Upgrade by Richard Parry Page B

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.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    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.