Chromed- Restore, page 1
part #3 of Future Forfeit Series
Chromed: Restore
A Cyberpunk Adventure Epic
Richard Parry
Contents
Foreword
The Beginning of the End
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About the Author
Also by Richard Parry
Glossary
Afterword
EXCERPT: TYCHE'S FLIGHT
An Easy Mark
Chapter One
CHROMED: RESTORE copyright © 2018 Richard Parry.
Cover design copyright © 2018 Mondegreen.
All rights reserved.
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-0-9951148-8-3
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-0-9951148-5-2
First edition.
No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Piracy, much as it sounds like a cool thing done at sea with a lot of, “Me hearties!” commentary, is a dick move. It gives nothing back to the people who made this book, so don’t do it. Support original works: purchase only authorized editions.
While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and witty dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.
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Published by Mondegreen, New Zealand.
For those who mourned the death of CARTR.
Foreword
Hey.
Upgrade came out in 2014. The time’s right in 2018 to finish the tale. Four years for us, but three months for Mason and Sadie, and the ghost of a dead machine. People want a punchy sequel, but more than anything they want to know what happened to Carter.
Chromed: Restore is the conclusion to the Future Forfeit trilogy, but we can’t square it away without a little help. There’s a new megacorporation; Human Energetics is headed by the villain Austin Ainley. To fight a titan, you need help of the biblical kind, and so I introduce Delilah Griffiths after her encounter with the terrorist Samson. Three months without Gairovald Apsel leaves the Federate’s reactors in the red, and Mike heads to Amsterdam to see the fallout.
If you want to race ahead to find out what happened to Carter, be my guest. This story’s for you.
But.
Smaller tales exist between Chromed: Rogue and Chromed: Restore, showing what happened in those grimy three months. You’ll hate Austin, love Delilah, and vacation with Mike. They’re action vignettes, with all the cyberpunk you can handle. Check ‘em out.
[https://www.books2read.com/ChromedConsensus]
[https://www.books2read.com/ChromedDelilah]
[https://www.books2read.com/ChromedMeltdown]
The Beginning of the End
“Leave me alone, Carter.”
But she wouldn’t. No matter how often he pleaded with her, she came in his dreams. And lately, his waking hours. Back in Mason’s world, he’d be strapped to a chair in Psych. There was nothing like that here, but for a hot second he wished there was.
Why did you let me die, Mason?
Firelight danced between the legs of people and tables alike. Woodsmoke, rich and comforting, swam on draughts from poorly caulked walls. Nine others shared the tavern, heads down, some with hoods still over their heads from the insistent rain outside, but all with their eyes down. Dirt and grime smudged their features to sameness. Hope hadn’t found its way here.
The storm hissed against walls of wood, teasing creaking boards with wet fingers. Mason glanced up from his meal. They’re not here yet, but it won’t be long. He returned to eating a bowl of fatty mutton and pale, straggly vegetation. It wasn’t anything like you’d get at a Michelin five-star, but it tasted better than it had a right to. Rich and comforting, with all the flavors nature intended. Mason picked up a spoon, noting the persistent tremble in his arm.
It’d been a long time between clinic visits.
Mason, I didn’t want to die. I only wanted to dance.
He clenched his fingers around the spoon, the shaking forced aside as the lattice held him steady. Warnings cascaded on his overlay. URGENT MAINTENANCE and NERVOUS SYSTEM DETACHMENT had no meaning. Not on Abinal, orbiting its dying sun. Mason gritted his teeth, clearing the errors. There was still work to do, for as long as he could.
The tavern door slammed open, rain swirling inside. The night gloom gave nothing away, but Mason’s optics were designed for dirty work in dark places. The overlay rolled with static for a moment before enhanced vision showed a hooded figure cloaked against the storm. All arrogant shoulders, as if the rain were according to their plan.
It might well be. Demons rode rain in the past. Mason didn’t know if there were others. Not finding them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
He almost laughed. Paranoia like that said he was overdue for that visit to Psych.
Arrogant Shoulders strode into the tavern. Seekers scampered after, their white, sightless eyes combing the taproom. Mason huddled into his cloak, drawing his hood down. The rough cotton still held its own memory of the rain. Despite the cold and clammy material Mason chose a seat away from the fire. Far from the light and warmth, in a corner where dark huddled with him like a conspirator.
They’re coming for you. They’ll leave you dead.
“Not now, Carter.” Mason watched Arrogant Shoulders reach the bar, old wood floorboards creaking. The nine people in the taproom lowered their eyes. They all knew what this was, if not who. Mason knew, too. He was counting on it.
