Upgrade by Richard Parry Page A

“Maybe after—”
    “Are you insane?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Bernie.   “I sell shit.   I make a percentage — a good percentage — on selling shit.   I’m pretty simple.   Not crazy.”   Just want to get mine.   Everyone else is getting theirs .
    “I can’t be there.   If it goes wrong—”
    “If it goes wrong, it’s not going to matter if you’re there or not,” said Bernie.   “They find me, they’re going to find you.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “Shit no.”   Bernie frowned.   “You know how this works.   It’s just a set of facts.   They’ll stick my head in a jar and suck whatever’s inside out.   They’ll find you.”
    She nodded.   “They will.”
    “So,” said Bernie, looking that fine body up and down again, “why don’t you come along?   It’ll give a buyer a little more… faith.”
    “Faith?”
    “Don’t hate the player,” said Bernie.   “Hate the game.”
    “You want me to…   To give them faith?”   She turned to face him again, the Apsel coat pulling tight over her breasts.   “The science is a little complicated—”
    “Science?”   He wasn’t sure if he was keeping her talking for a good reason, or just to keep looking at her.   She must have a damn good clinic.
    She sighed, her chest moving under the coat.   “You remember the rain?”
    “The rain.   Right.”
    “The rain?   It’s not from here.”
    “What do you mean, not from here?   Is it from Cleveland?”
    She shook her head.   “It’s from much, much farther away.   Trust me.”
    Bernie laughed, a small nasty sound.   “Trust is in real short supply, kid.   I tell you what would cut a deal, though.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “You.”
    “Me?”
    “You.   I tell you what.   I’ll bring some guys.   Buyers, with money.   You bring some product.   And yourself.   We’ll see if we can make something work.”
    “Something?”
    “What do you syndicate types call it?   ‘Contract transfer.’”
    The car sat under the rain for a moment, the only noise the rain on the roof.   It seemed loud, urgent, as if it wanted to come in.   “You want me to…”
    “Look, Doc.   If you sell something big?   They’re going to have you executed.”
    “Yes.”
    “You don’t care about that?”
    “I care,” she said.   “Believe me.   I’m attached to…”   A small smile pulled at her mouth.   “‘Sucking oxygen.’”
    Bitch is starting to thaw.   Keep working it, Eckers .   “You get a new contract, you get a new life.   Protection.”
    She nodded slowly, coming to the same conclusion.   “I’ll need a space to set up.   No mistakes this time.”
    Bernie took the bottle back from her, taking a drink himself.   “Just what are you selling, doc?”
    “I’m not a doctor.”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Not really.”   She looked down at her hands.   “I’ll need to show you.   Be there, to set it up.”
    “So Apsel don’t light us up from orbit?”   Bernie tugged his shirt away from his paunch.   “Or for insurance?”
    “Insurance, mostly.   I — I think I can get it working right.   So people don’t die.   So we don’t die.   Last time—”   Haraway looked out at the rain.   “So much has already gone wrong.”
    “How big?”
    “What?”
    Bernie twisted to face her again.   This deal could be big.   Could be the biggest you’ve run, Eckers.   Play out the line.   Don’t break the hook .   “How big a space do you need?”
    “Not very big.   Just for a demonstration.”
    “I got a place.   Off the grid.”
    “Does it have power?”
    “I thought you Apsel guys were all about power.”
    “The demonstration has a certain fingerprint.   If you’d listened to me before the test—”
    Bernie waved his hand.   “Bygones.”
    Haraway frowned.   “It’s best if it’s near something Apsel already runs.”
    “Don’t sweat the details.   You’ll get your Apsel reactor.”   Bernie put a