Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “Sadie?” said Carter.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sadie Freeman, if he didn’t like you, he’d have executed you and left you dead back in the bar.” Carter paused. “You’re a loose end. A problem he needs to solve. You don’t fit.”

  “I fit fine, company woman,” said Sadie, something pulling the edge of her mouth down, her lips hardening into a line. “It’s my planet too.”

  “Didn’t you just say we own it?” said Carter, the radio stretching her voice thin. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t hold us accountable for your fuck-ups and then say you own a piece of it too.”

  Sadie sat for a moment, touching the strings, her hands moving without thought. The guitar spoke to her from the amp, notes dropping out against the floor like lost memories. “Maybe,” she said. “I didn’t fuck anything up, though.”

  “Sure you did,” said Carter. “Aldo Vast.”

  “Aldo Vast,” said Sadie. “I know that music.”

  “You sure you do?” said Carter. “He was your drummer, right? Your sometime lover?”

  “Something like that,” said Sadie. “He was an asshole.”

  “Ok, rocker chick,” said Carter. “Here’s what I know about Aldo Vast. Here’s what I mean when I say you fucked everything up. Aldo Vast, known in Oregon as Bernard Simmons. Known in Wisconsin as Jean Macey. Known everywhere as useless white trash.”

  “What did you say?” said Sadie.

  “Aldo Vast,” said Carter. It didn’t even sound like she’d stopped to take a breath. “Wanted for drug trafficking, assault, and rape.”

  “Stop it.” Sadie sat up straight, her feet pulling off the desk and hitting the floor. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I haven’t even started,” said Carter. “Mary.”

  “What? Who the fuck’s Mary?”

  “Mary Evans,” said Carter. “Eighteen years old. Promising guitarist, a little like you without the grunge.”

  “Fuck—”

  “Liked stray dogs and finger painting,” said Carter. “Met Aldo Vast last January.”

  “You can’t—”

  “She’s dead now,” said Carter. “It’s probably for the best. As near as I can work out, she spent the last four hours of her life locked in a trailer with him.”

  Sadie swallowed, didn’t say anything.

  “You invited that into your life,” said Carter. “Into your bed. Which one of us is accountable?”

  Sadie held the guitar against her chest. She felt sick. “How do you—”

  “That’s not the question you want to ask,” said Carter.

  The radio popped on the table in front of her, the old grill in front of the speaker grimy. Sadie looked down at her guitar. “Is he dead?”

  “That’s still not the right question,” said Carter. “You really should be asking me why I give a shit.”

  “Ok, company woman,” said Sadie. “Why do you give a shit?”

  “Because I like Mason,” said Carter. “You didn’t need to ask, did you?”

  Sadie touched the strings of the guitar with her nails, something scratchy and harsh coming from the amp. “That’s not the right answer, Carter.”

  Carter laughed, the sound tinny across the radio. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Ok. Fair enough, Sadie Freeman. I can’t give you the right answer. Or… only a little piece. For what it’s worth, it’s the truth, as far as it goes.”

  “That’s not worth much,” said Sadie. “It’s not written in a contract. That’s how you people work, isn’t it?”

  “You see Mason asking you to sign a contract before he blew your boyfriend’s leg off? Before he took you away from a man who was going to cut on your face with a piece of broken mirror?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” said Sadie. “Maybe not for a long time.”

  It was Carter’s turn to pause for a moment. “Ok,” she said, after a moment. “That sounds like it might be true.”

  “Since we’re being truthful,” said Sadie, “can you give me a hint about what the hell is going on here?”

  “Not really,” said Carter. “Say.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Haraway there?”

  “Haraway? The nerd?”

  “Yeah,” said Carter. “The rocket scientist. Actually, she’s not a rocket scientist. More like a fusion scientist working in advanced physics.”

  “All that tells me,” said Sadie, “is that she can’t play.”

  “About right,” said Carter. “Can you still play, Sadie? Can you play without them?”

  “Without a band?” said Sadie. “Sure.”

  “No,” said Carter. “Without a crowd. The people.”

  Sadie looked down at the guitar again. “I’m wondering something,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Aren’t you worried about people listening in? We’re on a radio.”

  “Two things,” said Carter.

  “Two?”

  “First,” said Carter, “you have to imagine that anyone in any syndicate gives a shit about our conversation about your poor relationship mistakes.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Sadie. “A long time ago, it seemed like a good idea.”

  “Second,” said Carter, “do you know a lot about radios?”

  “No,” said Sadie. “But I know you can, what’s it called, triangulate.”

  “That’s right,” said Carter. “You know what you need to triangulate?”

  “Besides giving a shit about my relationship mistakes?”

  “Besides that,” said Carter. “You need to know there’s something to look for. You need to know where to start looking.”

  Sadie put her feet back up on the table, settling the guitar against her body. “I get this town’s not on the map,” she said. “I never heard of a town filled with monsters a couple hours’ drive away from where I buy my milk.”

  “No,” said Carter. “If that’s all it was, I wouldn’t be worth my salary.”

  “They pay you well?”

  “More than the tips and beer money you got from your last gig,” said Carter. “I’m not trying to be a bitch here, it’s just the way it is.”

