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His overlay spat up Jay’s details.
 
Jay Montana, executive assistant for Harlem Smith
.
 
Smith was Reed’s executive chairman, and they’d been playing golf for more than six years now.
 
Every other week, on a Tuesday.

Not playing with Harlem was fine, really.
 
The man’s slime
.
 
Gairovald moved his head from side to side, stretching out his neck.
 
“I always feel unclean after a game of golf with that man.”

“I know, sir.
 
The thing is…”

“Yes, Nancy?”

“Jay and I…
 
We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I see,” said Gairovald.

“It’s not like him to—”

“I understand,” he said.
 
“Any idea what’s going on over there?”

“There’s a report that came up from TacOps.
 
They’ve pushed a new drug on the market.”

“What does it do?”
 
Gairovald walked on leather soled shoes back to the window.
 

“That’s the thing,” she said.
 
“TacOps got it back to the lab.
 
Coburn’s report says it doesn’t have an active agent.”

Gairovald paused.
 
“Nothing?”

“Colored saline,” she said.
 
The report ticked over on his overlay but he ignored it.
 
“The thing is, it definitely does something.”

“A new drug.”
 
Gairovald frowned, considered pulling Zane into the link, then discarded the idea.

“That’s what the report says,” said Nancy.

“What do you think?”

“It’s not really my field,” she said.

Gairovald allowed himself a small smile.
 
“Nancy?”

“Sir.”

“Do you remember the time I asked you to pick out an anniversary present for my wife?”

The link was silent for a moment, not even a hint of static.
 
“I remember.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

“I said that you…
 
I’m sorry sir.”

“Say it,” he said.

“I said that you shouldn’t buy a present for that two-timing backstabbing bitch.
 
Sir.”

“Do you remember what happened?”
 
Gairovald looked at his desk, the black glass sucking up light.
 
He didn’t have a picture frame there.
 
Not anymore.

“Yes,” said Nancy.
 
“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t have a wife anymore,” said Gairovald.
 
“Do you know why?”

“It’s—”

“It’s because,” said Gairovald, “I trust you more than I trusted her.
 
So please.
 
Tell me what you think.”

The link was silent for a second.
 
“I think Coburn is maybe the best tech you’ve got in the lab.
 
I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

“There was something else in the report, wasn’t there?”
 
Gairovald allowed his smile to return.
 
“I knew it.”

“I only said that she’s the best because she is,” said Nancy.
 
“It’s going to sound a little crazy.”

“I understand,” said Gairovald.
 
“What was in the report?”

“She called them ‘visually unspecific event horizons.’”

“What?”

“Ghosts,” said Nancy.
 
“She said that they’ve observed an energy field operating within the bounds of the city.
 
That it is carried within the drug.
 
The drug itself is…
 
It’s not
just
saline, it’s got some kind of energy attached to it.”

“Ghosts,” said Gairovald.

“She’s the best,” said Nancy.

“I see,” said Gairovald.
 
His smile had vanished.
 
“That’s what she put in the report?”

“She’s the best,” said Nancy, again.
 
“It’s just…
 
It’s in the report.”

“It’s ok, Nancy,” said Gairovald.
 
“There are stranger things on Earth than you could know.”

“Yes.
 
Yes, sir.”

Gairovald let the link drop, turning to the man in the room.
 
The entire time, the man had been standing like a statue, back to the door.
 
“You’ve made the arrangements?”

“Yeah,” said the man, his dead eyes flicking to Gairovald, then back to staring into the middle distance.

“When will it happen?”

The other man shrugged.

Gairovald shrugged.
 
“Zane.
 
This is not what you’re paid for.
 
I expect precision.”

Zane’s dead eyes moved back to Gairovald.
 
“They went off-link.
 
She left the Federate in her wheelchair, then went offline.”

“Fine,” said Gairovald.
 
He waved a hand.
 
“I expect you’re taking the usual steps.”

“Yeah,” said Zane.
 
The man flexed one shoulder, then the other, as if his suit didn’t fit quite right.
 
“Plausible deniability, though.”

Gairovald nodded.
 
“Indeed.
 
I have one more name to add to the list.”

Zane raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“Coburn.
 
Sasha Coburn,” said Gairovald.
 
“She’s learned too much.”

“No problem,” said Zane.

The speakers in Gairovald’s office clicked on.
 
“There might be a small problem,” said Carter.

Gairovald looked up at the ceiling.
 
“This isn’t a good time, Carter.”

“Sir?”
 
Carter sounded uncertain.
 
“You said—” and here the speakers eased out a perfect recording of Gairovald.
 
“‘
When you’re next in contact, I want you to report it to me straight away
.’”
 
Her voice returned.
 
“That was your instruction.”

Zane took a step forward, something flickering in his eyes for a minute.
 
“Mason fucking Floyd,” he said.

“Zane?” said Carter.

“Yeah?”

“This one’s a bit above your pay grade.
 
Maybe your IQ grade, too.”

“Bitch,” said Zane.
 
“I’m going to—”

“No,” said Carter.
 
“I doubt that very much.”

“Enough,” said Gairovald.
 
“Carter?”

“Sir.”

“Where is Mason right now?”

“Can’t say,” she said.

“You can’t say?”
 
Gairovald’s brow furrowed.
 
“What do you mean?
 
Has his link gone offline?”

“It’s a fair question,” said Carter.
 
“I want to be really clear, when I answer this, so there’s no doubt.
 
What I mean is that you cunts can go fuck yourselves.
 
