Delilah stood on the table, popping a ceiling panel open. She swung up, cloak slithering behind her, and settled the panel back in place. Weight on her fingers and toes, she crawled in the ceiling space. Conduit and air conditioning pipes snaked around her. She kept her progress slow, unsure of whether the ceiling might creak.

  Her audio picked up footsteps as the security team reached where she’d dropped the guard. Delilah didn’t hear any chatter, but she imagined Ruby Page directing them on the link. Something like fan out and she can’t have got far.

  She grinned in the dark. I don’t have far to go.

  Delilah saw the east wall of the building ahead. She popped another ceiling panel, sliding into the room below. A gunshot sounded, the round going wide. Delilah spun, lattice drawing her weapon, the sidearm roaring a response as audio mapping showed the likely source of the shot.

  Her rounds hit nothing but cubicles and air.

  Her Eagle spat the empty clip, hungry for more. She fed it, dropping low. You can’t win this, Dee. Just go. It’d feel good to shoot Ruby Page, though. Just once. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  Optics switched to thermal, Delilah waited. A guard’s glowing form rounded a corner, so she shot him center-mass. She darted to the side. Never be where they expect.

  “Delilah, I know you’re waiting for me. You want a shot. Here it is.” Ruby’s form stepped around a corner, her torso holding the white-bright core of an Apsel reactor. Delilah saw the weapon she carried. A short tube, cold and hard on thermal. Ruby Page held a rocket launcher, a weapon with so much splash damage it was very hard to miss with.

  Time to nope the fuck out of here. Delilah turned, launching herself from a crouch. As she jumped, she fired the Eagle into a window, shattering the glass. She plunged from the side of Human Energetics, crystal rain tinkling as she fell. Fire bloomed in her wake, the rocket tearing a hole in the side of the building.

  A hundred and fifty floors to go, and she’d used her parachute already. It’s lucky she had so many ways out. She’d hidden a powered wing suit on the building opposite. They were called Ospreys, skeletal frames attached to four fans for thrust.

  Delilah keyed her link. The Osprey zoomed toward her, snatching her from the air. Delilah gave a lazy turn as she fell, looking back at Human Energetics.

  Ruby Page stood in the smoldering hole, framed by fire. Delilah gave her gun fingers, then a cheery wave. See you next time, Ruby. Count on it.

  Chapter Three

  Harry leaned close to Lace, smelling the back of her neck. She wore her hair up, a hint of a smile on her face at his touch. Her yard was like it should be, grass clipped, fence upright and sporting new paint. Inside her house, a TV murmured, waiting for them to return. It was movie night. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  “I own this place,” she said. “It’s my place.”

  Harry slung himself onto the bench beside her. It was composite fiber, textured like wood, but probably made from recycled baby seals. “I’m not sure that’s the right term.”

  “My place?”

  “Owning it.”

  “Don’t be a dick.” She kissed him, long and deep. “You’re spoiling the moment.”

  He sighed, a happy, contented sound. “Medium rare?”

  “Is there a better way to cook steak?” Lace crossed firm legs beneath her.

  Harry thought that through. “I’m confused. Is that a yes or—”

  “Yes, Harry. It’s a yes.” She grinned, rocking back, uncomfortable bench be damned. “I could use another beer, while you’re up.”

  Harry nodded, lurching to his feet. He gave the sky a cautious glance, the setting sun making way for the bravest stars. He walked up Lace’s steps, into her house, down the hall, and into the kitchen. An old refrigerator hummed to itself. He joined it, contemplating the contents. Every kind of goddamn wine, but where’s the beer? Ah. Harry found the beers lurking behind a value bucket of expired cottage cheese. He hefted the cottage cheese, eying it suspiciously. “Like I thought. Textured soy.”

  “What was that?” Lace’s voice carried from outside.

  “Nothing.” Harry put the cottage cheese back. If he ‘helped’ by throwing it out, there’d be hell to pay. The beers sweated straight away, droplets racing each other to his fingers. He popped the caps, returning to Lace. He handed one to her, taking a pull of his own. Cold, wet, and beer-like. Perfect. “I don’t mind a good Becks.”