Arrogant Shoulders beckoned the barkeep. A sweep of a hand drew their hood back, revealing a woman, face too used to looking down on people to be pretty. When she spoke, Mason’s overlay gobbled the words, translating on the fly. It’d been three months since arriving in Abinal, more than enough for speech to come naturally to the link. “Where are they?”
The barkeep, a fat man in a world of thin, starving people, cringed. “No one came like you described, Master. No girls traveling with men.” An ingratiating smile. “We have hot food. Cold ale. Comfortable beds.”
Arrogant Shoulders glared at the barkeep. “I see no lie in your mind.”
“Of course not, Master.”
“Bring food and drink.” Arrogant Shoulders turned from the barkeep, striding toward the fire. It was big and wide, pushing out enough heat to warm the room, promising an end to shivers brought on by too little food and too much cold weather. Laia said without the demon to hold the rain hostage, the world had cooled as storms roamed. She said there were no more tethered demons, but her eyes sought the floor when she spoke of it, unbelieving her own words.
Abinal’s dying, Mason. Don’t leave me here to rot. The Masters and their demon kept slaves, but they also kept the sun beating the right places on the planet like a hammer of starlight. Mason hadn’t heard any complaints. No one minded being free. And a little rain seemed a small price to pay.
As the Master reached the fire, people drifted away. No one wanted to be noticed. No one wanted to become a Seeker, with their minds torn away. No one except Mason in his corner of gloom, half-eaten meal in front of him, murder in his heart. The Master’s Seekers followed, but Mason knew it wasn’t because the woman wanted her slaves warmed. It was to keep her safe, guards against any who wanted her dead.
He couldn’t help but smile. That was the sign of a job well done. Mason and Laia left a trail of dead slavers across Abinal. There’d been thousands at first. Now there were hundreds. Mason’s hand shook again, the spoon rattling against the table. He stared at it. Hundreds, and you’re breaking down.
The Master’s eyes went to Mason’s spoon, then rose to his face. He wondered what she saw. It’s time to get this show on the road. Mason put the spoon beside his half-eaten meal, sliding from the crude bench. He swept the cloak back, letting the firelight play on his face. It’d been a long three months. Wrinkles turned into full-blown creases lined his face. A beard too rough for corporate boardrooms kept the cold from his jaw. Mason took a step toward the Master. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. “You!”
“Me,” agreed Mason. “How you want it? In the head? Chest? It’s faster in the head. Chest wounds can leave you bleeding for a while.” He rolled his shoulders, then raised his hand, the shaking evident in his arm. “My aim’s not what it once was.”
“You’re weak,” she snarled.
“Not really.” Mason shook his head. “You must be part of the rank-and-file of Asshole HQ, right?”
“What?” The Master blinked. The people in the taproom, already heading for the door, turned their trickle to a stampede. The rain would be preferable company to a madman and a Master.
“I guess you’re running out of dudes.” Dudes didn’t translate well. “You’re wondering where she is.”
“Who?” Another blink.
“Come on. You walked in here, talking to Captain Oval,” Mason pointed at the barkeep, trying his level best to hide his bulk behind a counter unsuited to the task, “about a girl and a man. You’ve found the man. About now, you’re wondering where she is.” He scratched his beard. “You’re looking in my mind, trying to find her.”
The Master’s eyes grew distant. “But you don’t know where she is.”
“Not a clue.” Mason gave a grin full of feral firelight. “We needed a plan. Part of the plan is me keeping a promise.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” She threw back her cloak, water dripping to the floor.
“Pretty sure I can keep this one. A fourteen-year-old kid isn’t for you.” Mason eyed a Seeker as it sidled to his right.
Mason, no one’s got your back. Not like me. You’re alone.
The Master offered a slim smile in answer to Mason’s. “Who is Carter?”
“It’s complicated.” Mason’s overlay tried to find the right words before giving up. “How about you ask her in a minute?”
“What happens in a minute?” Confusion chased uncertainty across her face. That’s right. This isn’t part of the usual script.
“You stop breathing.” Mason turned to the Seeker on his right. He wore rags that might have been colorful before the grime set in. The Master held this slave for a long time. Mason let overtime slip around him, clean and cool. The firelight lost its reds and oranges as color leeched from the world. The Master’s smile froze as time slowed. Mason lunged at the Seeker.
Mason, you can’t kill them.
He slammed his fist into the Seeker’s head. The tremble in his arm became a savage jerk, fouling his aim. He hit the Seeker lower than intended, knocking teeth loose. Mason didn’t slow, hefting a chair, feeling the weight of the wood through overtime’s embrace. He turned, tossing it at the barkeep, the man halfway through raising a crossbow from below the bar. The chair began its slow, lazy sail through the air.
