The lid hissed shut. The muffled yelling subsided as the device anesthetized its occupant, because Austin wasn’t a savage, for heaven’s sake. The muffled sound of high-pitched drilling came from the case. Then the coffin opened, disgorging the axe-nosed man to the floor.

  Austin crouched in front of him. “Let’s start again. Welcome to Human Energetics.”

  The man touched the back of his skull, fingers coming away red and sticky. “What have you done to me?”

  “We put a link in your head.” Austin beamed. “We’ll make you gods, but under my control. The best part is you’ll enjoy it.”

  “You can’t do this.” The man glared at Austin.

  “Sure I can.” Austin stood. He keyed his link to the newly installed one in Axe Face. A little nudge, the Complier in full operation, and good to go. “What’s your name?”

  The man looked surprised when his lips moved without his say-so. “Magi Cuadrat.”

  “Mr. Cuadrat, we understand you have a … let’s call it a gift. The control and domination of minds. You no longer own the market, but we’re making you one of the team. Back home, I’ve got a problem. My Complier has hit a setback. People can block the link-jacking, you understand?” Cuadrat’s eyes goggled. The man looked lost, but Austin was on a roll. “So, we’ll double up. We’ve got you under our control. It’s a little old-fashioned, but Human Energetics will control all paths to contentment.”

  “You’re going to make us control minds?” Cuadrat stood on shaky legs. “We will end you.”

  “That’s very unlikely.” It was time for a demonstration. “Please kill the person here you like the most.”

  Cuadrat gave a blood-curdling scream, running across the room and leaping on a woman in her mid-thirties. He bore her to the ground, her head slamming against the cold stone. Cuadrat pummeled her with his fists, the sound growing wet and mushy as he pounded her head against the floor.

  Austin looked at the gathered people, some trying for exits, others with looks of intense concentration. None of that would help. He smiled wide, like an alligator, gesturing at the machines and their techs behind him. “Who’s next?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Oldtown hadn’t changed in two days. Sadie didn’t know why she expected it to. Maybe you’re blessed with eternal optimism.

  The back of her skull itched. The link in her head felt like a broken promise, one she’d made to herself without remembering why. She’d always kept her skin clean, nothing metal. Pure soul, so the music could come out. There hadn’t been music in months. Too much company bullshit, too many people to care about.

  Having an itch is better than losing your will and becoming a slave. She sighed as she stamped her boots toward Slim Tor’s, knowing the truth of it. But there was more than one kind of truth. It’s just a different kind of slavery. This was the kind you chose. You’ve put company electronics in your damn brain. Self-doubt made her gut roil with sickness. Did you do the right thing? Or the wrong thing for a man too damn clinic-pretty?

  Sadie stood under a neon sign, the flickering light dappling her skin pale purple. She raised her face, letting rain wash over her. It kissed her lips, touched her hair, and traced down her body. Always there. Never leaving her alone. She stood, eyes closed, wondering what the world was like before companies tried to own everyone else.

  There have been assholes trying to possess the rest for as long as people have been people, Sadie.

  Slim Tor’s alley held open arms for her. She splashed through muck, heading for the steps. A lone bulb still held vigil above the doorway, flickering because staying on strong was too much like hard work. Sadie gave the light a look, feeling she understood. Not having a link was a life choice. They called her illegal, tried to make it against the law to live free. Holding constant and true against the buffeting winds of the syndicates was exhausting.

  The view plate in the door slid wide, showing a slice of August Amy’s face. Same black eyes, same scar. “Freeman.”

  “Hey, Amy.” Sadie slicked her rain-wet hair back.

  “Slim’s closed.”

  “Slim’s never closed.” Sadie let out an exasperated sigh. “I know how this works. He’s not closed. He doesn’t want to do business with me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He should do business with me.” Sadie leaned close to the view plate. “Do you want to know why?”

  “I feel it in my waters. I feel it in the air. You’re gonna tell me.” August Amy didn’t budge.

  “The world is ending, but we can stop it. You, me, and Slim Tor. And all it’ll take is an explosive the size of a Buick.”