  “Carter?”

  “Yeah, Sadie?”

  “You’re coming across as a bitch. Just a little bit.”

  Sadie watched the radio again, the moment stretching out again. “Ok,” said Carter. “That was useful feedback.”

  “Useful—”

  “The thing is,” said Carter, “in order to stop people knowing there’s a radio signal out there, you need to kind of inject yourself into a lot of systems. Comms operators. Radio stations. Program directors. The ITU. Did you know,” she said, “that there’s an international special committee on radio interference?”

  “Hadn’t given it much thought,” said Sadie.

  “Exactly,” said Carter. “No one does, until they try and work out all the ways someone can tune into a signal.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve… What. You’ve erased the signal?”

  “No,” said Carter. “That’s actually impossible. Law of conservation of energy. I’ve just made it look like there’s nothing to see there.”

  “Ok,” said Sadie. “How did Mason know what frequency to use?”

  “Mason’s what you might call a forward planner,” said Carter. “After the last time.”

  “Last time?”

  “Not really my thing to talk about,” said Carter. “I’m not his first partner.”

  “The last one not work out?”

  “He shot his last partner seven times and tore his body apart with an industrial lifter,” said Carter. “The point is, after the last one, well, there were complications.”

  “Complications?” said Sadie, leaning forward a little. The chair was old, the springs pushing through the tired fabric. She smelled a hint of mould as the fabric shifted under her. “What kind of complications?”

  “The Federate ordered a hit squad on him,” sai
d Carter. “He was cut off, no link. Couldn’t really communicate with anyone on the inside.”

  “So,” said Sadie, “he’s worked out this low tech way of talking.”

  “No,” said Carter. “I worked out this low tech way of talking. He just told me the problem he wanted a solve for.”

  “Wait,” said Sadie. She plucked a string, a note almost pure and clean coming from the amp. She touched the tuning key again, twisting it a fraction. “If the problem last time was his partner, why’s he trusting his partner this time?”

  “Now,” said Carter, “you’re starting to ask the right questions.”

  ⚔ ⚛ ⚔

  “You haven’t answered my questions,” said Carter.

  “I thought I had,” said Sadie. “What questions?”

  “You didn’t tell me what the noise was when we started talking,” said Carter. “You didn’t tell me if you can still play.”

  Sadie looked over at the amp, the red lamp dull with age. “The noise was—”

  “I’m pretty sure,” said Carter, “that you’ve found the Stratocaster.”

  “How did you—”

  “You’re still asking the wrong questions,” said Carter. “But the short version is that I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the plans for that town. Photos of the streets. You find very old systems that don’t exist anymore. Photos of everything, sometimes taken from cars as they drove down the street.”

  “The plans?” said Sadie. “How do you look at plans for something that doesn’t exist?”

  “Carefully,” said Carter.

  “It’s the Stratocaster,” said Sadie. “The answer to the second question is that I’m not sure.”

  “That’s… surprisingly honest,” said Carter. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “I used to play because I wanted to play,” said Sadie. “You know? I said it was for me. But somewhere along the line—”

  “Somewhere along the line, it became about them,” said Carter. “I get that.”

  “How?” said Sadie. “You’re a soulless company robot. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Carter. “I get it because I used to play.”

  “You?” Sadie leaned forward. “You used to play? What? Mozart or some shit?”

  “There’s an old story,” said Carter, “about motorcycles. You know, the continuous war between people riding the new tech, and the old. Harley Davidson people would tell you that Suzuki exists as a company to keep assholes off Harleys.”

  “Right,” said Sadie. “I had a boyfriend who said that. Long time ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” said Sadie. “He wasn’t very good.”

  “Right,” said Carter. “Thing is, the real point is they’re both on bikes, not in cars. They’re fighting about the wrong things.”

  “I get you,” said Sadie. “Mozart’s not that bad?”

  “Mozart’s still a guy who’s a long time dead,” said Carter. “Point is, it’s not what you play, but that you play.”

  “What do you play?” said Sadie.

  “I play bass,” said Carter. “I mean, I play a lot of things, but I love the bass. It’s pure, you can get lost in the rhythm.”

  “I get you,” said Sadie again. “What do you play bass for?”

  “I play bass to get into the rhythm,” said Carter. “I prefer the bass because it’s honest.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” said Sadie. “Now who’s not answering the question?”

  “It’s kind of what you asked,” said Carter. A low tone came from the radio, drawn out long. “Hear that?”

  “You… You’ve got a bass at your office?” Sadie blinked at the radio. “I always pictured you company types as living in cube farms, nothing but an old coffee cup and bad air conditioning for company.”

  “We’re a bit more hip than you might give us credit for,” said Carter. “Besides. They give me my own office.”

  Sadie frowned, then leaned back in her chair. She plunked a string on the Stratocaster again, the noise almost right this time. She touched one of the tuning keys, her fingers lingering for a moment before falling away. “Are you — are you trying to be cool?”

  “Cool?”

  “Yeah. You said ‘hip.’ I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”

  “I watch old movies,” said Carter.

