the locked them in place against his belt.

  Mason turned to look at the girl and boy at his feet. The girl’s eyes were wide, her mouth open a little. It looked like 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 the glass on the floor as he walked over the Haraway. “We need to clear the area.”

  “Mason Floyd.” She looked at him, nodding. “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.”

  He saw her eyes widen just before he heard the sound, the intake of breath clear in a moment of silence from the street outside. He spun around, in time to see Reed wrestling with the girl. Reed had managed to pull the boy from her, and —

  “You just don’t fucking die, do you?” said Mason. He pulled one of the subs from his belt. “You’re like some kind of zombie robot.”r />
  The girl turned her head at Mason’s voice, and Reed pushed her away. Her heel snagging against something, and she tumbled to the ground.

  Reed held the boy in front of him, a smile pulling at his face. Blood seeped around the edges of his lips, too bright. “Low risk acquisitions, Apsel. It’s the way of the future.” His sunglasses had fallen away somewhere, the man’s eyes looking —

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Mason walked forward, squatting next to the girl. He helped her up, then steered her behind him towards 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 kids’ head loose on his shoulders. Out like a light. “You going to stop me? I got me a bit of quality bargaining capability here.”

  “No,” said Mason. “Harry’s going to stop you.”

  “No he’s not,” said Reed. “If I see that enforcer outside when I walk out there? 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 and collect on your orders. You won’t succeed, but you can give it your best shot.” Reed started backing through the bar with the boy, edging towards the door at the front.

  “Carter,” said Mason. The link was still cluttered with static. “Get Harry out.”

  “On it,” she said, the link snapping like a flag in wind. “How you going to play this?”

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

  “Wizard?”

  “Later,” said Mason. To the Reed man he 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.”