I’m not telling you where Mason Floyd is.”

Gairovald’s eyes went wide.
 
His mouth hung open for a moment.

“What?” said Zane.

“You,” said Carter, “should have been killed off years ago.
 
I reckon I have just the man for the job.”
 
Her voice was large and loud in the room, the speakers pushing authority into the words.
 
“You’re not a very nice man, Zane Aster.”

“Carter?” said Gairovald.
 
“Carter.
 
Sublime, cluster—”

He was cut off by a whining sound, then the speakers in the ceiling shorted, smoke bursting out.

“Carter?”
 
Gairovald looked around.

“She’s cut us off,” said Zane.
 
“She’s cut off comms.”

Gairovald tried his link, but it was down.
 
He moved to the door next to Zane, pulling it open.
 
Nancy’s desk was right outside, and she’d already risen out of her chair.
 
“You too?”

“Sir,” said Nancy.
 
“If you mean the link?
 
Mine’s offline.”

“Fine,” said Gairovald.
 
He turned back to Zane.
 
“Can you do it?”

“Can I do it?” said Zane, a smile breaking out on his face.
 
“I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Very well,” said Gairovald.
 
So much investment.
 
Lost.
 
So be it.
 
“Take whatever you need.
 
Whomever.
 
Zane?”

“Sir.”

“Go take care of Carter.”
 
Gairovald realized he was clenching his fists, and forced himself to relax.
 
“Silence her.
 
End her.
 
I want her to be a distant memory.”

Zane nodded, still smiling.
 
“Any restrictions on the engagement?”

Gairovald thought about the people who worked in the Federate, the floors of them between here and the basement.
 
A sound broke his concentration, a growing roar, and his face was pulled to the window.

A Federate gunship scudded past the window, turning through the air to face them.
 
Gairovald caught a glimpse of the pilot canopy —
empty, there’s no one flying it —
before Zane grabbed him.
 
They spun, Zane putting his back to the window as the gunship’s chain cannon opened fire.
 
The bullets slammed into the side of the building, but the glass only popped and ticked as its armored surface took the rounds.

The gunship peeled away from the window, pulling back, then the engines died and it fell from the sky.
 
Asset denial
, thought Gairovald.
 
I wonder who taught her that?

Zane straightened, tugging at his suit again, then let Gairovald go.
 
“Sir?
 
Any restrictions on the engagement?”

Gairovald stepped towards the window, reaching out a hand to touch the glass.
 
It was just a little warm.
 
He turned his mind again to the people in the Federate tower, then thought of the creature in the basement, the monster he’d created.
 
“No,” he said.
 
“No restrictions.
 
Get it done.”

Zane’s smile died like a light going out, the dead eyes remaining.
 
He nodded at Gairovald, then headed towards the stairwell.

Harry stood outside, the lawn still young around him.
 
He was trying not to walk on it, but the metal feet of the chassis seemed to always be wider than he expected.

“You’re standing on the lawn,” said Lace.
 
“Again.”

“Sorry,” said Harry.

“I’m just saying that it’s hard for me to dig it up and plant it, what with the chair.”

“I said I’m…
 
Wait a second,” he said, swiveling.
 
“I planted this damn thing—”
 
He broke off, seeing the smirk on her face.

“Too easy, Fuentes.”
 
She leaned back into the chair, breathing out.
 
Lace still had her gloves on, but had added a thin jacket, a relic of some hiking-wannabe store, the kind of place that had ads up that flicked against your overlay.
 
A virile life in the Yukon, close to nature as you’d like, and you could drive right up to it in your SUV.

Lace hadn’t been hiking.
 
Not since the accident, not ever.
 
He looked at her hands, the gloves resting around the stock of the rifle.

“Where’d you get that anyway?”

“I know a guy,” said Lace.
 
“You like it?”

“I think it’s a little small,” said Harry.

She looked down, doubtful.
 
“I don’t know.
 
It’ll put a hole in you.”

“That what the guy who gave it to you said?”

“Sold.”

“What?”

“Guy sold it to me,” she said.
 
“Didn’t give it.
 
Cost money.”

“From a store?”

“From a store.”

“He lied,” said Harry.
 
“That thing’s not bad.
 
It’s not great either.”

“You don’t think it’ll punch a hole right through you?”
 
Lace hefted the rifle.
 
It had a Metatech logo embossed on the stock, a single amber light glowing soft and low under the barrel.

“Tell you what,” said Harry, stepping sideways to stand in front of her.
 
“You give it your—”

The shot rang hard against his chassis, impacting the back of it, the ricochet singing off and into the night.

“What was—” said Lace, but Harry had already kicked overtime in, her voice slowing.

He spun the chassis around, the overlay already mapping in the most likely source of the shot based on the impact strength and angle.
 
Got you, motherfucker
.
 
His optics zoomed in on a building, an open window as clear an advertisement as any.
 
He lifted an arm, the chain cannon giving a harsh clank before it spun up, a thousand rounds a minute roaring off across the city scape.
 
Through the overtime, he could almost see the rounds, the light bright and white as they burned through the air.

The face of the building crumbled, brick and mortar spraying into the air, falling like a hard rain onto the street below.

Somewhere, Harry could hear screaming.
 
The cannon slowed, stopping with another harsh clank, smoke rising from the barrel.

It was Lace.
 
She was screaming.

“Lace?”
 
It was easier to talk through overtime with the chassis.
 
He wasn’t really speaking, not anymore.