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She waved her ring at him.
 
“Rock you can see from space and all.
 
What of it?”

Mason pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping that in the bin after the jacket.
 
“You shouldn’t tease a man, that’s what.”

She stood up and walked to the chair, patting the seat, her ebony fingers contrasting with the white of the seat.
 
Mason hadn’t been able to work out if the black was genetics or cosmetics.
 
Not that it mattered, but he figured if it was cosmetics he should get the name of her guy, real top-shelf work.
 
She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
 
“C’mon.
 
You know I don’t get many kicks in this job.
 
Do a girl a favor.
 
Hop in the chair.”

Mason sighed, mock serious.
 
His pants and underwear dropped in the bin.
 
“This is harassment, you know.”

“I know.
 
Get in the damn chair.”

Her eyes didn’t leave him as he walked across to it, then settled in.
 
Mason coughed.
 
“Jesus.
 
Isn’t there something in the hippo oath—”
 

“Hippocratic, Mason.
 
Hippocratic.
 
You make it sound like I got my degree on safari.”

“Sure.
 
Isn’t there something in the hippo oath about doing no harm?”

“Yeah.
 
It’s not the top of the list, but it’s in there.
 
Why do you ask?”

“This chair.
 
It’s cold.”
 
Mason shivered.

“You big baby.
 
I’ll prep you a nice, warm cup of harden the hell up for when we’re done.”
 
She looked at him for a moment.
 
“You want me to get you a blanket?
 
Maybe a teddy bear?”

Mason sighed.
 
“We’re good.
 
Doc—”
 

“It’s just plasmapheresis, Mason.”

“Remind me again why the bionics can’t do this?”

“Your nanotech needs something to fight.”
 
Sasha sighed.
 
“We still haven’t isolated what it is in the rain that makes you sick.”

“You okay, doc?”
 
Mason leaned forward.
 
“You pull another all-nighter on this?”

He watched as Sasha clenched her fists.
 
“It’s just that nothing’s working anymore.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, not nothing.
 
But less than everything.
 
I can’t find anything in the plasma that looks like it shouldn’t be there.”
 
Sasha stepped away from the chair, walking back towards her workstation.
 
“I’d say it’s adapting.”

“Adapting?”
 
Mason shifted in the chair.
 
“Why’s this plasma…”

“Plasmapheresis.”

“Why’s it still working?”

“I’m going to suck out your blood and spin it in a drum.
 
Separate out the crap.
 
If I had to guess, I’d say that the hostile vector still needs to obey the laws of physics.”
 
She tapped on her keyboard a few times.
 
The environment shield lowered from the ceiling around the chair, as wide as the grating on the floor.
 
“I guess that’s why they call them laws.
 
Wait a sec, you might feel a pinch.”
 
An articulated arm descended from the ceiling, needles at the end of it.
 
Mason watched it as red light lased out, scanning his arm, and then the needles slipped home.

He winced.
 
“That’s more than a pinch.
 
You enjoy your job too much.”

Sasha glanced over at him, then gave him a wink.
 
“Only with some patients, Mason.
 
Only with some.
 
We draw straws to see who gets to work on you.”

“I should be fla—
 
What?
 
You draw straws?”
 
Mason watched as the machine started to pull his blood out, the red stretching up the arm and into the machinery in the ceiling.
 
A hum started from somewhere.
 
“I’m not a piece of machinery.
 
Flesh and blood, Sasha.
 
Flesh and blood.”

“Mostly.”
 
She gave him another wink.
 
“I’ll be sure to raise your concerns with the ethics committee.”

A returning line of red made its way from the ceiling down the other needle.
 
It started to enter his veins.
 
“Christ that’s cold.”

“It’ll warm up soon.
 
You’re supposed to be a tough guy.”

“Say, doc.”

“Mason?”

“These hallucinations.”

Sasha turned away from her keyboard.
 
“What about them?”

Mason thought back to the arm that had been left burning on the ground in the basement.
 
Hallucination my ass
.
 
“I don’t think—”

“Mason.”
 
Carter’s voice rattled around in his head.
 
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not?”

“Fastest way to get a trip to psych.”

“Sasha’s ok.”

“It’s your brain.”
 
Carter clicked off.

Sasha was still looking at him.
 
“You don’t think..?”

“Never mind.”
 
Mason sighed.
 
“How long’s this going to take, anyway?”

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

She was waiting for him in his apartment when he made his way up.
 
Come to think of it, he didn’t feel so tired —
you can sleep when you’re dead, Floyd
.
 
The taste of something nasty was still in his mouth, a relic of whatever cocktail Doc Coburn had given him before sending him off.
 
He pushed the door closed quietly behind him.
 
“Hey.”

She looked up from where she’d been sitting on the couch, plush black stretching out around her.
 
“Hey yourself.”

“Get you anything?
 
A drink?”

She stood up, the sheer robe she was wearing falling open a little at the front.
 
“I thought the whole idea of this was so you didn’t have to worry about buying me dinner first.”
 
She smiled at him, then raised her hand towards the TV, the art on the walls.
 
The view.
 
“Quite a place you’ve got here.”

“It’s just where I crash.
 
I got another place, out of the city.”
 
Mason walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring a splash of whisky into a glass.
 
“I hope you don’t mind.
 
Had quite the day.
 
