“Ok, asshole,” said Julian. “What am I?”
“A slave,” said the man, his teeth pulling back into a bloody grin. “Like all the rest.”
Julian looked down the sidearm at the man’s face, then holstered it. “Shit,” he said, “you had me worried there for a second.”
“What?” said the man.
“We’re all slaves,” said Julian. “I’m happy with that as long as I’m on a steady percentage.”
“Percentage,” said the man. “So much of this is unfamiliar. This world, this manner of speaking, of telling lies and truth at the same time. These toys and fripperies you surround yourself with. And none of you know about true power.”
“True power?” Julian frowned. “I’m not the one stapled to a chair.”
“No,” said the man, “you’re a puppet. But I can give you what you want, Julian Oldham. I can give you everything.”
Julian stared at the man. “How did you know my name?” He checked the link, trying to find a feedback loop, something he’d missed. “How did you know my name?”
The man smiled at him. “There’s enough space in a cup of coffee for many things, Julian Oldham. Your name. Your heart’s desire. It’s the same thing.”
Julian nodded, looking at the man’s clamped hands and wrists. “Do you even know what a cup of coffee looks like?”
“No,” said the man. “It’s as unfamiliar as… a percentage.”
Julian smiled. “This thing you can do.” He pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it up. His words were softened around the cigarette as he lit it. “Read minds. Shit like that.”
The man looked at Julian, then said, “Yes.”
“What sort of technology is it?”
“It’s not a… technology.” The man seemed to chew on the word. “Technology. Like the thing that lets me speak your words.”
“Yeah, the link,” said Julian. “Technology.”
“It’s not a technology,” said the man.
“Ok,” said Julian. “What is it?”
“It’s the right to rule,” said the man. “It’s a gift from the spirits.”
“Spirits,” said Julian. He took another pull on his cigarette. “Fuck off.”
“It’s what I came here for,” said the man.
“Like some kind of spirit animal?” Julian wiggled his fingers in the air, the cigarette trailing smoke. “A wolf, or a coyote? You didn’t seem to need it back at The Hole.”
“The what?”
“The bar,” said Julian, his cigarette leaving a lazy trail in the air. “The gate. It was at a place called The Hole.”
“Ah,” said the man. “It’s not an animal. The spirit and I are… joined. Each separate has power, but together…” He trailed off.
“Together?” said Julian. “What happens when we get both of you together?”
The man looked down at his bloody leg. “I don’t think you’ll get to find out. I think you intend to kill me here, in this room.”
Julian laughed. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?” he said. “Why do you think we put the teeth back in your head?”
“I’m not sure,” said the man. “The reason I would do it is so that I could pull them back out again.”
Julian nodded. “Do you know where you are?”
“I am in a room, in a strange place, on another world,” said the man.
“No,” said Julian. “I mean, where here is.”
“No,” said the man.
“Reed Interactive,” said Julian. “Our business is dreams. Do you think that we might do business together?”
“Business,” said the man. “Spineless work for the lower castes. Commerce is a game for the weak minded, the slaves, the bearers of burdens.”
“Sure,” said Julian, “when you put it like that. But here? Business is the way your ass is getting out of that chair. The only way.”
The man swallowed. “You are proposing an alliance.”
“If you like,” said Julian.
“You know what I think?” said the man.
“No.”
“I think that when you learn how I do what I do, when you capture my spirit, and tether it to this Earth, you will kill me.”
“Not at all,” said Julian, meaning yes, of course.
The man thought for a minute, then said, “We may be able to do business. Will you do something for me?”
“You’re not in much position to ask for favors,” said Julian.
“It’s a small thing,” said the man, his eyes flicking to his leg. “Can you… can your technology fix this?”
“Well, shit,” said Julian. “Of course. It’ll do other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see if we can get you a cup of coffee, for a start,” said Julian. “A point of reference is always good.” He smiled.
“Tell me, Julian Oldham,” said the man. “Does the rain usually make people see things in your world? That might be a good point of reference.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I know a place,” said Carter.
“I was thinking downtown somewhere,” said Mason. “Get into a love hotel or something.” He slipped the van out of the station’s lot, easing into the traffic. The rain lashed at the windscreen, the amber wireframes standing out against the darkness.
“A love hotel?”
“Yeah, like one of the ones that does circus sex,” said Mason. “Room for four? No problem.”
“There’s a small problem,” said Carter. “I don’t think you’ve thought it through. Like I said, I know a place.”
“What problem?” said Mason. “It’s off the grid.”
“It’s not really,” she said. “I could find you there. Also, it’s not credible.”
“What’s not credible?”
“You, servicing three women in one night. Night after night.” Carter sighed. “You’re … Well.”
“I’m what?”
“One night? Maybe,” she said. “Three nights? A week? A month? And one of them’s a teenage girl.”
“You can buy anything,” said Mason. “What if I’m not a very nice guy? What if I like underage sex? It’s good cover.”
