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“Could be a double blind.”

“I’ve read their email.”

“That’s more like it.”
 
Mason pulled out another cigarette.
 
“That must be tedious to read.”

“You always smoke more when you’re stressed.”
 
She paused.
 
“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.
 
It’s tedious.
 
Mostly stuff about R&D, or some kid’s birthday party, or a barbecue at the weekend.”

“You understand the R&D stuff?”

“Mostly,” said Carter.
 
“It’s not my area.”

“Which one?”

“All of it.
 
It’s not like I spend my weekends reading up on nuclear energy.”

“What do you spend your weekends doing?”
 
Mason rolled his shoulders.
 
“Almost time for round two.”

“I’m not going out bowling, Mason, so stop asking.”

“Jesus Carter, who said anything about bowling?”
 
He grinned to himself.
 
“It’s like you’re obsessed.”

“I—”
 
She sighed.
 
“What’s the plan?”

“I’m going in there with a bunch of coffees.
 
I’m going to talk to them about how this has all been a terrible mistake.”

“You’re going to do what?”

“And then you’re going to watch them.
 
After they leave.”

“I’m sorry?”
 
Carter paused again.
 
“I thought you said I was going to watch them.
 
All three of them.”

“That’s right.”
 
Mason’s grin grew broader.
 
“Unless you had something else to do this weekend.”

The link went dead.
 
That’s coming along nicely
.
 
Mason started to whistle as he headed off for the cafeteria.
 
He’d never been in the one on this floor.
 
The fat black man looked like a moccachino kind of guy.
 
The gaunt man probably had it black.
 
And the woman?

Chai tea.
 
Maybe with soy.

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

Haraway’s office wasn’t what he’d expected.
 
Mason had pictured a lab of some kind, white walls, half-finished experiments on the tables, maybe some components scattered about, wires hanging loose.
 
What he got after cutting the yellow tape criss-crossing the door was… different.

The walls were dark, inlaid with some kind of wood veneer.
 
Rainforest plants were set in planters around the room, big green leaves reaching for a sky they’d never see.
 
When he walked in the room warmed for him, light spilling from the ceiling like the sun.
 
Underfoot was a carpet, plush with long twists of fibre; they reminded him of noodles.

Or grass.
 
That was probably what Haraway was going for.
 
The whole rainforest thing.

The middle of the room featured a small table — some sort of black stone — and a lounge chair.
 
Inset into the wall Mason picked out a dispenser, standard fare for Apsel executives.
 
He walked towards it, punching in an order for Scotch.
 
The machine spat out a chunky tumbler, a single hunk of ice landing a second later with a clatter.
 
The glass filled to an exact two fingers with an amber liquid.

He took a sip, looking at the desk.
 
It was glass, and sat in the back corner of the room.
 
The ceiling was dark over it, but his optics picked out the terminal on it, a small desk lamp, and the back of a photo frame.
 
Sentimental, Haraway?
 
Mason walked away from the dispenser, doing a slow circuit of her office.

“What kind of woman are you, Haraway?”
 
Mason swirled the drink around the ice in the glass.
 
It was good Scotch.

“What?”

“Not you, Carter.
 
I’m talking to myself.”

“Do you need me to make a booking with Psych?”

Mason continued to walk around the room, his feet silent on the carpet.
 
“I don’t get it.”

“Delusions and confusion are common first markers for mental instability.”
 
Carter paused.
 
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Psych?”

“What?
 
No.”
 
Mason stopped in front of the small black table in the middle of the room.
 
He leaned down to get a closer look.
 
He ran a hand along the top.
 
“This table.”

“The table?
 
What about it?”

“It’s not smooth.
 
The surface.
 
It’s kind of…”
 
His optics clicked in to zoom.

“It’s obsidian, Mason.
 
Didn’t you go to school?”

“I went to school.
 
I was more into sports and watching cheerleaders.
 
How can you tell it’s obsidian?”

“Conchoidal fracture.”

“Are you speaking English right now?
 
I can’t tell.”

Carter sighed down the link at him.
 
“You’re going to be the one that breaks me, Mason.”

“You weren’t a cheerleader, were you?”

“I—”
 
Carter cleared her throat.
 
“We’re not going bowling.”

“Who said anything about bowling?
 
Look, just drop the bowling thing.”
 
Mason tapped the surface of the table again.
 
“This thing is junk.
 
The surface is uneven.
 
You couldn’t even put a coffee on here without spilling it.”
 
He put his scotch on it, the glass tipping slightly, the liquid off-level.
 
“See?”

“Do you know what an atom is?”

It was Mason’s turn to sigh.
 
“Of course.”

“I’m just checking.
 
It’s really hard to know the edges of your education.”

“Spit it out, Carter.”

“Fine, fine.
 
When molten rock—”

“Molten rock?”
 
Mason picked up his glass and took another sip.
 
“I thought you were talking about atoms.”

“When molten rock cools fast enough, the
atoms
inside it can’t get themselves into a crystalline structure.”
 
Carter sighed again.
 
“When that happens, and you break the rock, you get a conchoidal fracture.”

“You can see the atoms of this thing through my optics?”

“I can see that it is black, looks like glass, and has conchoidal fracture lines.
 
It’s obsidian.
 
She imported a giant hunk of volcanic glass for a coffee table.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Maybe we can get her to Psych and find out.
 