  “Might be hard to get now, after Amsterdam.”

  “Amsterdam’s not in Germany.” Harry made to sit, pausing at the look she shot him. It was a withering glare Lace reserved for idiots and slackers.

  “Becks don’t make their beer in Germany anymore. Also, it’s,” she waved a hand, as if the universe was a general location, “Europe.”

  “You never studied.”

  “Not useless shit, no.” She sipped beer. “I’m going to miss Amsterdam. Do not sit down, Harry Fuentes.” Her glare amped up. “The grill won’t get any hotter.”

  “You’ve never been to Amsterdam.” Harry carried his beer to the barbecue. The steaks were good and thick. Only take a minute a side.

  “I don’t need to go there to miss it.” Lace pulled her knees to her chest, watching him. “Still. It’d suck to live in a place full of radiation.”

  “I don’t think they’re living anymore.” The steak sizzled on the grill, the aroma mouth-watering. Harry’s hand trembled at the memory of fire, but he clamped down on it. No need to spoil a good moment. While Harry flipped steaks, he and Lace shared the silence like old friends. Plenty of room for both of them to have their thoughts.

  “Don’t fuck up the steak,” she suggested.

  “You want to do this?”

  “I offered, but oh no, the great Harry Fuentes needed to ‘man the barbecue.’” He caught her air quotes by tone alone. “C’mon. Let’s go inside.”

  “Let’s.” Harry settled the meat on a plate, following Lace inside. A few steaks. A little corn. A fresh, green salad. Two beers, a movie, and the rest of the night. It was paradise.

  Lace patted her stomach. “The mark of a good man is whether he can cook a steak. And that was fine.”

  “Thanks.” He worked on his third beer. Neither of them talked about the expired cottage cheese. Candles burnt on the table, a puddle of warm light between them.

  “You want to have sex?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him an impish grin, heading for the door. Harry watched her go for about two seconds, then gave chase.

  A half-hour later, the movie played in front of them. Lace wasn’t watching, and neither was Harry. The heat of her skin felt like sunlight. “I’ve got to get back.”

  “It’s movie night, Lace.”

  “Always on the clock.” She kissed his cheek, lips rasping on stubble. He smelled her scent, rich and heady. “You know that.”

  “I know it.” He sighed. “We’re always on the clock. I thought this Metatech thing would make a difference.”

  “It makes a difference.” She leaned away, sighing. “You’re still alive. The company’s laying off so many people. What if you’re next?”

  “They can’t lay me off.” Harry got off the couch, looking for his pants.

  “We’re on the clock because we don’t need pink slips in our life.” Lace raised an arm to the ceiling. “This is Metatech, Harry. This is stolen dreams from Reed. We’d never have this out there.” A little spite crept into her voice.

  Harry forgot the search for pants, sidling next to her. He pulled her close, kissing her neck. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No. It won’t. Not really.” Lace gave him a smile to take the sting away.

  She vanished.

  Harry sighed. He keyed the link. END SIMULATION. Sound ceased, the hum of bees falling away along with the gentle hush of wind. The walls of Lace’s rumpus turned white, then opaque, wireframes reeling into the vanishing, far distance. His body spun to gossamer, then nothing. The last thing to leave was Lace’s smell, and it made his heart ache.

  His optics kicked in, Metatech’s hangar falling into place around him. The real world entered, with all its sharp noises and harsh lights. Harry’s chassis hummed, ready for his next mission.

  “Harry.” Lace’s voice was soft on the link.

  “Hello, Lace.”

  “We’ve got a job.”

  Harry fired the chassis into motion, heading for the hangar exit. Metatech’s layout wasn’t so different to Apsel’s. People, going about company business. Techs, running from place to place. And always, some asshole telling you you can’t smoke in here.

  The chassis was new, though. Harry’s last one was good for spare parts only. This was stronger in many ways. But it still wasn’t a body. “What’s the job, Lace?”

  “Recon. You’ll love it. We get to see Sadie and Mike again.”

  “What have those clowns done this time?” Harry exited the hangar, cityscape bright with neon. Cannons guarded Metatech’s tower. Aircraft roared above. The syndicate was readying for war.