  “Buick’s pretty big,” allowed Amy. “Sounds expensive. You better come in.” The view plate closed with a snick, the door opening. Inside, the same small, shitty room. Quiet John nodded to her. The panel waited, patient.

  “You guys should spruce up a little.” Sadie pointed to a corner. “A chair. A couch. Some cushions. Maybe a vase.”

  “You gonna buy that?” August Amy squinted.

  “No. Just making conversation.” Sadie walked to the panel. “Slim, it’s Sadie.”

  “I know. There’s a cam right in front of you.” Slim’s voice crackled from the speaker, sounding a little wary, but also a little relieved. “You want more Patch?”

  Sadie’s palms itched. She wanted to say hell, yeah, but clamped her mouth shut. “I want to buy a bomb.”

  “More Patch coming right… Wait, what?”

  “A bomb,” repeated Sadie. “As in, an explosive device.”

  “I know what a bomb is.” Slim’s cam glowered at her with its little red light. “Why?”

  “Gonna blow something up.” Sadie grinned. “Probably for the best if you don’t know what.” Her brow creased in a frown. “But it needs to be big enough to blow up a building.”

  “What kind of building?”

  “A syndicate building.”

  “Fuck no. Get outa my store.” August Amy’s hand clamped on Sadie’s shoulder at Slim’s words, but Quiet John stood, shaking his head. “Hell, Quiet John. Is this insurrection?”

  Quiet John shook his head, sharing a look with August Amy. Her hand fell from Sadie’s shoulder. Sadie gave the big enforcer a surprised look, then turned to the cam. “This is how it is. The world’s about done turning. There’s a syndicate war. People are dying. Our people. They never pay.” The last came from Sadie as a hiss.

  There was a long silence. Sadie could smell August Amy’s sweat, and something like motor oil from Quiet John. The closeness of the room held the three of them, waiting for Slim Tor’s benediction. The speaker clicked. “How big a bomb, did you say?”

  Sadie sagged in relief. “Thanks.”

  “You haven’t seen the bill.”

  “That’s okay. Let’s both pretend we did the dance where I claimed to have no money and you claimed to have five starving kids.”

  “Got it.” The panel cleared, a selection of explosives appearing. Sadie scrolled through them, highlighting one toward the bottom. It was more expensive than the rest, but smaller too. Something she might be able to carry without bionics. “What’s this?”

  “Oh.” Slim sounded happy. “A discerning customer at last. I’ll get it wrapped up for you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Clanking through the rain was getting old. Harry didn’t like the way it pattered on the chassis, or how raindrops marked his optics. A hydrophobic coating went a long way, but Harry still felt the insistent anxiety of weather that wanted in.

  “Almost there,” breathed Lace. The link held its peace between them.

  “You talking to me or yourself?”

  “A little of column A, and a little from B. Don’t speak, you’re distracting me.”

  Harry kept walking. It wouldn’t be a good time to remind her she spoke to him. That way lay madness. Ahead, Metatech’s tower lurked, a darker smudge against a wet skyline. Giant crossed red sabers were the only clear things he could see. Ground-based searchlights did their level best to pierce the gloom, a few gleaming against the massive facade of the syndicate building as they roamed the heavens. Black looks menacing and great and all that jazz, but Seattle weather kinda cramps the style.

  Still, it was a global brand for all seasons. No doubt the towers in Dubai looked badass.

  His link took care of the annoyance of approach clearance, subsystems noting it was just good ol’ Harry, back for a Coke and a smile. Omar fixed the small misunderstanding about Harry’s employment status, and Harry didn’t have the heart to correct him. He needed in.

  Metatech vehicles laden with troops raced from the tower’s main hangar entrance, engines roaring or whining depending on their design, but all bristling with weapons and a can-do attitude. Harry caught eager grins and grim masks of determination on human enforcers in equal measure. He also saw the blank, smooth canvass of construct faces, giving nothing away.