  “You like old movies?” Sadie smiled. “You’re not the soulless company robot you come across as. Not all the way.”

  “I like people,” said Carter. “I watch all kinds of movies. I don’t like the ones that don’t have audio.”

  “Audio?” Sadie frowned. “There you are, back to being a robot.”

  “Sorry,” said Carter. “Silent films. You know what I’m talking about?”

  “I know what you’re talking about,” said Sadie. “You going to answer my question?”

  “I prefer playing drum and bass,” said Carter, “because it turns honesty to eleven.”

  “You’re a dick,” said Sadie. She laughed. “Man. I wanted to punch you in the face earlier. Now I think I want to play.”

  “Thanks,” said Carter. “What do you want to play?”

  “Something honest,” said Sadie. “What do you know?”

  “Everything,” said Carter. “You choose.”

  “Challenge accepted,” said Sadie, her fingers touching the strings again. “It’s just—”

  “You don’t know if you can,” said Carter.

  “It’s not that—”

  “Because there’s no crowd.”

  Sadie sat still and quiet for a moment, her fingers still on the strings. “How—”

  “You told me,” said Carter. “Just a moment ago.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Does it matter?” The radio hissed static for a moment. “I’m here. You’re there. We got this shitty radio and nothing else for company.”

  “What did Mason say?” Sadie looked down at the guitar, saw her feet stretched out on the old floor in front of her. “When he asked you for help.”

  “It’s not important,” said Carter.

  “Am I going to die?” Sadie swallowed. “Am… Is this the last time I’m going to play?”

  The radio was quiet for a few moments. When Carter spoke again, her voice was soft, almost gentle. “No. No, you’re not going to die.”

  “How do you know? How can you be sure?”

  “I made him promise,” said Carter.

  Sadie hadn’t known she was going to stand before she found herself upright, the Stratocaster held in one hand, her steps taking her closer to the radio. “You what?”

  “I made him promise,” said Carter. “The mission parameters don’t allow me much leeway, but I can ask him for something. A favor, a little extra… Some honesty, between friends.”

  “What did you ask him for?”

  “I asked him to bring you back alive,” said Carter. “I made him promise to keep you safe.”

  “Me?” Sadie looked around the room, blinking in the half light. “Why?”

  “Because,” said Carter, “you’re going to keep him… You’re going to keep him on the right path, once this is done.”

  “Hey,” said Sadie, “I don’t know what crack cocaine they put in the water coolers up at Asshole HQ, but once we’re back in the world I’m done with you guys. No offense.”

  “No,” said Carter. “No you’re not. Not unless you don’t want the bar.”

  “The bar?” Sadie blinked. “What bar?”

  “Whichever one you want,” said Carter. “Pick a place.”

  “Like The Hole?”

  “Like The Hole,” said Carter, “except maybe one with more class.”

  “It’s not about the class,” said Sadie. “They’re my people.”

  “Sure, okay, whatever,” said Carter. “The Hole. You want it?”

  “I—”

  “The deed. The rights.”

  “Bernie will never sell it.” Sadie frowned. “Doesn’t he ha
ve to agree to sell it?”

  “Your company overlords say no,” said Carter. “Running a bar is risky business.”

  “I—”

  “He’s a rapist and a murderer,” said Carter, “if that helps.”

  “It doesn’t really,” said Sadie. “You’re saying you’d kill Bernie to give me a bar to help you out, and justifying it because Bernie’s an asshole.”

  “He’s more than an asshole.”

  “Still.”

  The radio was silent for a moment. “This is why I made him promise,” said Carter. “You’re the right choice.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a deal, Sadie Freeman,” said Carter. “Your word that you’ll help Mason see straight. The days ahead are going to cloud what’s right and wrong. He needs a true north.”

  “I—”

  “In exchange, I guarantee you the title of the bar called The Hole. Bernie Eckers will not be harmed in the transaction, except perhaps in the manner of future lost earnings.” Carter paused. “Your word, Freeman.”

  Sadie sat back down in the chair. “I—”

  “It’s a good offer,” said Carter. “I’m being honest here.”

  “You might think that,” said Sadie, “but I don’t… I haven’t heard you play.”

  “Then let’s play,” said Carter.

  ⚔ ⚛ ⚔

  Sadie sat still in the chair, the memory of the music still lingering on the old walls around her. “That was…”

  “You can still play,” said Carter. “For what it’s worth, you can still play. No crowd, Freeman, and you made that Stratocaster sing.”

  Sadie’s hand came up to her face, coming away wet. She laughed. “You’re right,” she said. “I can still play.”

  “Don’t forget it,” said Carter. “One thing I know? Humans suck at remembering what they’re good at.”

  “You want me to be good at something else,” said Sadie, the smile dropping from her face. “You want me to be—”

  “Not something else,” said Carter. “Something more.”

  “Something more,” said Sadie.

  “Right,” said Carter. “I want you to be more than the music. I want you to be yourself. But do it with more enthusiasm. Do we have a deal?”

  Sadie walked over to the wall, leaning the Stratocaster against it before flicking off the amp. She walked back to the radio, putting a hand on the top, her fingers lingering against the old plastic. “Thank you, Carter.”