“Do you want to hear about the place I know about?” she said. “Anytime at all?”
Mason drove through the rain, steering the van around traffic. “What do you mean, you could find me?”
“I could find you,” said Carter. “I know where you are right now.”
“Yeah, but the link,” said Mason. “Of course you know.”
“Ok,” said Carter. “I know other things. I know where Harry is.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s at the Federate, being asked to kill you.”
Mason drove in silence for a few moments, easing to a stop at an intersection. Neon signs on buildings flickered, a red one promising HOT FOOD blinking on and off. This part of town still used the real. At least it’s in English. “That’s not great.”
“No,” she said. “He’ll wipe the floor with you. Get into the corners with your face. Real thorough.”
“Thanks,” said Mason. “I mean, it’s not great that they’ve got to him that quick.”
“You’re not asking the right questions,” said Carter.
“I’m not? What questions should I be asking?”
“For a start, you should ask me which place I know of. Where you’ll be safe. Where no one will find you.”
“Other than that?” The intersection cycled, the pure green of the LED turning the rain a different color.
She sighed, the link bringing it through clear. “They’ve asked me to find you, Mason. They’ve asked me to find you and kill you.”
“I know,” said Mason. “It’s why I didn’t ask.”
“You… You knew?”
“Yes,” said Mason. “It’s what I’d do. First they’ll investigate you. Run a few routines on you, your house. Maybe your friends.” His lips tugged i
nto a smile. “Your dance class. Whatever.”
“I don’t dance—”
“Then,” he said, “once they’re sure you’re not a total loss like me, they’ll get you to prove it.”
“I haven’t done this before,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Yeah,” said Mason. “Yeah you do. You know exactly what to do.”
“I’m not going to do that,” said Carter. “They can’t make me.”
He laughed out loud in the cab. “Oh, Carter. Carter, Carter, Carter. They won’t make you. Not at all.”
“But you said—”
“They don’t make you do anything,” he said. “If you don’t do it, you’ll just disappear. Maybe your family. Your friends too. It’ll be like you didn’t even exist. They’ll find your dance class and erase it like a bad mistake.”
“Mistakes, by definition, are bad,” she said. “That was redundant.”
Mason shrugged, tapping the steering wheel as he drove. “Not always,” he said. “Not… Not for everyone.”
The link hissed for a few moments, the silence stretching between them. “Ok,” she said.
“Ok,” said Mason. “You’ve got to turn me in. I understand. It’s just business.”
More silence, then she said, “Mason?”
“Yes, Carter.”
“They watch me all the time.”
“I know, Carter. I know.”
“How?” she said. “How can you know?”
“You ever wonder who makes people disappear? Who’s the person who knocks on your mother’s door? You ever wonder what kind of person can burn down a dance studio with everyone inside?” Mason took the next left, driving at random, the downtown traffic slow as treacle. Neon signs flickered against the rain, the van’s overlay fighting to clean up the picture against the visual noise.
“No,” she said. “I don’t wonder. I don’t want to know.”
“No,” said Mason. “Probably not. Goodbye, Carter.”
“Mason, wait,” she said.
He held onto the link. She could be tracking him now, sending them to him, but… “Ok,” he said. “What is it, Carter?”
“Do you trust me, Mason Floyd?”
Mason sighed, the cabin small and empty around him. “Maybe,” he said. “What with?”
“With your life,” she said. “Would you trust me with your life?”
He tapped the steering wheel again, then pushed the van into a gap in the traffic. There was some snarl up ahead, an accident of some kind, people hurrying under the rain. “Yeah,” he said.
“Ok,” she said. “Here’s what you’ve got to do.”
“I’m listening.”
“You need to go where I can’t find you.”
“I’m doing that,” he said. “Sex motel, remember?”
“No,” she said. “I’m better than that. I’ll find you.”
“You got a better idea?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I know a place.”
“What kind of place?”
“It’s the best kind,” she said. “It’s a place that doesn’t exist.”
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason had been driving through the night, the fingers of dawn trying to push through the rain. The van hummed along the old road, the overlay picking out the path. He’d been running without headlights for hundred klicks or so.
A few hours back someone had tried to hammer on the van’s internal compartment door, maybe Haraway, but he’d ignored it and they’d stopped. He wanted to be alone for a while longer.
The trees stretching alongside the road were old, dead and blasted, twisted fingers stretching to the clouds above. The road tasted the same, ancient tarmac rutted and pitted. It was if —
It’s the best kind. It’s a place that doesn’t exist.
The lattice pulled his hand, and he steered around a gap in the tarmac, the van smooth despite the speed. He checked the dash, seeing the big numbers tick between 200, 201, and back again.
“Mason,” said Carter.
“Hey,” he said. “You can’t find me, remember?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m calling about,” she said. “Soon, I won’t be able to.”
“Right,” he said. “I don’t understand.”