  Maybe we should sell ‘em as mall security. They look like mannequins. Give a shoplifter a turn, seeing one draw down on you.

  “I’m entering Metatech.” It was a good thing to remind her of, what with the company recording comms as a matter of principle. She had a lot on her mind, doing her level best to decipher the HumanE link fuckery, and with what she was doing to her fellows at Metatech. Harry spared a glance for the massive metal doors of the bunker. They could shut, locking out the world.

  Or, him inside. Might come to that, too.

  “I’m not ready.” She sounded annoyed rather than anxious.

  “You better get ready.” Harry thought it a mistake as soon as the words leapt down the link, but it was too late to take them back.

  “Harry Fuentes, are you giving me sass?”

  “Not at all.” Harry waved a big metal hand at Miles and Obie. Two friendlier faces in a sea of killers and sociopaths. Miles waved back, Obie gave a nod, then both went back to their heated conversation. Last time Harry listened in, they’d been arguing about a World Series four hundred years ago. It wasn’t worth the cycles to eavesdrop now.

  “Good.” She marked his overlay with a path through the hangar, a clear green line laid over the floor. “Follow the magic trail of happiness.”

  “I know the way.”

  “You know a way,” Lace corrected. “This way is subtly different.”

  “Yeah. It’s longer.”

  “It’s also not past the two jackholes from IA lounging by parts room twelve. They look like techs, but they’re really A-grade assholes.” His overlay highlighted the pair, him with skin too clean for a tech’s, her with too much smudging to be genuine.

  “I see ‘em.” Harry corrected his course, chassis trudging along like everything was fine. A benefit to having a machine do all the hard work of walking you around? You never looked furtive. It wasn’t in the code. The green line beneath his feet led him on, Lace’s promised path to glory and redemption.

  It’s suicide. You’re on a suicide mission. Best tell Lace all the things he’d never said. The important things, at least. “Lace, you’re the best handler, hacker, and link-jacker I’ve ever known.”

  “Hmm.”

  Great. She wasn’t listening. Needed to be said, though. “The day I met you was the best day of my life.”

  “Hmm.”

  Harry made the massive elevator slab set in the hangar’s floor. “You are my best friend, and I love you.”

  “Harry, pay attention. You’re about to go down half a klick. When you get there … what did you say?”

  “Half a klick. I got it.” Harry stood on the platform as it grumbled beneath him. Lace’s jacked codes were good enough to get the head of a terrorist cell in here.

  “You’re not going to die.” Lace’s voice was half-stern, half-hopeful. “You can’t. Goddamnit, I need to focus here. Don’t do this shit right now.”

  “Half a klick. I said I got it.” Harry watched as the walls slid past, smooth concrete walking on by without a care in the world. The levels below held a cornucopia of wonders, one of which was a gate to another world. On the other side of the gate, if two weird kids were to be believed, was a collection of telekinetics who could turn the tide of the syndicate war. Make it about people, not profit.

  Problem was, the other side lacked maintenance crews. Mason came back in bad shape. Three months without a clinic let alone routine servicing? Harry was surprised Mason survived. Harry’s chassis needed constant tuning. Three weeks without an oil change would have the meat inside coughing out its last.

  The link hissed, even in the heart of Metatech’s power unable to do wonders against walls of concrete. “Harry, come back to me.”

  “I always do.”

  “No, really. This time it’s important.”

  “Why?”

  He could hear Lace breathing over the link, short huffs like she worked herself up to putting her hand in a deep-fryer. “Because I love you too. You’ve got to come back.”

  Harry’s chest felt warm, like his reactor worked harder than normal. But it wasn’t the reactor. Not this time.

  The gate room was as Harry expected. The plans Lace uploaded to his overlay were a hundred percent accurate, showing rows of constructs hanging from charging racks. Techs milling about and getting in each other’s way. But also, excitement, a buzz of hyperactivity you couldn’t deny.

  These people thought they were on a mission from God.

  A tech, her face flushed, looked up from a tablet. She took in Harry’s rain-spotted chassis, eyes moving to the crossed sabers on his chest, and shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here. Remotes only. Total conversions are in the hangar for the assault on Human Energetics.”