I need a drink.”

She looked at the bottle in his hand.
 
“Jesus.
 
Is that a Macallan?”

He gave her a glance over his shoulder.
 
“You know your whisky.
 
Yeah.
 
It’s a 57-year-old.”

Her bare feet brought her a few steps closer.
 
“I…
 
Hell.
 
Can I try some?”

Mason pulled out a second glass.
 
“Sure.”
 
The liquor splashed and gurgled as he poured.
 
“Here.”

She took the glass from him, fingertips brushing his.
 
She breathed in deep as she raised the glass to her face, then took a sip.
 
“God.
 
That’s good.
 
That’s really good.”

Mason nodded at her, then reached into a drawer.
 
He pulled out a pack of Treasurers, offering her one.
 
“Smoke?”

“Christ.
 
You smoke Treasurers too?”
 
She took one from the packet, her nails a shiny red next to the silver filters.
 
He lit it for her and she took a deep pull.
 
“You sure know how to show a lady a good time.”

“You should see me at a restaurant.”
 
Mason stepped over to the stereo rack set into the wall, selecting a low beat.
 
The antique Bang & Olufsen spread it out silky and smooth — nothing made today sounded quite so pure.
 
He put down his cigarette and whisky.
 
“Do you dance?”

“Sure, baby.”
 
She put her own cigarette and whisky down, then moved over to him.
 
She draped an arm over each of his shoulders.
 
Her face was very close.
 
“Whatever you want.”

They rocked slowly together in the centre of the room.
 
Mason touched her slowly.
 
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

She leaned against him.
 
“Shoot.”

“You seem like a nice girl—”
 

She snorted.
 
“Right.”

“—and I’m wondering.”

“Wondering?
 
Like, how a nice girl like me ends up here?”

“Something like that.”
 
Mason touched her back, and she shivered against him.
 
“It’s just—”
 
He leaned in closer, kissing the nape of her neck.

She tipped her head back, making a low noise in her throat.
 
“It’s better than the alternatives.”
 
Her hand reached up to touch the back of his head as he nuzzled her.
 
“Much, much better.”

They danced for a few moments more as the light of dawn broke across the city, a sliver of heaven seen between the blankets of clouds.
 
Time waits for no man
.
 
Mason took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

Bernie fidgeted in his seat, tapping fingers against a knee.
 
That bitch Sadie, she made his ulcer worse, but
damn
she could sing — it was one of her tracks doing laps around inside his head.
 
He liked the hard grunge sound.
 
Thinking about it, he liked her hard body.
 
He’d get himself some of that — he always did.
 
Bernie flipped open the glove box of the old Buick, rummaging around until his hands hit on a memory stick.
 
It was ancient tech, but needs must.
 
Being under the radar was more important than driving his uplinked Lexus with an on-demand music system.

He clicked the stick into the stereo, using a fat thumb to spin the volume up.
 
Sadie’s throaty voice eased out of the speakers, filled the cabin of the car, and he leaned his head back and stared at the once-white roof.
 
The cracked vinyl had a stain in the driver’s side corner.
 
He let his eyes wander along the pattern, thinking of the music, then thinking about what Sadie would look like naked.

He almost had a heart attack when the knock came at the window, jerking upright and knocking the bottle of Southern Comfort over.

“Jesus Christ!”
 
Bernie reached into the footwell, rescuing the bottle, then spun the volume to low.
 
He wound the window down with the ancient mechanical handle.
 
“You’re late.”

“You said 6.30.”
 
Haraway looked at him a bit uncertainly, the white Apsel coat she wore showing a few wet spots where the umbrella she held didn’t quite do the job.
 
Her blonde hair didn’t have a strand out of place, framing a clinic-perfect face.

“Yeah.”

“It’s 6.31.”
 
She looked around, the deserted lot empty except for the rain.

“Like I said.
 
You’re late.”
 
Bernie jerked a thumb to the passenger side.
 
“Get in, doc.”

“I’m not a doctor.”
 
She walked around the back of the car, shoes splashing in the water.
 
She tugged the passenger door open, collapsing in next to him.
 
She puffed the umbrella a few times, shaking the water out.
 
“Nice music.”

“Screw the music.”
 
Bernie eyed her sideways.
 
She was fine, no mistake.
 
All the corporates were — they could afford it.
 
“Why’d we have to meet?”

“I—”
 
Haraway swallowed.
 
“You know the rain?”

He snorted.
 
“I know the rain.
 
It’s been pissing down for weeks.
 
Bar staff don’t turn up for work on time anymore.”

She nodded, eyes distant.
 
“I think—”
 
She swallowed again.
 
“I think we did that.”

Bernie coughed out the swig of Southern Comfort he’d just taken.
 
“What?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No shit.”
 
He offered her the bottle.
 
Get the bitches drunk, that was always a good start.
 
“A little southern hospitality?”

Haraway looked at the bottle, then grabbed it from him and drank almost greedily.
 
If he could get her to go down on —
No, business first, Eckers.
 
You know the rules.
 
You always fuck it up when you forget the rules.
 
“You relocated my sister.”

Bernie took the bottle back from her, letting his fingers brush against her.
 
She pulled back.
 
He grinned in the small space of the car.
 
They always come around in the end.
 
When they realize how much they need you.
 
“Remind me.
 
Who’s your sister?”