Upgrade (32 page)

“Where?”
 
Carter sounded concerned.
 
“You can’t stay in the city.”

“No,” said Mason.
 
“Look, the problem’s going to be my link.”

The attendant nodded at Mason.
 
“That’ll be thirty four fifty.”

Mason peeled off a fifty, putting the rubber band back around the roll of notes.
 
“Keep the change,” he said, grabbing the bag.
 
He shouldered his way out into the forecourt.
 
A squall of rain lashed above him, as if the rain was trying to reach him.
 
He made his way back to the van, opening the side door.

Haraway looked stressed.
 
Bonus Round looked bored.
 
And the kid looked scared.
 
Mason shrugged, hefting his helmet.
 
“Look,” he said, “I’ve got one more thing to take care of.
 
Can you prep the language pack?”

Bonus Round snorted.
 
“You’re going to put that shit in a kid?
 
She’s not even linked.”

“Right,” said Mason.
 
“That’s why she gets a pack.
 
Give her this one first.”
 
He tapped one of the boxes.

“I know how they work,” said Haraway.
 
“It’s not rocket science.”

“Sure,” said Mason.
 
“Says the woman who couldn’t find a tracker on the van.”
 
He slid the door closed.

“She’s right,” said Carter.

“Who?”

“Bonus Round,” said Carter.
 
“The illegal.”

Mason started walking back towards the station entrance.
 
“I thought you said they’re not illegals.”

“I’m trying to use small, familiar terms so you don’t get confused,” said Carter.
 
“The reports on the virus in the packs on the developing mind are… inconclusive.”

“I don’t have a way to get an uplink in her,” said Mason.
 
“Not out here.”
 
He put the helmet on.

“Mason,” said Carter.

“Yes, Carter?”

“What are you doing, Mason?”

Mason shouldered his way through the door of the station, one of the subs snapping out and up.
 
The two men looked up in surprise, one of them holding a small pistol to the head of the attendant.
 
The other paused in the middle of putting cash from the till into a bag.

“Hi,” said Mason over the armor’s PA.
 
“I forgot to buy cigarettes.”

The targeting solution fell down over the overlay, red frames boxing the men.
 
The sub barked twice.
 
Both of the thieves fell back, one spinning into a stand of jerky, the other falling back behind the counter.
 
Mason walked up to the bodies, checking them with a boot, then pulled off his helmet.
 
“Got any Treasurers?”

The attendant was white, skin pasty underneath the poor shave job.
 
“I’m — what?”

“Treasurers,” said Mason.
 
“Cigarettes.”

“No,” said the attendant.
 
“Say.
 
Why’d you come back in?”

“Like I said, I forgot to get cigarettes.
 
What else you got?”

“I—”
 
The attendant swallowed.
 
“How about some Camels?”

“I hate Camels,” said Mason.
 
“They remind me of an asshole I know.”

“Sure, ok,” said the attendant.
 
“I’m…
 
Sorry.
 
I’m having some trouble here.”

“Right,” said Mason.
 
“What about throwing me a couple packs of Marlboros?”

“Ok,” said the attendant, handing them over.
 
“No charge.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Mason, pulling out the roll of cash.
 
“Let’s say…
 
How about a hundred?”

“For what?” said the attendant.
 
“You just saved my life.”

“No,” said Mason.
 
“No I didn’t.
 
I wasn’t here.”

“You..?
 
What?”

“So,” said Mason.
 
“No cars in the car park.
 
I got to thinking, how’d these guys get here?”
 
He peeled the plastic off one of the packs of cigarettes, taking one out.
 
“Got a light?”

The attendant held out a pack of plastic lighters.
 
“Thanks,” said Mason, taking a couple.
 
He nodded at the attendant.
 
“Need a spare.
 
So anyway, I figure these two guys here, they’ve come from somewhere local, looking to score a hit.”

“Why?”
 
The attendant looked at the bodies, then back to Mason.
 
“I need to call someone.”

Mason held up a hand.
 
“In a minute.
 
Thing is, no one shops out here.”

“You do,” said the attendant.

“Yeah,” said Mason, “but maybe I needed a fuel cell.
 
There’s better places to shop if you want to buy milk.
 
No offense.”

“None taken,” said the attendant.
 
“You don’t need a fuel cell.”

“Stay with me,” said Mason.
 
“So the thing is, I wanted to go somewhere there weren’t other people.
 
No… other eyes.”

The attended seemed confused, then his eyes widened.
 
“Like witnesses?”

“Right,” said Mason, taking a pull on the cigarette.
 
He made a face, then blew the smoke out.
 
“Like witnesses.”

“I…
 
I won’t tell anyone,” said the attendant.
 
He licked his lips, eyes bright with fear as they looked at Mason’s sub.

“I know,” said Mason.
 
“Because if you do, I’ll come back.”
 
He smiled at the man, then dropped two fifties on the counter, then turned and headed for the door.

“Wait,” said the attendant.
 
“Just…
 
Hang on.”

Mason turned.
 
“What is it?”

The man swallowed.
 
“Thanks.”

Mason nodded.
 
“Can you take care of the CCTV?”

“Yes,” said the attendant.
 
“I’ll tell them…
 
I’ll tell them it was a gang shooting.
 
The other guy got away.”

Mason shrugged.
 
“Up to you.
 
Just remember what we talked about.”
 
He pushed the door open and headed back outside.

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

The van door swung closed.
 
Mason tossed his helmet to the passenger seat beside him.