  Harry shrugged. “That’s what I told them, but the assholes sent me down here. Can you believe it?”

  She glanced at her tablet. “I can believe it. Whole place is like a circus, and someone ordered extra clowns.” She squinted at Harry. “Anyway. You can’t go this way.”

  “Tell her to check the mission parameters. New update.” Lace’s voice was professional again, the link hissing as she spoke.

  Harry swiveled the chassis to the elevator, continuing all the way around to face the tech. “I’m gonna go up and down that damn elevator like I’m bobbing for apples, but a lot slower. They told me there’s a new mission parameter. I just go where they say.”

  “Hmm.” The tech glanced at her tablet, eyes widening. “Well I’ll be dipped in shit. Here it is. New mission. Send a conversion through the gate. Test for efficacy of mil-spec technology against rogue agents. Sounds like a bullshit mission. Did you do something wrong?”

  Harry nodded, the chassis whining. “Forgot the boss’s birthday.”

  “That’ll do it.” She waved him on.

  “Get in there,” said Lace. “I can’t keep the hack up forever. There are self-correcting systems here. I don’t know how Carter manages it.”

  Harry trudged forward, rain droplets following him. “To be fair, she’s a machine.”

  “Didn’t you say I was the best?”

  “I did.” Harry looked at the crackling heart of the gate. “I bet Carter’s lousy in bed.”

  Lace laughed, slightly manic. “Go.”

  “I’m going.” Harry walked forward, entering the gate to another world.

  The other side of the gate came as a surprise. No sensation of movement. A slight flicker of the overlay, a surge of static from the link, and he was in daylight. Optics adjusted for the luminance, his systems reporting a drop in temperature. The hangar was a carefully controlled 21C. Here, he was getting a frosty 12. The chassis didn’t care, but Mason must have hugged an alpaca at night to stay warm.

  Constructs strode about, faces impassive. A few looked at him, then went back to their duties. Harry would’ve been the same. Total conversions were not those with whom you wanted to fuck.

  He saw a pyramid, big and imposing, just the kind of thing Harry thought an arrogant sombitch like Gairovald might build to the same scale he thought his dick was. He clanked toward it, navigating around constructs, ignoring the piles of equipment in ordered rows.

  It took a while to make it behind the pyramid. The damn thing was huge, weather-stained but still standing. Built with the best of German engineering, no doubt. Unlike Mason and Harry, it wasn’t made with designed obsolesce as a permanent tether to the company. No, this sucker reminded everyone on Hicksville who was in charge.

  Harry passed an ancient robot, treads broken. He gave it a passing glance, overlay noting NO MATERIAL THREAT as he strode by.

  Behind the pyramid, trees waited. The ground was soft, his feet sinking into the loam. Best not to run. You’ll flounder like a beached whale. He turned optics to the heavens. The sky was clear, the odd cloud doing lazy laps. Audio picked up birds in the trees. It was peaceful. Waiting to be filled with purpose. “I think this is the spot.”

  “You should go further into the trees.” Lace’s voice was choppy, like she was at a drive-thru.

  “No.” Harry felt the stillness of the place. He thought about a bunch of people freed by a guy with no particular axe to grind. Where they might go, and what they might do. They’d be close by, in the woods where there was cover. Ready to be called. “This is the place.”

  “Far be it from me to second-guess the man on the ground, but—”

  “This is the place.” Harry waited her out.

  “Okay. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Harry sighed, unlocking the fusion cannon on his arm. The big weapon slid into place, aperture dark as an omen. He gave a last glance at the heavens, pointed his arm skyward, and fired.

  The cannon roared, brilliant, incandescent fire from the heart of a star lancing skyward. The air shimmered in the heat, the blast shoving atmosphere aside, the trees shaking as if in a storm. Harry kept the cannon on for thirty seconds, the overlay reminding him of DANGER OVERHEAT DANGER, a climbing marker going from green, to yellow, and into the red before he turned it off.