Mason continued his spin, halting as he faced the Master. He jumped for her, raising his arm. As Mason landed, he brought a hammerfist strike down on her skull. Bone cracked, and she slumped to the floor, twitching.
Time coughed, then resumed its normal pace through the universe. The chair hit the barkeep, knocking the man out as the crossbow fired, its bolt thunking into the fireplace lintel.
A Seeker hit Mason in the head with a bench, the wood splintering. Mason staggered. Hold the phone. The Master’s down. These should be free. What’s going on?
He reached for the overtime again, but his overlay errored out, COGNITIVE TIME MISMATCH showing in the lower right of his vision. Mason had no idea what that meant, but he’d fought people in the real before. The Seeker came at him with another swing of the bench. Mason caught it, wood creaking.
Mason, this is where it ends. We’ll be together soon.
Fuck that noise. Mason ducked low, rising into an uppercut, fist connecting with the Seeker’s jaw. They flew back, crashing on a table. Another to his left swung a glowing fire iron. Mason caught the yellow-bright tip, lattice snarling as synthskin hissed. Mason yanked the iron from the Seeker, tossing it into a wall. It chunked in place, quivering. He kicked the Seeker in the gut, and as the air gusted from it, he hit it across the jaw. It went down in a pile of boneless limbs.
Two to go. Both Seekers tackled him. He caught the rankness of their flesh, the unwashed humanness of them. People here smell worse but the world smells better. Is this how we work? Do we wash our filth into everything we touch? It was a maudlin thought. He shoved it aside as the Seekers rammed him against a wall, timber cracking. Mason grabbed a Seeker’s arm, dislocating it with a wrench. Slipping free he spun, turning the movement into a kick. The heel of his boot collected a Seeker’s skull, dropping it.
One more. The Seeker leered, drool coming from its mouth. It raked curled fingers, aiming for Mason’s face. He batted them aside, then sucker-punched it. A clunk of head on wood as it slumped atop a floor tacky with old ale. Mason breathed, feeling good ol’ fashioned adrenaline coursing through the meat parts of him. His arm trembled, and he clutched it with his other. Laia couldn’t see him like this.
She’d worry.
A slow clap made him turn. Another Master stood at the door, this one a man. It was like they all came from the same factory, assholes from boots to haircut. Piercing blue eyes. Slight sneer. Older than his partner. “You are as fearsome as they say.”
“You’re as stupid as they say.” Mason pulled the fire iron from the wall, giving it a swing. “I wondered how you were playing it. Clever, sending in a decoy.”
The Master spread his hands. “It doesn’t need to be this way.”
Mason laughed. “This is where you offer a partnership. Join forces. You’re really all misunderstood. Working for the people, not against them.”
“Yes.”
“You need a better marketing team.” Mason eyed the distance. The iron trembled in his hand. Ten meters, an easy throw for well-tuned bionics. But with Mason’s augments misfiring… Hmm. “I come from a place where we package promises in lies that feel like truth.”
The Master cocked his head. “It’s not so different here. We have a different way of making you believe.”
Mason sighed. “How you want it? Head or chest?”
“Don’t you wonder where Laia is?” The Master stepped inside, the rain chasing his heels.
“Not really,” admitted Mason. “She’ll be along.”
“What if we’d found her?” The Master’s face gave little away.
“Then my blood would boil out my eye sockets while you made her kill me.” Mason walked toward the Master. He needed to finish this before they made more Seekers. It was hard to be sure you wouldn’t kill your opponents. Mason ran a finger along his ribs where he wore a scar from a spear. He’d earned it being too careful, or not careful enough. “Let’s do this.”
The iron pulled in Mason’s hand, an invisible force sweeping it toward his face. The lattice reacted, bringing his other hand up. Metal rang as the iron hit Mason’s substructure, his arm trembling with the effort. Behind the Master, a young man entered. He looked lost, like they all did. Face full of pain, empty of hope. A metal collar lay like a circle of hate around his neck. He looked between the Master and Mason.
Mason, they’ve brought another like Laia and Zacharies. They’ll make children kill you.
Mason snarled, jumping for the Master. A ten-meter jump? No problem. A ten-meter jump with a high-powered telekinetic in the room? Impossible.
The boy tossed Mason back. He lost his grip on the fire iron as he flew through the air. Mason slammed into the hearth. Flames licked around him, ash and soot filling his eyes. A normal person might cough. Mason smiled. He was used to the cacophony of hell. Welcomed it as his home. Mason rose, smoke coming with him like an old friend. The fire iron shot through the air toward his chest. He caught it. Best hold onto that.
