Upgrade (4 page)

“He is not my angel.”

“Then whose angel is he?
 
You’re the only one who believes.”

“No,” said Laia.
 
“The Master believes.”

“The Master torments you, sister.”
 
Zacharies ran a hand through hair dirty and thin with neglect.
 
“He torments us all.”

“Yes,” she said.
 
“But he also believes.
 
And he believes the demon lives still.”

“Then where is it?”

“That is why we’re going.”
 
Laia looked at him.
 
“We have no choice, and…”

“And what?”

She leaned closer to him.
 
“And if the angel is there, we will be free.
 
Together.
 
Free.”

Zacharies nodded, then breathed out, as if he was preparing to lift something heavy.
 
“Ok.”

“Ok,” she said, and spared him a crooked, sad smile.
 
She reached a hand out to his, and pulled him out into an Abinal baked warm and golden by an old sun.

“I don’t know why you don’t go to the address.”
 
Carter sounded distant.
 
“Now you’ve got one.”

“You set the mission up, Carter.
 
I’m just following through.”
 
Mason coughed into the rain, wiping his face.
 
“I’m curious.”

“Curiosity isn’t a useful quality for you, Mason.”

Mason smiled, feeling the water on his face.
 
“Why’s that?”

“Cats getting killed.
 
You’ve heard of that?”

“What I want to know,” said Mason, “is why a bartender at a shitty dive knew what you didn’t.”

“How’s that?”
 
Carter sounded more alert, a harder edge to her voice.

“He said that the rain was for sale.”

“He had a head injury.”

“And here I am,” said Mason, “at the place where you said an Apsel energy signature was detected.
 
An unauthorized reactor site.”

“It makes sense,” said Carter.
 
“Someone’s trying to sell our shit.
 
You’re trying to find out who.
 
And I sent you to the place where one of our reactors was used.”

“What doesn’t make sense,” said Mason, turning to look around the ruins around him, “is why a bartender said the rain was for sale.
 
The
rain
, Carter.
 
Not a reactor.”

“I see your point,” she said, “but I still think getting to the buyer is a higher priority.
 
The reactor site can wait now — it’s not going anywhere.”

“Won’t take a minute.”
 
Mason shrugged.
 
“Whatever — I’ve got to get out of the rain.”

“You’re still within safe tolerance.”

“That’s easy for you to say.
 
You’re sitting pretty behind a desk.”
 
Mason worked a hand through his hair, looking at the strands that stuck to his palm.
 
“You see this?
 
Does this look like safe tolerance?”

“It looks like a day in the chair.
 
Relax.”
 
Carter paused for a second.
 
“Maybe two days.
 
Besides, you’re going to die of cancer first, remember?
 
And he’s a
bartender
, Mason.
 
He’s not the FBI.”

“People in my profession don’t get to die of cancer.”
 
Mason looked up at the building, the windows dark and empty.
 
A few stray shards of glass stuck to frames here and there, but the paint was long gone.
 
The low building was an extravagance of an older world, barely touching the sky at five stories high.
 
Mason thought he saw a face at a window, but it shimmered and was gone.
 
“Look, screw the bartender, ok?
 
You work your way, I work mine.
 
He’s one of my people.”

“You don’t have people, Mason.”
 
Carter snorted.
 
“You’ve got an expense account.”

“I think I’m getting symptoms.”

“Like what?”
 
Carter’s voice had turned serious.

“Check the feed.
 
Was there a girl up in that window?”

Carter was quiet for a moment.
 
“No.”

“Right.”
 
Mason coughed again.
 
“Definitely symptoms.”
 
He brought up a tactical overlay in the top corner of his vision, set it to playback the optics’ feed.

“Clever,” said Carter.
 
“Checking the digital against the real?”

“Something like that.”
 
Mason saw another face at a different window, an eyeless corpse with a wet gash for a mouth.
 
The overlay showed a window, dark and empty.
 
“The overlay gives me a headache.”

“You could quit.”

“No one quits, Carter.
 
You know that.”
 
Mason walked away from the Suzuki, the bike powering down with a soft whine as the cowl locked into place.
 
“You got a satellite view?”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re working on it?
 
What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Christ, Mason.
 
This isn’t Fisher-Price in space.
 
I’m getting a lot of interference.
 
There are other interests at work here.”

“Metatech?”

“Do you want the satellite, or do you want to know who’s trying to jack it?”

“I want the satellite.”
 
Mason walked up chipped concrete steps to the double doors at the front of the building.
 
An old wooden board lay against the steps, chipped paint advising
Vacancy - Apply Within
!
 
“Wait.
 
Someone’s jacking one of our sats?
 
Sounds like this might be more of a priority than you thought.”

“You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

“Jesus, Carter.
 
I don’t want that thing pointed the wrong way.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

Mason didn’t reply.
 
Carter probably had detailed stats on it, and — really — it would be bad form to get into that kind of thing with her right now.
 
He laid a hand on the tarnished doorknob, giving it a gentle pull.
 
The wet wood tore, the knob coming out in his hand.
 
He looked at it for a moment, then tossed it aside.
 
Mason stood against the door, pushing it with his shoulder.
 
The door squeaked then groaned low as it opened into the gloom of the foyer.
 
Something moved back in the dark, scuttling for cover.
 
The overlay showed it too, something like a rat but bigger.
 
