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She looked at the hand on her arm, then at her cigarette.
 
Then she looked back at Mason.
 
“It was good to meet you, Mason.”

“Yeah.”
 
He nodded at her.
 
“I didn’t catch your name.”

“No.
 
You didn’t.”
 
She grinned over her shoulder at him as the other man led her away towards the back door.

“Hey.”
 
Mason wanted his feet to follow her.
 
“How do I get a hold of you?
 
About your boss.
 
If I need to talk to you again.
 
You got a number?”

The man at her side threw Mason a look, all savage edges, but she smiled at him.
 
“I got a number.”

“What is it?”

“If you can guess it, it’s meant to be.
 
I hope…
 
I hope I see you around.”
 
And with a flick of black hair she slipped through the door at the back.

That kind of hope goes both ways
.
 
“Well, Carter.
 
He’s not home.”

“I could have told you that.”

“You lack a sense of adventure.
 
That’s your problem.”

“It might be.
 
Your problem is going to be severe hallucinations in a few hours.
 
Why don’t you come in for another round in the chair?”

Mason teeth glinted against the gloom.
 
“You’re such a romantic, Carter.
 
I’ll be in soon.”
 
He thought about the man who’d pulled the woman away through the back door.
 
“I need a shower.”

“You need more than a shower.
 
She’s not for you, Mason.“

Mason ignored her.
 
“And then I’ll come back.
 
Mr. Eckers and I need to have a conversation.”

“Mr. Eckers.
 
Hm.
 
I wonder.”
 
But Carter was quiet after that.
 
Mason walked back towards the double doors to the street.

“Carter?”

“Yes, Mason.”

“I need a meeting.”

“Oh, Christ.
 
No.”

“Really, Carter.”
 
Mason swung a leg over the bike, the HUD sparkling into life.
 
A soft whine escaped from under the seat.
 
“I think I need to talk to Metatech and Reed.”

“You want to get your ass kicked again?”

Mason’s helmet lapped into place around his face.
 
“I was outnumbered.
 
I did
not
get my ass kicked.”

“You got beaten worse than a red-headed stepchild.”
 
Carter laughed.
 
“No, it’s fine.
 
I’ll set it up.
 
I can never get enough of a good ass-kicking.”

“Thanks,” said Mason.
 
His mouth pulled into a small smile.
 
“I might bring a bigger gun this time.”

“Bring what you like.
 
But I’d call Harry if I were you.”

“Harry?”
 
Mason frowned, his foot knocking the kickstand back.
 
He gave the throttle a twist, the fusion drive purring and growling under him.
 
“That’s a bit much for a meeting, don’t you think?”

“It’s your life, Mason.
 
I’m just making suggestions.”

“Well, suggest a meeting.
 
Metatech.
 
Reed.
 
Somewhere neutral.”

“Of course.
 
I’ll prep Sasha.”

“Thanks, Carter.”
 
Mason was still thinking about black lipstick as the big Suzuki roared off down the street, front wheel skipping up to reach for the sky.

Zacharies sat close to Laia, sharing their body heat.
 
He looked out at their master, sitting warm by the fire that Laia had coaxed into life.
 
She’d been exhausted afterwards.

Of course, their master hadn’t shared his fire, or his food.
 
The night was hungry and cold around them.
 
They sat at the edge of the slump in the ground.
 
Zacharies had a piece of melted glass in his hand, the edges sharp and bright.
 
His eyes flicked to their master, then back to the glass.

“It’ll never work,” said Laia.

“What?
 
Hush now.
 
Sleep.”
 
Zacharies smoothed her hair, his sister’s head against his shoulder.

“We both need sleep,” she said.
 
“You carried more than I did today.”

He reached up to scratch under his collar.
 
The metal left a rash, chafing and scratching at his skin.
 
He was almost used to the mark of being a slave.
 
Almost
.
 
“I carried trash today.”

She started up, looking into his face.
 
“Not so loud!
 
He’ll hear you.”

“So?”

Her finger pressed against his lips.
 
“So.
 
You know as well as I.”

Zacharies tensed his shoulders, then slumped.
 
“I know.
 
I wish…”

“I wish it too.”
 
Laia leaned back against him.
 
She was shaking.
 
“It’s so cold.”

He hugged her closer.
 
“The angel will come.”

“I don’t believe in angels,” she said.
 
Her head turned towards their master.
 
“Not anymore.”

“You must believe.”
 
Zacharies rubbed her shoulders, trying to make her warmer.
 
“It’s—”

“It’s all we have,” she said.
 
She’d been finishing his sentences for as long as he’d been finishing hers.
 
“It’s not enough, to dream of hope.”

“It’s not a dream.”
 
Zacharies held up the melted glass.
 
“Where do angels come from, Laia?”

Laia pointed towards the stars, impassive and mighty above them.
 
“From Heaven.
 
From the stars.
 
From our dreams.
 
It’s the same.”

Zacharies nodded, his chin against the top of her head.
 
“It’s the same.”

“Our dreams are worthless.”
 
There was something sick and tired in her voice.
 
“They are the dreams of the lost, the fallen.”

“Oh, sister,” said Zacharies.
 
“We aren’t fallen.
 
See, look here.”
 
He held the glass out to her, and she took it from him.

“What am I looking at?”

“See the ground?”

“I see it.”
 
Her voice was quiet, small.

“See the stars?”

