Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “You sure know how to show a lady a good time, Floyd,” she said. “This place? It’s all class.”

  “The guitar’s inside,” he said. She watched as he walked over to the door, grabbing the handle. It fell off in his hand, and he stared at it. “This whole place is…”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It is. How’d you know there’s a guitar in here? I can’t see a thing.”

  He tapped the side of his head at his temple. “Optics. Did a deep scan using thermal. Got it mapped out.” He tried a smile. “I don’t want any more… surprises.”

  She snorted. “You and me both, Floyd. How we getting in?”

  He looked at her. “Really? You can’t guess?” He pushed against the door, leaning into it. His rear foot scraped against the dirt before it found purchase, and the door’s hinges popped, the door falling inside the store. Dust walked out into the light on legs of grey gossamer, pooling around his ankles. He held a hand out. “After you.”

  “Hell no,” she said. “Last time there was a dark room, something tried to eat my face.”

  “To be fair, that was more of a first floor window. This is an actual door. Look. No horrible face-eating mutants.”

  “Sure,” she said. “You go first then.”

  “Don’t say,” he said as he turned away from her, “that chivalry’s dead.” He walked through the doorway, the shadows falling over the back of his armor as he stepped from view.

  Asshole, she thought, but couldn’t stop a small smile from touching her face.

  His voice carried out to her. “See, if you had a link, I could share the overlay with you.”

  “I don’t want your company shit in my head,” Sadie said, stepping through the door, placing a boot slow and steady against the fallen door. It didn’t rock as it took her weight, and she looked into the room.

  The place was crammed with all kinds of things, her eyes picking out a rack of old clothes, some fallen into heaps of rotten cotton and leather on the floor, the racks themselves rusty and tarnished. The walls had a few faded posters clinging to them, some of the writing and art still visible towards the back of the store where it was darker. She ignored all that, her eyes looking for —

  There.

  It stood at the back of the store, sitting neck up in a rack of black metal —

  “Is it ok?” Mason stepped out from behind some shelves lined with old books. “I don’t know if—”

  “It’s a Fender Stratocaster,” she said.

  “Ok,” said Mason, turning to look at it. He paused. “Is that good?”

  “Ok, sure, it’s not a Gibson Les Paul. But… It’s a Fender. Stratocaster.”

  “That’s good, then?” He looked from the guitar to her. “It’s hard to tell, because you’re not using words I understand.”

  “Floyd,” she said, “it’s possible you’re not the complete company cunt I took you for.”

  “Right,” he said. “It’s good, then. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  She breathed out. “It’s perfect.” She saw some of the tension ease out of him, wondered why he was carrying it. Oh. “Floyd?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is better than a start. Thanks.”

  He grinned at her, then turned around and walked back behind the shelves and into the gloom. Sadie walked down the store to stand in front of the guitar, reaching a hand towards it. She could feel the itch in her palms, the need to play —

  First, an amp. She found one near the guitar, an old pre-acquisition Yamaha. If she could find some cables, she could wire it up. Maybe even play a little —

  “What do you think?” His voice pulled her attention away, and she looked up. He was carrying an old dress, the style long gone. The lace was still pure and white, not the yellow she was expecting.

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No,” he said, frowning. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m not putting that on.”

  “Oh,” he said. “It’s not for you.”

  “Whoever it’s for must have a better sense of humor than me.”

  He was still frowning. “It’s a ball gown.”

  “I can see that. You planning on going dancing with someone?”

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  She looked at him. “You look like a kid at a school dance. You are going dancing with someone.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s for… It’s for a friend.”

  “Right,” said Sadie. “But a friend with breasts.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said. He started walking around the shop. “See if you can find a box or something for it.”

  “Right,” she said. “You realize that a girl’s not going to like you giving her an out-of-style dress, right?”

  He looked at her, a smile tugging the edge of his mouth. “Yeah. I get that.”

  “You’re going to give it to her anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  “When we get back to the world.”

  “When we get back to the world, sure,” he said.

  “I don’t follow,” she said. “It’s not like you can get FedEx to come in here.”

  “No,” he said. “But I think I can get someone else to come in here.”

  “Whatever,” she said. She thought for a moment. “How you figure that?”

  “Find me a box, I’ll show you,” he said.

  “You’re an asshole,” she said, but started looking. It didn’t take long — they found an old suitcase out the back with hinges still attached. It had metal clasps that didn’t fit quite right at the front, but good enough to hold it shut.

  “Right,” he said. “Now, for the tech.”

  “Tech?” she said. “Out here?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “There’s an electronics store up a couple doors.”

  “It’ll still work?”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  Sadie shrugged. “I’d prefer it if we found some food.”

  “Reed’s protein bars not working for you?”

  “They’re working fine,” she said. “There’s not many left.”

  “Ok,” he said. “Let’s get the electronics, and I’ll show you how we get the company to come to the rescue with food. Maybe coffee.”

  Coffee. “Ok,” said Sadie. “I might be warming to you after all.”