The point is, it’s not a broken table.
 
She got a table with rough edges on purpose.”

Mason nodded.
 
He sat in the recliner next to the table.
 
His view, tipped back in the chair, was of the ceiling and the tips of the rainforest plants stretching fingers to the roof.
 
“It’s kind of peaceful.”

“There’s a sound system.
 
Do you want me to turn it on?”

“That depends.
 
What’s she listen to?”

“One sec.
 
Ok, here it is.
 
It’s rain.”

“Rain?”

“Yeah.”

“She could go outside and listen to rain.
 
It rains all the time in this city.”
 
Mason sat up.
 
“Are you sure she hasn’t been seen by Psych already?”

The sound crept in around the edges of the room.
 
It was gentle, the soft touch of rain on leaves.
 
A bird chirped somewhere in the distance.
 
“How’s that?” said Carter.

Mason looked around, then stood up.
 
“It’s not my thing.”

“Want me to kill the audio?”

Swirling his drink some more, Mason walked towards the desk.
 
Last stop, Haraway.
 
What were you working on?
 
“No.
 
Leave it.”
 
Damn, but it
is
peaceful
.
 
He stepped around the desk, tugging the lamp’s chain to turn it on.
 
A small pool of light spilled out over the glass surface.
 
There was a notebook — old style, real paper sitting next to a pen.
 
He flipped it open, looking at pages of equations, hand drawings, notes.
 
Mason left his hand on the notebook, lifting his eyes to the photo.

A younger woman looked out at him from the photo, her eyes sparkling.
 
She was laughing at something Mason couldn’t see, just off frame.
 
If he squinted just right, he could see Haraway in that photo, younger and a lifetime away.
 
Except this girl had green hair and too much black eyeliner.

“It’s her sister.”
 
Carter cut across his thoughts.
 
“She left the syndicate a few years ago.”

Mason picked up the photo frame, flipping the latch at the back.
 
The photo slipped out into his hand.
 
The writing on the back was full of loops and curls.
 
A younger woman’s hand, someone just finished with being a girl.

“
Jenni —
 
I’m free!
 
See you soon.
”
 
It was signed
Marlene
.

Mason tapped the photo against the desk.
 
“What do you mean, ‘Left?’
 
No one leaves the syndicate.”

“She did.”

“Carter?”

“Yes, Mason.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Sorry, Mason.”
 
Carter cleared her throat.
 
“One day she was here.
 
Enrolled in some clever kids program.
 
Next day, she was gone.”

“Missing?”

“As near as.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.
 
The file is brief.
 
She just… Left,” said Carter.
 
“Like I said.”

Mason sighed.
 
“Christ.
 
She didn’t
leave
, Carter.”

“She didn’t?”

“No.”
 
Mason turned on the terminal.
 
“She ran away.
 
Marlene Haraway, promising young thing, ran away from Apsel.
 
Now why do you suppose she did that?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because she sent this photo.”
 
Mason looked at the login prompt on the screen.
 
“I hope you’re better with computers than you are with people.”

“Much better,” said Carter.
 
“Just pretend you’re Jennifer Haraway.
 
The computer thinks you are.”

“Do I have to wear a dress?”

“I think all you have to do is be a little less of an asshole.”

Mason winced as the screen in front of him flickered twice, and then the computer chimed.
 
“Welcome back, Jenni,” said the terminal, a soft male voice coming from somewhere inside it.

“Who the hell uses a display these days?” said Mason.

“I don’t understand, Jenni,” said the machine.

“Pull up the last item worked on.”

“I’m sorry, Jenni.
 
As per your request, your files were deleted after the download.”

“The download?” said Mason, leaning forward.
 
“What download?

“You initiated a work plan download.”

“What was on it?”

“You deleted those files.”

Mason punched at the terminal’s off button.
 
“Well that was helpful.”

“They wouldn’t need you if it was easy.
 
Security’s already been in here.”

“I know.
 
I cut the tape on the way in.”
 
Mason swiveled in Haraway’s office chair.
 
His eyes flicked back to the book.
 
“Can you give me a scan?”

“Sure.”

Mason picked up the book, opening it.
 
His thumb touched the edges of the pages, and he flicked the pages through in a smooth motion of ruffled paper.
 
“Get it?”

“Got it,” said Carter.
 
“Ok, done.
 
Digital copy of her notes is in your files.”
 
As Carter spoke, an icon danced into life in his optics, then slid off the side and into the archive.

“Thanks, Carter.”
 
Mason turned the book over in his hands, then pulled open a few pages at random.
 
The tech notes might as well have been hieroglyphs.
 
He flipped to the end.
 
A single word was scribbled on the last page.
 
Eckers
.
 
He tucked Marlene’s photo into the notebook.
 
“I think I’ll hold onto this.”

“What for?”

Mason shrugged at the empty room.
 
“I don’t know, yet.”

“At least you’re not smoking.”

Smiling, Mason walked to the door.
 
“I need you to find some stuff for me, Carter.”

“Sure.”

“I want you to find for me anyone who was involved with Marlene.”

“Sorry, I thought you said, ‘Marlene,’” said Carter.

“That’s right.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know that either.”
 
Mason stepped out through the door, then uplinked the command to seal Haraway’s office again.
 
He watched the ceiling lights die, the room dipping into darkness, as the door slid shut in front of him.
 
“It’s a hunch.”