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“Like I said, there’s nothing to recover.
 
We’d be better of nuking the site from orbit and finding out which circus back at the ranch is screwing with us.
 
If I got sent out here to recover a, let’s call it an unauthorised reactor, right, but we’ve got another team in play?
 
Someone in logistics is getting fired.”

“See, it’s that kind of commentary that keeps you in the field.”
 
Mason could hear the smile in Carter’s voice.
 
“Look, let me just clear it.
 
At least it’ll solve the problem around the paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“The homeless guys.”

“Right.”
 
Mason started to pick his way back through the darkness.
 
“Carter, there’s something I don’t get.”

“What’s that?”

“The hallucinations?”

“Yes.”

“They’re
real
.”

Her voice was wry.
 
“They wouldn’t be hallucinations anymore, would they?”

“That’s not what I mean.”
 
Mason shuddered, thinking about the walking corpses, about a dead man from Nebraska named Smith.
 
“I just blasted a dead man’s corpse to pieces.
 
Or I thought it was a dead man.
 
The only thing left behind was an arm.
 
You saw it.
 
On the feed.”

“Yeah.
 
I saw it.”

“So — here’s the thing.
 
What did Specialist Smith see in me?
 
What made him and his buddies attack a syndicate man?
 
That’s not healthy behaviour, even without the rain.”

“What am I, the Oracle of Delphi?
 
Come back in.
 
We’ll get you in the chair.”

“I think it’s getting worse, Carter.
 
And I think it’s worse
here
.
 
At the centre of — whatever this is.
 
Whatever was in this box.”

“You’ve done your job, Mason.
 
I’ll put this in the report.”

“Good.”
 
He sighed.
 
“We don’t want this getting out.”

“What getting out?”

“Well — that’s the thing.
 
I don’t know.
 
But you can be damn sure some reporter would have a field day if they found Apsel equipment at the centre of…”
 
He trailed off.

“I know.”
 
She laughed suddenly.
 
“It’s lucky.”

“What’s lucky?”

“That I’ve got the satellite back.
 
And…
 
Here we go.
 
I’m cleared for a strike.
 
Get yourself clear.”

Mason pulled himself back up the stairs into the foyer, walking through the crumbling entrance to the old hotel.
 
He gave a last look around before walking back out into the rain.

The Suzuki fired up as he approached, cowl extending from the front.
 
The lights on the dash blinked at the night as the rain fell harder.
 
Mason climbed on, kicking the drive into life.

“You ready?”

“Do it.”
 
Mason twisted the throttle on the bike bike, pulling away from the hotel.
 
He could feel a pressure building in the air, and then —

Light, bright as a sun, stabbed down through the atmosphere.
 
Clouds peeled apart, boiling and twisting as ionised atmosphere burned in a pillar of fire.
 
The beam played across the hotel, fire raging up from the ruins as lightning flickered across the sky.
 
Bits of concrete were flung into the night sky, leaving burning trails across the night.
 
The orbital laser continued firing as Mason pulled further away.
 
He watched in one of the mirrors as a dust cloud spread out from the sight of the strike, rain already pushing it back to earth.

It probably wouldn’t even be on the news tomorrow.

Mason twisted the throttle a bit more, ignoring the flicker of red lights on the dash as the machine compensated for the buffeting of the blast.
 
The front of the bike skipped and pulled up from the ground as he put on more speed.
 
“Carter?”

“Yes, Mason.”

He coughed.
 
“I need to get in the chair.”

“Yeah.
 
Don’t worry about the report.
 
I said I’d take care of it.
 
Good night, Mason.”

“Good night, Carter.”

The Apsel building stretched up to touch the sky, the silvered glass exterior reflecting the clouds that blanketed the city.
 
The ground, clear and even for a kilometer in every direction, was smooth concrete and neatly trimmed lawns brought into relief by lights scattered across the premises.
 
Mason looked up at the tower as he approached.
 
Flight traffic was steady in and out of the tower, air cars taking early execs in — and out.

He opened a channel when he was five clicks out, still in the streets of the city.
 
It would be bad to get a case of mistaken identity.
 
“Mason Floyd.
 
Specialist Services field operative.
 
Requesting clearance for entry.”

“Copy your ident, Mr. Floyd.
 
We’ve already got you on approach.”
 
The man on the other end of the link sounded bored.

“Just a courtesy call.
 
You can never be too careful.”

There was a pause, then a slight laugh came down the line.
 
“You know, that’s true.
 
Especially after last week.”

“What happened last week?”

“Someone wasn’t careful.
 
You’re clear to use Bay Six.”
 
The bike’s HUD projected against the inside of its cowl, a map laid out in green and red sparkling into iridescent life.
 
He ignored it in favor of a mirror of the map that snapped into place on the overlay in his optics.

“I got it.
 
Thanks.”
 
Mason kicked the bike up a gear, picking up speed.
 
The reactor was barely working, the drive low and quiet.
 
He opened a different channel.
 
“Carter.”

“Mason.”

“Ah, you’re still up.”

“I live for the job, Mason.
 
You know that.”

“You should get out some.
 
Put on a dress and some pearls.”

She snorted.
 
“I’m not a pearls kind of girl, Mason.
 
You know it’s 5:30 in the morning?”

Mason grinned inside his helmet.
 
“No rest for the wicked, Carter.
 