  “I’m not sure. The mission brief is … vague.”

  “I don’t like vague.”

  “I don’t like it either. But we’ll do it anyway.”

  “Yes.” Because if they didn’t, no one would pay for his expensive upgrades, and there would be no more virtuality. No place where Harry had a body, and Lace had her legs. “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Four

  Seekers dogged their steps. Klick after relentless klick Mason saw them through trees, atop hills, or loping through long grass. White eyes followed their every step. The people they used to be were gone, replaced by tireless, relentless hunters.

  They never attacked. Not unless a Master was near. Whether the Masters wanted the glory of the kill or some other purpose, Mason had no clue. Laia thought it was because they needed to be close to a person to dominate them the first time, but Abinal carried few records, and the Masters never gave up their secrets. The Masters wanted Laia for their own.

  Mason’s big mahogany bay ate the klicks like a sports car. He wouldn’t win any equestrian awards, but the horse tolerated him. Mason felt simple marvel at riding a horse. There weren’t many left on Earth outside of a few genetically engineered curiosities kept by the wealthy.

  Laia kept pace easily enough astride a chestnut mare. Her horse was smaller but, Mason suspected, friendlier. She’d named her horse Windrunner. Mason was inclined to call the bay Asshole because it bit him at their first meeting. Laia laughed at that, and Mason smiled, because being bitten by a horse wasn’t the worst thing the world could throw at him, and Laia’s smiles — let alone laughter — were rare things these days.

  She yearned for her brother.

  Their destination was a shit hole city named Khago, in a shit hole place that used to be desert but had turned to swamp in the three months since they’d been kicking ass and taking names on Abinal. Rumors said High Master Zenon Chine, whoever that was, held court in a pyramid. Laia said all who enter, die, and Mason said, sounds like Chinatown.

  One thing was certain. No one knew what Zenon Chine looked like, or if he was actually a human or a marketing ploy. Mason itched to find out. In the time he had left he wanted to topple a king from the board, and this guy sounded the right kind of target.

  They reined their horses as they approached a ramshackle collection of lean-tos and derelict stone houses. Clear, clean rainwater filled a trough, so they let the animals drink while they walked. Mason watched for Seekers, but none came close enough to touch.

  Insects the size of sparrows zipped through the air. They avoided him, focusing on Laia. The girl had a hooded cloak drawn around her despite the humidity, just her eyes showing. Mason looked north, optics zooming on a structure breaking through treetops. Pyramid. Gotcha. “I see it.”

  Laia nodded. “I feel it.”

  “You ready for this?” Mason kicked a stone.

  “Are you?”

  He sighed. “I know you watch me. You don’t need to worry. I won’t let you down.”

  She put a hand on his elbow. “No. But you’ll let yourself down.” She turned, looking to the trees huddling around the town. “I don’t know why they don’t attack.”

  “No one likes getting their asses kicked.”

  He got a smile for that. “It’s like they wait for something.”

  “An epic ass-kicking?”

  “No.” She looked north, toward the pyramid. “They wait for us to reach our destination. They follow, making sure we cleave to the path.”

  “Like tour guides?” Mason sighed. “I bet one of ‘em will try and sell us a plastic tiki.”

  “What’s a tiki?”

  Mason drew the Tenko-Senshin. The little weapon chirped happily through the hard link, saying it had a full ammunition brick. Last one. He holstered it. “It doesn’t matter. I could really use a decent weapon. Hell, I’d settle for a Reed pop-gun at this point.”

  “Do you think they still exist?” Laia pulled her cloak tighter. “It seems unfair they should lurk behind while we’re here.”

  Mason didn’t think Reed would be operating after Prophet cored their exec team from within. “I think a better question is, ‘How come you have horses on Abinal?’” He wanted to draw Laia away from thoughts of Earth, and by association, Zacharies.

  “We’ve always had horses.”

  Mason sighed. The kid took things too literally at times. “I reckon Reed’s stock took a waterboarding the likes of which no company’s seen in a long, long time. They won’t have the cash to buy a deck of cards.” Mason approached the bay. It eyed him suspiciously. He put a hand on its flank, and it grudgingly allowed him to stroke it. “It’s okay.”