“Get what you needed?” said Haraway, from the back.

“Let me the fuck out,” said Bonus Round.
 
“I’m not up for your syndicate bullsh—”

Mason slammed his fist into the dash, hitting it again and again.
 
He was yelling, screaming at it.
 
Plastic cracked and splintered, and the windscreen’s overlay flickered.

He stopped, breathing hard, looking at the dash.
 
“Haraway,” he said.

He heard her move a step forward from behind him.
 
He could hear the rustle of the coat she wore as she paused before saying, “Yes.”

“Haraway, is there anything you’d like to tell me about the nature of this mission?”
 
Mason didn’t turn to look at her, staring instead at the cracked dash.
 
Compromised.
 
He held his fist up in front of his face, then opened his fingers.

“I…
 
What do you mean?”
 
He heard her breathing quicken, his overlay picking out stress markers in her voice.

“Particulars,” he said.
 
“Details.
 
The little things that might get you killed.”

“No.
 
No, I don’t think so.”
 
She hadn’t moved closer, her voice still the same distance behind him.

He turned to look at her.
 
“You’re sure.”
 
His voice was flat.

Haraway swallowed, then shook her head.
 
“I’m not sure.”

Mason watched her for a second, then said, “Good enough.”

“Good enough?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to the front.
 
He keyed the van’s drive online, the system low and quiet.
 
“You didn’t lie to me then.”

“No,” she said.
 
“I didn’t.”

“Good,” said Mason.
 
“You lied to me before.”

“I—”

“Or maybe you weren’t a hundred percent straight.”
 
He shrugged in the armor.
 
“Because everything is fucked.”

“I don’t know—”

He held up a hand, not looking at her.
 
“Carter’s doing what she can.
 
But I need you to think.
 
Think hard about what you’re doing.”
 
He turned back to face her.
 
“Do you know what ‘compromised’ means?”

She looked at her hands, her voice small.
 
“Yes.
 
More than you know.”

“Right,” said Mason.
 
“We’re compromised.
 
So have a think about a plan.
 
I’ll get us off the grid.”

“Where?” she said.

“You’ll see,” he said.
 
He slipped the van into gear, something in the machine grinding.
 
He frowned, then said, “Last time I was compromised, a man died and two people were crippled.”

He flicked something on the dash, and a screen slipped up between the cabin and the driver’s compartment.
 
He caught a glimpse of Bonus Round’s face, her eyes wide as she stared between the two of them.

Yeah, you got it right
, he thought.
 
Syndicate bullshit.

“Comfortable?”
 
Julian lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the face of the man in the chair.
 
The metal bands that held him gleamed.

The man stared at him, eyes wide, but not with fear.
 
No, this freak wasn’t scared.
 
He was
pissed
.
 
Julian nodded to himself, taking another pull on the cigarette.

“Look, I appreciate you can’t understand a word I’m saying,” he said.
 
“We’re going to fix that right up.
 
Square the problem away.
 
About before?
 
We can both forget it.”

The man said something,
NO LINGUISTIC MATCH
flashing on Julian’s overlay.
 
Julian could see the gaps in his teeth, the gums still bloody and raw.
 
He’d pulled out quite a few before believing the man couldn’t understand him.

The tech beside him took a half step forward, adjusting his shirt collar.
 
“Sir?”

“Yes?”
 
Julian looked down on the man.
 
“You good to go or not?”

“It’d be easier if I was here,” said the tech.
 
“I—”

“Trust me,” said Julian.
 
“Really.
 
You don’t want to be here.
 
Remotes are the only way.
 
Until we understand how it works, that is.”
 
Julian slapped the tech on the shoulder.
 
“Besides, you’ll get used to it.
 
It’s better than your real body.”

The tech swallowed.
 
“Good to go.
 
On your word.”

“Consider the word given.”
 
Julian gestured with his cigarette, and the tech moved away to a console.
 
The tech pressed some buttons, and the chair the man was strapped to started to rotate, stretching him out to face the ground.

The clamp over his forehead held his head in place, the inverted chair leaving a space at the back of the man’s skull and neck exposed.
 
Julian took a last pull on the cigarette, then stubbed it out on his palm, flicking the butt away.

A surgical machine extended from the roof, the metal arm articulating out to hover over the man’s neck.
 
The man was trying to say something else,
NO LINGUISTIC MATCH
flashing on the overlay, before he stiffened as the hypo touched the back of his neck.

It was a simple contact anesthetic.
 
Seemed reasonable.

The man started shouting, but the machine didn’t stop.
 
A circular saw extended, the whir high.
 
There was a deep buzz, then the slight smell of burning meat as the saw cut the back of the man’s skull open.

He’s really yelling now
, thought Julian.
 
“Is he in any pain?” he said to the tech.

The tech shrugged as the machine continued to cut.
 
“Shouldn’t be.
 
Anesthetic’s strong, and there’s very few pain nerves in the brain itself.”

“That’s a shame,” said Julian.

“I’m sorry?” said the tech.

“Nothing,” said Julian, watching as the saw retracted.
 
The back of the man’s skull was open, bone glistening wet and red under the lights.
 
The arm spun, extending another mechanism, the chip held out underneath it.
 
Laser light stabbed down, medical green mapping of the man’s exposed brainstem, then the machine reached forward and locked the chip in place — the chip would self-guide the rest of its install into the brain itself.
 
The arm spun again, inserting titanium screws to fix the chip against the bone.