He reached for the Tenko-Senshin, clicking the weapon’s light on.
 
Clear and bright, the beam played across the room, picking out an old reception desk, the boxes for hotel mail rotting behind it.
 
A rusty bell still sat on the counter next to a heap of mouldering machinery that might have been a till.

“You’re going to die.
 
You’re going to die, and they’ll never find your body!” Carter’s voice was harsh in his ears.

“What the
fuck
, Carter.”
 
Mason swallowed.
 
“What the actual fuck!”

“I didn’t say anything.”
 
Carter’s voice was normal, calm.

“Yeah.
 
Yeah, you did.”

“Curious.
 
It’s progressing faster than I thought.
 
With your augments—”

“You didn’t just say I was going to die?”

“No.”
 
She paused.
 
“I probably should have, though.
 
Tactically speaking, you’re not in a good place right now.
 
It might have been the EMP.”

Mason played the beam around the rest of the room, picking out a curved stairway leading up.
 
An old man with a rotting face —

The stairway was empty.
 
Mason swallowed again.
 
“I tell you what.”

“What?”

“Don’t say anything to me until I talk to you.
 
Nothing…”

“Unsolicited?”

“Sure.”
 
Mason nodded.
 
“‘Unsolicited.’”

“What if I see something?”
 
Carter sounded doubtful.

“Then you’re just going to have to let me handle it.
 
It’s why old man Gairovald pays me the big dollars.”
 
Mason moved towards the stairway, looking up the well.
 
High above him the roof was broken, faint fingers of moonlight touching the walls.
 
Water was coming in from somewhere, the stairs wet with it.
 
“If I get out of this, I’ll take you some place nice.”

Carter’s reply was quiet, uncertain.
 
“Like where?”

“Nowhere like this place, that’s for sure.”
 
Mason coughed again, something warm and wet hitting his hand as he covered his mouth.
 
He wiped his palm against his pants without looking at it.

“Ok.”
 
Carter paused, then her voice hardened.
 
“Try not to get yourself killed.
 
I don’t want to break in a new partner.”
 
The link went dead.

Mason put a foot on the first step, easing his weight onto it.
 
It creaked, the swollen wood giving easily under his foot.
 
Not that way, then
.
 
What kind of asshole did business in a place like this anyway?
 
He looked up again, a flash of lightning picking out a ring of faces looking down at him.
 
The overlay showed an empty stairway.
 
He blinked a few times, wiping his face with his free hand, the Tenko-Senshin’s beam bobbing across their faces, then they were gone.
 
The hair on the back of his neck rose.
 
“Definitely not the stairs.
 
Right.”

Talking to yourself was never a good sign.

He blinked around the foyer again, his eye picking out a door behind the reception desk.
 
It was slightly ajar, a sign saying
Staff Only
in what might once have been gold letters.
 
Mason walked towards it, his feet scraping and crunching against the debris on the floor.
 
He crouched next to the door, the light shining down at the floor.
 
The floor was scuffed here, as if the door had been recently opened.
 
He let his fingers touch the rough edges of the floor for a moment.
 
Mason leaned against the frame, then pushed the door slowly inward.
 
Concrete stairs went down into the dark.
 
He saw eyes blinking up at him, but the overlay was clean and clear.
 
“Anyone down there?”

Silence.
 
He waited, leaning against the frame.
 
The thing like a rat came back out, scampering across the floor and away.
 
Somewhere inside Mason a hysterical giggle started, and he clamped down on the noise.
 
He pointed the Tenko-Senshin’s beam down the stairs, picking out the peeling paper on the walls.
 
A light switch, green with mold, was mounted at the top of the stairs.
 
Mason reached forward and clicked it a couple of times, the sound sharp against the quiet.

He reached into his pocket for a drone, twisting the sphere and tossing it down the steps.
 
It bounced, a scattering of red lasing out as it tumbled down into the dark.
 
Mason let the overlay fill up, picking out the layout of the room below.
 
He sealed the front of his jacket, shrugging his shoulders as the helmet chattered out of his collar and lapped into place around his head.

“There’s no one down there, Mason.”
 
Carter’s voice was all business.

“I thought I told you not to talk to me.”

“Your heart’s getting significantly elevated.
 
I was concerned.”

“You were what?”
 
Mason put a foot on the stair case, starting down.

“Concerned.”

“You got the satellite up?”

“Not yet.”

“I’d be more concerned about that.”

Carter sighed.
 
“I can do more than one thing at once.”

Something with a gash instead of a mouth reached for him from the dark below.
 
He blinked twice, feeling his heart kick in his chest.
 
“It seems worse, here.”

“The satellite is worse here?”

“No.
 
The—”
 
Mason coughed, feeling something like phlegm in his throat.
 
“Stuff.”

“Stuff?
 
What are you, five years old?”

Mason leaned against the wall, his forehead resting against the peeling paper.
 
He breathed in deep and slow, his hands shaking.
 
He felt a little stab of anger at Carters’ words, then he grinned as the anger pushed back the fear.
 
“Thanks, Carter.”

“What for?”

“Keeping it real.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
 
But really.”

“What?”

“‘Stuff?’”

Mason continued down the stairs, the beam of light pushing back the darkness in the basement.
 
Water trickled from a crack the ceiling, the old concrete chipped in spidery lines.
 
He played the beam along the cracks.