  ⚔ ⚛ ⚔

  “What,” said Sadie, “is that piece of shit?” She was watching Mason as he hefted a box onto the table. It’s got knobs, for Chrissakes. They were back in what passed for their group lounge, Haraway and Laia were watching Mason work. It didn’t look like they had much of a clue what it was either.

  Mason looked at her. “Hand me that cord, would you?” He nodded his head towards a bright orange bundle, the cable thick and old, crumbling at the bends. The old bulb in the roof flared brighter for a moment, then dulled again.

  She shook her head. “You can get someone else to help with your Frankenstein experiments.”

  “It’s just a radio.”

  “It’s not a radio,” she said. “Look at it.”

  He sighed. “Haraway? Tell her.”

  “It’s a radio,” said Haraway.

  “See?” Mason turned back to the device. “Now hand me that cord.”

  Sadie didn’t move. “You realize you could die. Using that, I mean.”

  “It’s just an old radio.” He tilted his head sideways. “I’d have thought—”

  “It’s not old, Floyd. It’s prehistoric. Stone age. Or space junk from a lost civilization that fell out of orbit.” Sadie rubbed her hands against her pants.

  Haraway sighed, walked past Sadie, and grabbed the orange cord. She walked to the edge of the room, plugging one end into an old socket. Some of the plastic flaked away, and she frowned.

  “What’s a radio?” said Laia. “I don’t know what the word means.”

  “It’s not,” said Sadie, “one of those.”

  Laia frowned. “Ok,” she said. “What is it?”

  “I
t…” Haraway paused. “It sends sounds across the air.”

  “Sounds?” Laia looked puzzled. “What kind of sounds?”

  “Music,” said Sadie.

  “Or voices,” said Mason.

  “Or just data, being pumped around,” said Haraway.

  “Voices,” said Laia. “Like the master’s thoughts.” She took a step away from the box, her heel snagging at the edge of an old chair. She sat.

  Sadie looked at her, then walked forward to crouch in front of her. “Hey. It doesn’t read minds. That one,” and she threw a glance over her shoulder towards Mason, “isn’t really a proper radio.”

  “Does a proper radio do what the masters do?” Laia’s eyes were round, frightened.

  Sadie put a hand on the girl’s arm. “No,” she said. “Not much really does.”

  “I’m not sure I buy it,” said Haraway.

  “Buy what?” Mason was plugging the orange cord into the black plug falling from the back of the radio. Orange flakes of insulation peeled off in his hands, falling in faded fragments to the ground. “Don’t touch the wires,” he said.

  “That these masters can read minds,” said Haraway. “It’s a bit science fiction, isn’t it?” She pushed the orange cable away from her with a foot. “I mean, seriously—”

  Sadie stood up. “Science fiction?”

  “Yes. Like, not real,” said Haraway, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why you’re so ready to believe.”

  “Because,” said Sadie, “this girl just blew all the blood out of someone’s body with her mind. How’s that for a convincer?”

  Haraway looked at Sadie for a few beats. “Fair point,” she said. “That was pretty convincing.”

  “The thing is,” said Mason, “that she can do awesome shit.” He turned something on the radio, then slapped the top of it with his hand. It clicked before returning to silence.

  “I don’t do awesome… things,” said Laia. “I just—”

  “You do things,” said Sadie, “that no one here can do.”

  “Like, in this room?” said Laia.

  “Like, in this world,” said Sadie.

  Laia looked at her hands, bunched together on her lap. “But this is Heaven.” He eyes moved up, found Mason as he worked on the radio. “These are—”

  “No,” said Sadie. “Trust me, girl. He ain’t no angel, and this ain’t no heaven.” She rubbed some grit from the corner of her eye. “He’s barely a human being.”

  “Hey,” said Mason. “That’s—”

  The radio burst into life, a hiss of static followed but some popping before it dropped to a low hum.

  Laia spoke first. “Is it… Is it alive?”

  “On,” said Haraway. “It’s not alive. It’s a machine.”

  “I don’t feel anything,” said Laia. She waved a hand at the radio. “It’s not saying anything.”

  “There needs to be someone at the other end,” said Haraway. “Which brings me to a question. Who are you going to call on that?”

  Mason turned a dial on the radio, the machine hissing and chattering as it moved across the bands. Bursts of voices were flung from it, fragments of phrases and words as he spun the dial. “I hope she’s listening.”

  Laia’s eyes were wide. “So many voices. So many people.”

  “Yeah,” said Sadie. “It’s hard to get airtime anymore, just to get your music out there.”

  “No,” said Laia. “The masters… There are only a few of them. They speak with their minds. With this…” Her voice trailed off.

  “With this,” said Mason, “we can call in the cavalry.”

  “Or the enemy,” said Haraway. “How are you going to avoid people listening in?”

  “I’m not,” said Mason. “In fact, I’m counting on it.” His hand slowed, the needle of the dial falling over a frequency towards the top of the spectrum. The hissing from the radio died, the channel empty. He picked up the mic. “Hey,” he said into it.

  “About goddamn time,” said a woman’s voice, flattened by the signal.

  “Who’s that?” said Sadie.

  “That,” said Haraway, “is Carter. She’s high-spirited. You’ll like her.”