  “Are you talking to me or the horse?”

  “Both.” Mason grinned. “Let’s go meet Zenon Chine.”

  The base of the pyramid was paved with old, uneven stone, the odd weed struggling through a gap but nothing needing a gardener. The swamp hadn’t matured to a jungle yet. Mason approached the entrance, a big yawning archway set into the middle of one side. The pyramid itself was huge, optics measuring it at over a klick a side. It was squat, looking oddly misshapen compared to home-grown ones.

  There weren’t any people.

  The Seekers stopped following them a couple klicks back. Laia waited, hidden. She might be in the tree line or somewhere even less obvious. Mason didn’t want to know, because if he did, the Masters could pull it from his mind and then all would be lost. Carter’s gift kept him safe enough. Fighting those assholes still hurt, but they never won.

  He ran a finger along the scar against his ribs. But sometimes they get close.

  Mason left the bay at the trees, walking the rest of the way. His optics scanned everything, the overlay mapping the terrain. Mason held no weapon, but the Tenko-Senshin waited in its holster. Laia insisted Seekers weren’t to be killed. She’d said, they were people once and can be again.

  The pyramid’s entrance had no gates or bars. It was a big, wide, stony hole probably leading to a den of assholes. Mason looked at the arch’s top. It stood a good three stories above him. Shadow and light warred with each other on the floor, running on long legs into darkness where the shadow won. Shadow always wins.

  Mason shook his head. Focus. He stepped inside, the gloom swallowing him. Mason’s optics switched to IR, leaving nothing to the imagination. Five paces in, no one rushed out of a side passage to kill him. Ten paces, still nothing.

  At fifteen paces, he paused, eying the wall. Deeper inside, the pyramid’s bulk sheltering passage walls from the elements, he noticed the high quality of construction. The seams between the stones were very fine. He drew his boot knife, good Apsel monosteel, pressing the blade between the bricks.

  It didn’t fit. The damn stones may as well be glued together. Mason touched them with a worn glove, the sensors in the Metatech armor transferring every feeling. He leaned closer. Fuck me. These look like polished concrete.

  Mason had no way to be sure. He didn’t know how someone could work out whether these were concrete, but they looked and felt like something made back home. Precise. Perfect.

  Alien.

  Carter might have a theory, but Mason let his best friend die three months back. He looked at the ceiling. What the hell is this thing doing here? Apsel had gate technology for a long time, but there was no previous indication travelers had crossed the gate to Abinal.

  No, but the gate Haraway stole was already programmed with Abinal as a destination.

  Mason pressed his palm to the wall. “I miss you, Carter. I miss you because you were my best friend. But I also miss you because you reminded me to ask the right questions.” He’d asked Laia how Abinal came to have horses. A better question would have been, How did Abinal come to have people?

  The stone didn’t answer him. Carter didn’t speak her ghostly voice into his mind. He was alone on a planet not his own, his most trusted companion a fourteen-year-old girl with the powers of a goddess.

  Mason needed a beer.

  He walked deeper into the pyramid. Two hundred meters in, his link hissed. Mason froze. The link died the day he stepped on this world. There was no net here. Nothing that carried electricity. Abinal was a hick, rustic world. Mason asked the link for a diagnostic. Was it just the latest of his bionics to error out?

  SYSTEM CHECK COMPLETE. NO ERRORS FOUND. NETWORK READY. CONNECT?

  Nope. Connecting to a hostile network wasn’t a great idea, and he was a long way away from anyone who could unfuck his link if it burned to slag in his skull. Mason unholstered the Tenko-Senshin, pointing it into the gloom. The corridor turned ninety degrees to the right thirty meters further on. He walked to the corner on cautious feet, checking around with a quick glance.

  A body lay on the floor just around the bend. It wore crude clothes, a rough knapsack fallen beside it. The remains were scorched, carbon clinging to everything. The corridor looked no different to any other. Mason hugged the wall for cover, switched his optics to thermal, and ducked out for another look.