SynTracker | ONC 2021 | MM Romance | Sci-Fi | Complete

Five: Monday

"Morgan, the fuck is wrong with you that you called the whole weekend? Plus a shitload of messages?"

Travers' round face graced Ian's kitchen in full 3D. Typical, calling without having listened to or read a single message. But Ian didn't have it in him to resent the man when he was the first to return his calls at 9:05 on a Monday.

"I need Tracking codes. My—"

"We gave you codes! What did you do, lose them?"

"Travers—"

"Weren't you one of the responsible ones?"

"Travers." Too in love with the sound of his own voice, it was doubtful Travers would listen to a word Ian was saying before he reached the end of his prescriptive diatribe. The perfect blend of corporate drone and government employee, and that included the swearing. He was all about his speeches. Little wonder he headed the Tracker Liaison office.

"— and if you suddenly decide to start misplacing codes, fuck if I can see how we can keep contracting you."

Ian took the opening. "Wrong Syn. I need codes for a different Syn."

"You're done with your last assignment already?" Now he just sounded like a smug bastard. "Send it in. If you didn't go around biting more than you can chew buying fancy houses, you wouldn't be in this position. I can try to find you another contract, but lay off the weekend calls or you'll get fuck-all."

He almost told Travers he'd completed the mission. Almost. But he didn't. His gut feeling had never steered him wrong yet, and right now having access to a Syn was Ian's only information source. Travers had the codes for the Syn in the garage, yes, but not seeing them blinking on the Tracking app meant nothing, even if the man thought to check. Tracking chips slept when Syns did, or when they were turned off; BioSynths became undetectable. Not to mention Syns managed to have their chips removed with disturbing frequency, according to other Trackers.

Funny how that'd never happened to Ian or Kaya.

"I haven't finished the last one yet, but I need—"

"The fuck you calling me for, then? You know—"

"MY HUSBAND'S BEEN TAKEN!"

Silence. Blessed silence, and Travers gaping like a fish.

"There was an accident. Friday night. Quentin wouldn't have survived it, but it wasn't Quentin. Someone replaced him with a Syn, and I don't know how long he's been missing." Ian's voice cracked. He hated letting this much vulnerability show to a man who could exploit it, but it wasn't as if it were a secret, how much he loved Quentin. How he'd do anything for his husband. "I have the footage, I can forward it to you, but I need help. I need to find the Syn so I can find Quentin. I need codes. Please."

Travers could be a lot of things, depending on nothing in particular. Smarmy, sanctimonious, smug. 'Mercurial' was the only constant in his ever-shifting mood. But he wasn't completely devoid of empathy.

"Fuck, Morgan. Yeah, okay. Put a freeze on the current contract for now. Send me the accident vid. I'll fast track this, send you the codes as soon as I have them." Translucent beady eyes looked at Ian with something resembling compassion. "I'll put some feelers out too. See if any unclaimed bodies look like a match for your man. Hope I turn up empty, there."

It didn't soften the blow threatening to drag Ian to his knees. He swallowed, telling himself it was the omnipresent migraine making his eyes water. "Thanks, Travers. I owe you."

"Don't worry about it."

☵☲☵

The fact that he paid for this set of purchases in person with one of his traceless cards had less to do with the fear Syns might hack his nexus and more to do with how he didn't want himself associated with any of these items.