Beds aren’t for people like you and me.”

“Not the way you use them.”

“Which brings me to—”

“No.
 
No it doesn’t.
 
I’ve woken up Sasha.
 
She’ll meet you at processing.”

“She’s going to be grumpy.”

“Do you want your clean done grumpy or not at all?”

“I’ll take grumpy.”
 
Mason was approaching the base of the main tower, bringing the bike in to a wide concrete driveway lined by tall barriers.
 
The Apsel falcon was etched in relief on the ground, big enough to be seen from the air.
 
Bay 6
was written in big red letters above a wide metal door, other languages written in smaller type underneath it.
 
They all said the same thing, more or less —
get lost, go away, this is not the door you’re looking for
.
 
It’d be bad press if Apsel gunned down some throwback who couldn’t read English.
 
Automated turrets looked down on him from behind razor wire, tracking his progress.
 
“Those things creep me out.”

“It’s protocol.”

“Each one is like its own little eye of Sauron.”

“The eye of…
 
Oh.”
 
Carter paused.
 
“I didn’t know you read.
 
Fiction, I mean.”

“Christ, Carter.
 
I’m not some kind of barbarian.
 
I read books.”

“Books without pictures?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t listen to what they say about you.
 
I’ve always said there was more to you than—”

“Carter.”

“What?
 
Get out there.
 
Join a book club or something.”

“Hey.”
 
Mason pulled the bike to a halt in front of the door.
 
Green light washed over him as lasers imaged him and the bike —
just a last-minute check, right?
 
He remembered Smith-Benne, who’d come back with a small detonator on his car.
 
They’d relied on perimeter radar back then.
 
Mason had been on the investigative crew — they hadn’t found all of Smith-Benne’s body.
 
“One more thing.”

“What is it, Mason?”

“Thanks, Carter.
 
I appreciate you…
 
Your help.”

There was a pause before she said, “Sure thing, Mason.
 
Anytime.”
 
The link clicked out.

Mason tapped his fingers against the handlebars.
 
With a clank, the doors started to open, yellow rotating warning lights licking the walls around him.
 
When it was high enough he gave the throttle a small twist, entering the belly of the Apsel building.
 
Even at this hour it was busy, techs moving around, servicing vehicles, loading munitions, and waving clipboards at each other.
 
He wove the bike through the people and machines, pulling up short to let an enforcer clank in front of him.
 
It stopped with a hiss of hydraulics, torso swiveling to face him.
 
He looked up past the spread wings of the Apsel falcon and to the weapon launchers on its arms, then into its face.
 
“Harry.
 
How you doing?”

“Pretty good, Mason.”
 
Harry pivoted, articulated feet clanking against the ground.
 
“Just in for a service.”

“Rough night?”

“It’s the rain, man.”
 
Harry’s voice echoed out through the room, and lights flickered up his chest plate.
 
A red one was pulsing insistently.
 
“I don’t know how you norms handle it.”

“Thought you guys weren’t hit by it?”

“The visions?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah, got no problems with the visions.
 
Sealed up nice and tight in here.
 
No, this is plain ol’ acid rain, Mason.”

“I’ve got a rain coat.”
 
Mason shrugged and his helmet lapped back into his collar.
 
“Still.
 
I’m in for a check up too.
 
Maybe some sleep, if I can scrape up the time.”

“Ha.”
 
Harry shrugged, big metal shoulders moving up and down with a whine.
 
“If you’d do the conversion—”

“No way, man.”
 
Mason nodded towards Harry’s mid section.
 
“I like eating too much.”

“It’s not that bad.
 
You never have to wonder whether your diet’s low-carb or not.”

Mason snorted.
 
“Sure, whatever.
 
Take it easy, hey?”

“You got it.
 
Have a better one.”
 
With a hiss Harry swiveled away and clanked across the bay.
 
Mason kicked the bike back into gear and let it purr itself towards an empty park.

He stepped away from it.
 
“Park it.
 
Service mode.”
 
A brief flash came from the instrumentation on the dash, then the bike eased down, the rimless hubs pulling in towards the chassis.
 
Mason grinned to himself — no matter how many times he saw it, it reminded him of some kind of animal stretching, his bike doing yoga’s
Downward Dog
.
 
The armored fairing flared wide, exposing the fusion drive, other mechanical components opening outwards like a metal flower.
 
Mason turned away and walked towards an elevator.
 
A tech would be along shortly to look after it.

Meantime, he would —
 

Something ghostly flitted at the edge of his vision, but was gone when he looked.
 
God damn the rain
.

Meantime, he’d best get himself to that med tech.
 
The elevator doors opened silently in front of him, and he stepped inside.
 
“Medical.”

“Medical, confirmed.”
 
The elevator spoke with a British accent.
 
A German company in America with a British butler.
 
Now
that’s
globalization.

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

The chair sat in the middle of the room.
 
Cold white leather.
 
Looked like a dentist chair without the happiness.
 
At least it was padded.

“Hey doc.”
 
Mason shrugged off his jacket, dropping it into a bin by the door.
 
“Sorry to get you up so early.”

Sasha looked over at him, giving him a quick glance up and down.
 
She was sitting at a console, a computer in front of her, a hint of a smile on her face.
 
“You know it’s never too early, Mason.”

Mason grinned back at her.
 
“Don’t be like that.
 
You’re married.”