Her head tipped up.
 
“I see them.”

Zacharies was silent for a moment, then he said, “Remember two cycles past, when a rock fell from the sky?”

“Yes,” she said.
 
Another shiver ran through her.
 
“It was mighty.
 
When it fell, it burned the earth.”

“That’s right,” said Zacharies.
 
“It came from the stars.
 
But it wasn’t a person.
 
It fell.”

“What do you mean?”
 
She was still holding the glass, turning it over in her hands.

“An angel.
 
An angel wouldn’t
fall
,” said Zacharies.
 
“An angel would land.
 
An angel would bring the weight of the heavens—”

“—And step against the ground,” she said.
 
Laia leaned away, turning to look at him.
 
“You think an angel landed here?”

“Yes, sister,” said Zacharies.
 
His eyes flicked over to their master again, and his voice turned mocking.
 
“I think the angel has come.
 
Like the rock, he is mighty, and the heat of his anger burned the sand to glass.”

Laia ignored the sting of his tone and listened to his words.
 
She leaned back against him.
 
“I hope so, brother,” she said.

He stroked her hair again, saying nothing at all.
 
But his eyes burned, watching their master next to his fire, as they shivered in the cold of the desert night.

Mason pushed through the crowd streaming up and down the sidewalk.
 
His bike whispered behind him then, with a whine of servos, retracted the cowl and sank into park mode.
 
Neon signs flashed around him, above him —
he felt surrounded by their dirty color.
 
The
hanzi
may as well have been in Sanskrit for all he could make it out.
 
Steam rose from manhole covers in the street.
 
He passed a man with a trolley piled high with electronics, a faded Walmart logo in chipped plastic on the front.

A woman gyrated her hips at him, plastic raincoat open at the front.
 
She was naked underneath.
 
“
N
ǐ
h
ě
n y
ī
ngjùn
.
 
You want good time?”

Mason didn’t look twice, his feet taking him away into the anonymity of the crowd.

There were a lot of people out.
 
There were always a lot of people out in Chinatown, but since the rain — well, since the rain most people stayed inside.
 
He looked up, seeing the plastic sheeting stretched across the sidewalk above him.
 
It was already mottled and rotting, the downpour beating against it.
 
This place always reminds me of Hong Kong
.
 
The plastic would do for now.

Someone grabbed at his arm, and he ignored it, catching another man’s hand reaching for his wallet.
 
Mason gave a twist of the man’s wrist, pulling out the Tenko-Senshin with his free hand.
 
The muzzle pressed against the thief’s head, the weapon keening.
 
“If your buddy touches his pistol, you’re a dead man.”

The pedestrian traffic flowed around the three of them, oblivious to what might be.
 
Sometimes you got shot in Chinatown.
 
Sometimes you bought chicken feet.

The man at Mason’s back spoke.
 
“Let him go.
 
Or I’ll—”

Mason spun, the lattice twisting inside him, pulling the thief up to his toes and to his front.
 
The man hissed with pain as Mason’s grip tightened on his wrist.
 
He could see the other man clearly now, acne spotting a face too young to carry anything more than a light fuzz.
 
He wore a jacket patched and marked, chains lacing it, all under a head topped with
Harajuku
punk hair.
 
“Or you’ll what?”
 
The Tenko-Senshin’s whine was high pitched, and a red light started to flick on the barrel.

The man Mason held let out a groan, but the kid with the acne watched the light, then his eyes flicked sideways.
 
“We don’t want any trouble.”
 
He raised his hands up.
 
It was what Mason was waiting for.
 
The lattice yanked and he wrenched the man’s wrist he was holding, pushing him into the kid with acne.
 
The barrel of the Tenko-Senshin swung back out to the street, the whine getting louder.

The man who’d been crossing the street stopped, looking at the barrel of the weapon.
 
Mason’s optics scanned him.
 
Same jacket.
 
Same marks
.
 
The goatee on this one’s face was grown in.
 
Not a kid.
 

Mason’s lips pulled back.
 
It wasn’t a grin.
 
“Back off.”

“Hey, I was just—”

“You can do it from over there.”
 
The Tenko-Senshin started to vibrate, the whine above audible now, the lattice chattering along his arms as he held the weapon.
 
“I got no issue peeling the skin from your face with this.”

“Sure, sure.”
 
The eyes above the goatee flicked to the other two.
 
“We were just going anyway.”
 
He gestured at the other two.
 
“Come.”

The acne spotted kid looked at Mason, lips pulled into a sneer.
 
“You’re a dead man.
 
Dead!”
 
He slapped one of the marks on his jacket, chains jingling.
 
“We’re the South Sun tigers, and no one…”
 
He trailed off.

The crowd continued to flow around them, the group mind moving on.
 
“If you’re going to say no one kills one of the South Sun Tigers, friend, well.
 
That’s just the kind of thing that cries out for a demonstration, isn’t it?”
 
But Mason spun the Tenko-Senshin back into his holster.

The kid cradling his wrist nudged the other one.
 
They both looked at the man on the street.
 
“Come on.”

“Yeah.”
 
Acne Kid swallowed, his eyes bright.
 
Goddamn stims, makes people feel invincible.
 
“We’ll be back, company man.”

Mason shrugged, and turned back to the crowd.
 
“I’m running late now, aren’t I?”

“I told you to bring Harry.”
 
Carter sounded bored.