  “I heard that,” said Carter. “How are you enjoying your camping trip? Shitting in a hole in the ground giving you what you need?”

  “See?” said Haraway. “All class.”

  “I thought you company people had standards,” said Sadie.

  “We do,” said Carter. “Sometimes you get the B team though. How’s the town, Mason?”

  “It’s crap,” he said. “Look, I need to keep this short.”

  “It’s ok,” said Carter. “I mean, who’s stupid enough to use shortwave for company business?”

  “You’re right,” said Sadie. “I do like her.”

  “Ah,” said Carter. “Sadie Freeman.”

  “How’d you—”

  “It’s my job to know,” said Carter. “Mason?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Ammunition,” he said. “A vehicle.”

  Sadie moved to the table, pushing him aside. She grabbed the mic. “Carter?”

  “Yes, Sadie Freeman?”

  “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “No,” said Carter, “he very rarely does.”

  A smile tugged at Sadie’s lips. “I need just one thing.”

  “I’m listening,” said Carter.

  “Coffee. Can you get some coffee?”

  “I like the way you think,” said Carter. The bulb in the ceiling flickered again, the radio hum growing louder for a moment. Carter’s voice came back strong and loud. “Mason? They’re trying to find you, Mason.”

  Mason held out his hand, and Sadie handed the mic back to him. He cleared his throat. “I guessed as much.”

  “All joking aside,” said Carter, “I’m pretty sure they’ll track you down eventually.”

  “Right,” said Mason. “Look, can you get a message to Harry for me?”

  “Probably,” said Carter. “Is it going to get me killed?”

  “Probably,” said Mason, nodding. “If it’s any comfort, they’ll want to kill me first.”

  “I’m a closer throat to choke,” said Carter.

  “They’ll want us all,” said Haraway, her voice quiet.

  “All of us?” said Laia. “Who will want us?”

  “Who’s that?” said Carter.

  “That’s—” said Mason

  “Laia,” said Laia. “My name’s Laia.”

  The radio hummed quietly for a few moments. “Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” said Carter. “She speaks English. I didn’t expect that.”

  “I got her a language pack from a convenience store,” said Mason.

  “Ah,” said Carter. “That makes sense.”

  “So, can you do it?” Mason tapped his fingers on the table.

  “Do what?”

  “Get a message to Harry for me.”

  “Yeah,” said Carter. “What’s the message?”

  Mason cleared his throat. “Got a pen? You’ll want to write this down.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “Right,” said Carter. “They all gone?”

  “Yeah,” said Mason. “They’re all gone. High on Jesus and the promise of coffee. They’re going to count protein bars or something.”

  “Great,” said Carter. Mason watched the light on the radio stutter. “What’s the real message?”

  “I still want you to get a message to Harry.”

  “Figures,” said Carter. “The one you just gave me? You want Harry to come pick you up.”

  “Yeah,” said Mason. He ran a hand through his hair, then loosened the clamps holding the armor around his leg. It ached. They’ll fix it back in the world. “That was the pep talk version.”

  “Is this the thing we talked about? Where you said we’d never have to use the contingency plan, but we had to have one anyway. That thing?” Carter’s vo
ice was hesitant. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s kind of that thing,” said Mason. “Carter?”

  “Yes, Mason?”

  “I’m tired, Carter.” He looked out through the dirty windows, the sun setting outside casting a red light over everything. Fingers of light crept across the table, the radio casting a shadow long and black. “I’m just… I’m tired.”

  “You’re old,” she said. “You’re an old man, and you’re giving up.”

  “What?” Mason forgot the pain in his leg for a moment. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Carter. “See? You’re not tired. You’re just not angry enough.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. Fair enough, Carter.”

  “There’s another way,” she said. “There’s a… There’s a path you can follow.”

  “I’m not… Sorry. Bad pun, but I’m not following you.”

  “That’s not a pun,” she said. “That’s just… Do you know what a pun is? Say. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

  “Astronaut,” said Mason. “Before they privatized the space program and NASA fell under a couple different syndicate interests.”

  “Right,” said Carter. “NASA. Good at science, bad at politics. Too many dreamers, not enough assholes.”

  “I guess,” said Mason. “Where you going with this?”

  “Until you said ‘astronaut,’ a more general place,” she said, the radio hissing for a moment. “Now, somewhere specific. What do you know about Metatech?”

  “They make guns,” said Mason. “Tanks. Armor.”

  “Right,” said Carter. “They also make orbital cannons. They lease time on space lasers to excise entire cities.”

  “Sure,” said Mason. “We’ve got the same kind of thing. Except ours isn’t a space laser. It’s a nuclear strike.”

  “It’s a fusion emitter,” said Carter. “You really didn’t study, did you?”

  “I still don’t know the difference between fission and fusion,” said Mason. He rubbed at his temples. “Carter? I really am tired.”

  “You should know the difference. Apsel does fusion. It’s our thing. Atomic Energy, remember? We’re all about making energy.”

  Mason looked at the radio.

  “You still there?” There was a thudding sound, like Carter was tapping against her mic. “You with me?”