“You’ll need to… Do you know how to wire a place up?”
“What?”
“Ok,” she said. “This place is off the grid, but… It’s got a sort of grid of its own.”
“Right,” he said again. “That’s good?”
“It might be,” she said. “I’m trying to work out how to get in, but it’s… It’s old, Mason. Father Time’s never heard of it. It’s old, and it’s shitty, and I’m just—”
“Carter,” said Mason.
There was silence for a heartbeat, then, “I’m sorry, Mason.”
“Carter,” said Mason. “It’s going to be ok.”
“How can you know?” There was something hard and frightened in her voice. “They’re right here!”
The van bounced and jerked as he hit something on the road, and the lattice kicked a little under his skin as he pulled the van back under control. “Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck ‘em, ok?” Mason looked through the windshield. “They’re an international cunt circus. Fuck those fucking motherfuckers.”
She laughed then, something ragged breaking free in her voice. “I hadn’t heard that one,” she said.
“Which?”
“International—”
“Yeah,” said Mason. “It’s about right though.”
Her voice sobered. “I might not be at my best,” she said. “I haven’t had a break in a while.”
“Me neither,” said Mason. “Still, my seat’s nice. Those Reed assholes have comfortable cars.”
“The grid, Mason,” she said. “Remember the grid.”
“What about it?” He looked at something standing, a smudge of black against the darkness of dawn. “I think I’m getting here.”
“You’ve got a bit yet,” she said. “The illegal?”
“Bonus Round?”
“Or Haraway,” said Carter. “Either of them.”
“Either?”
“See if they can help you. You don’t have to do this alone,” said Carter. “Find a store. Anything with tools. For working cables, wires.”
“A store?”
“There’s not much time left,” said Carter. The link crackled and popped through her voice, cut out for a second, then came back. “Mason?”
“Yes, Carter?”
“I’m sorry, Mason.”
“What for?” he said. But the link was gone, lost and dead like the trees lining the road.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Mason grabbed the handle on the side of the van, pulling the door open. He stood in the rain, his hair plastered around his face.
“You—” said Bonus Round, then her eyes widened. “Sweet Jesus,” she said.
Haraway moved to the door of the van, looking out into the rain and the dim light of the true dawn. “Floyd,” she said, “where are we?”
“We got here off the 240. What was left of it.” He shrugged, looking around at the rotted buildings that stood lining the road. “I passed a sign. Richland High School. So I guess Richland.”
“Where the fuck is Richland? I’ve never heard of it,” said Bonus Round. “Where is this place?”
“Wait here,” said Mason. “I’ll get you something for the rain.”
“You’re not covered,” said Haraway. “What about you? Where’s your helmet?”
“Carter said they could track me through it,” said Mason, “so I left it about a hundred clicks back.”
“You—”
“Don’t sweat it, doc,” he said. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks.” He turned and walked away through the rain, the white of his boots crunching through the fragments of gravel littering the road surface.
It probably d
idn’t much matter. Dead from the rain, or from cancer, or from an Apsel bounty, dead was dead. His feet led him across the big wide street to a building, the door hanging free of its hinges. Mason picked it up, pushing it back inside, and stepped in out of the rain.
Something dripped at the back of the store, the floor rotted, mould crawling up the walls. He stepped through the aisles, shelves fallen or broken, but goods still stocking the shelves.
He found a rack of cheap umbrellas at the front, plastic sleeves wrapped around the metal frames. He smiled, looking at the color choices, then picked three of the umbrellas out of the rack, all the same color. Mason tossed a last look a the store, thought he saw something shambling at the back, but it was gone when he blinked.
That’s… not ideal.
He walked back to the van, handing the umbrellas to the three of them in the van.
“What shit is this?” said Bonus Round. “This the only color they had?”
“I hardly think—” said Haraway.
“No, probably not,” said Bonus Round. She pulled the sleeve off the umbrella, opening it up into the rain. The pink canopy stretched above her.
“It’s very you,” said Mason. “It goes nicely with—”
“Go fuck yourself, company man,” she said. “Pink? Really?”
The girl was turning the umbrella this way and that, looking at Bonus Round’s umbrella then back to her own. Haraway reached down, pulling the sock off it. “Like this, Laia.”
“Laia?” said Mason.
“It’s her name,” said Haraway. “The language pack.”
“Right,” he said, then crouched down in front of the girl, looking into the van. “You’re Laia?”
“Yes,” she said, the looked at Bonus Round’s back. “Sadie says you’re an asshole.” Her accent was thick, like something Latin. Spanish, maybe Italian.
Mason looked over his shoulder. Sadie, huh? “She did, did she?”
“Yes,” said Laia. The girl looked into his eyes, then said, “It’s inside you.”
Mason jerked back, standing, then took another step away from the girl. “What? What is?”
The girl looked up at the clouds above them, then held her hand out to the rain. “The demon. It’s inside you.”
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