by J M Guillen
She gave a harsh rasp, an inhuman, chittering cry of victory. Stringy mucus drooled from her mouth, brown and thick like old grease. She reared on her back legs and lunged at me, all horror and insectine grace.
I couldn’t harm it—not in this shape. It held no resemblance to anything real, anything that could be wounded.
No, I needed to shift the playing field.
I waited. I held out until the last possible second as the obsidian shards sliced into my trembling hand. When she came so close that her stench boiled around me, I fumbled for my pocket.
I found one of the dampening grenades and pushed the button.
WHUM. The device pulsed to life.
I felt the world tremble around me as Rationality cascaded into this bent, dark world. The local axioms warped as they underwent instantaneous change.
The screaming wind ceased around us. The ground became softer, and the air more breathable. Gravity shifted, and the stars twinkled. The creature itself—
Light. God, there’s light! I spotted a bright crevice behind the abomination.
The thin, antiseptic light of the men’s washroom filtered into this world.
The aberration had hidden the rift from me through some fell power. She’d dangled her lure through that crevice. I just hadn’t been able to see it, not with the mind-bending physics of this place. But with the dampener altering reality—
I didn’t waste a breath. Even as the spider-scorpion-bitch reached for me, I rolled to the side and stood. With animal panic and deep, unreasoning fear, I sprinted toward that sliver of light. The viral mecha in my blood sang and allowed me to push a touch harder…
I hoped it would be enough.
It wasn’t.
One of the creature’s legs caught me across the back, striking with razor sharpness. I felt a brief sliver of fire and pain.
“Come on!” I roared as I stumbled forward. I bit my lip, focusing.
My pain became irrelevant. That light shone, the only thing that mattered.
I felt the aberration turn, sensed her as she chased me. Monstrously fast, I heard her hard carapace click against the stone as she launched after me.
I hurled myself into that light and slammed onto the tiled floor. My back screamed where the aberration had ripped at me.
The Adjunct droned in my mind.
—twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds. Asset 108, please respond. You are location-unknown and tech adrift. You have been offline for three hours, twenty-seven minutes and twenty-six seconds. Asset 108—
Anya! I linked her in a panicked scream. The rift is still open! I turned and stared. The aberration had reached the crack. The air that sang through from that other place reeked of death and lost things.
Michael?
The spider-scorpion pushed three legs through the cleft. As I watched, she lowered her maw to the rift and pulled herself through.
The aberration emerged into Rational space. Between the dampener and the parts of her that straddled the rift, she no longer occupied her shadowed, shattered world. Now she burrowed into mine.
Rational physics applied.
I still held the obsidian shard. Hand trembling, I clenched as it bit into my flesh.
She lunged at me.
I plunged the shard into her gaping, tooth-filled maw with a scream, all savagery and victory and hatred.
“—fucking right, you bitch!” I hadn’t even realized I shouted. “You take that!
This time, she wasn’t some half-physical astral monstrosity. She writhed, all meat and chitin, blood and gristle. She screamed and sprayed gore as the shard exploded out the top of her head. Brown, stinking viscera splattered all over me and sullied the white walls of the stall.
I pulled back and lunged forward again, driving the sharp stone into one of her eyes.
Her screams no longer manifested only in my mind. Now they echoed through the tiled room as rasping, howling wails. Her legs twitched madly. As her body convulsed, the horror dragged herself away from me.
“No. You don’t get to run.”
I tried to pull the shard free to attack her again but found it slippery with her gore. I spun toward her, reaching forward with the Tabula Rasa in my other hand.
Quickly, she retracted into the rift, leaving only the hole between worlds.
Slowly, it faded from sight.
“Oh God.” I slumped against the side of the stall, covered in her viscera and my own blood. “Oh, fuck me.”
With another instant, I could have jammed the Tabula Rasa down her throat. I grinned at the thought, feral and half mad.
I smelled like grim death.
Michael, I need you to respond.
I laughed, more than a bit manic. For a long moment I couldn’t even link, the calm reason in Anya’s comment striking me as too catastrophically funny.
Finally, I found the will to answer.
My system is green, Preceptor. I am wounded but whole.
You are at Rationality zero, Michael. Caduceus Gardener reports that your Crown reads blood loss, fatigue, shock, and several torn muscles. Recommend immediate inoculation of type IV viral mecha.
Right. Okay. The wild grin wouldn’t leave my face.
Are you well, Michael?
No. I chuckled as I linked. Not at all. I pulled the injector from my shirt pocket. The device hissed slightly as I injected the mecha into my leg.
The door to the restroom opened, and some poor fellow gagged.
“Oh God!” He sounded as if he might retch.
“Sorry man,” I chuckled. “I must have had some bad sushi.”
“Are you—?” The voice choked. “Are you alright in there?”
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
Anya Petrova: Preceptor Second Tier
Three hours and twenty-eight minutes in total, Michael. Anya’s crisp tone contained no judgment; she simply reported facts.
Gone that long? I shook my head. The Designates seem irritated about the delay?
It is an imperfect situation, she responded. We had no way of knowing the coefficient for temporal slippage. You were in an unknown topiatic realm.
I understand.
I sat on the far side of the McCarran food court, watching as Facility Factors contained this portion of the airport. The entire area had been sectioned off, and security kept the public away.
Designate Ling certainly seemed insistent regarding our timeline.
If you had not been recovered within the next thirty-two minutes, Asset 087 would have been tapped for this dossier.
Michele? Out of LA? I wrinkled my nose. Lady’s hard to work with. She’s a bit persnickety.
I’ve never had difficulty with her.
You must have never worked with her and Wyatt together. I couldn’t help but chuckle. They fight like wet cats. Trust me, Anya, you’re better off.
In front of me, the last of the Facility Factors stepped out of the airport restroom and signaled that the area had been cleared. They branded the incident an environmental hazard, which served as well as any excuse.
“Bishop?” The deep voice from my left surprised me.
“Oh, hey.” I smiled at Reid Lockwood, Facility Factor 56, a regional enforcement agent for the Environmental Protection Agency.
I gestured at the chair next to me. “Have a seat.”
I’d worked with Reid before—several times in fact. The man held distinction among Factors: few others had attained his clearance. After working with the Facility for many years, the man knew almost as much as an actual Asset.
Almost.
“I just wanted to let you know that everything here looks tidy.” Reid grinned as he sat, the swarthy man projecting an almost inhuman level of confidence. “We only tinkered with the memories of a few people, and there’s no further sign of Irrationality.”
“I’m a little curious why the Designate signed off on you guys detaining me?” I took a sip of awful airport coffee. “I’m starting a dossier, and apparently
time is of the essence.”
“We had to promise we wouldn’t keep you long.” Reid shrugged. “The thing is, some jerkwad summoned the aberration you encountered. Called it straight up, right there in the airport restroom.”
“Are we sure about that?” I set the coffee cup down.
“Absolutely!” Reid chuckled as he spoke. “I don’t know what you’re in the middle of, but apparently Facility 17 has the whole area under scrutiny. Every kind of experimental telemetry the Facility has is being brought to bear.”
“So the Preceptors have data on this thing?”
“They do.” He shook his head slowly. “Seems someone expected us to find it. There are all kinds of traces left, sloppy work really.”
“Have the Designates changed their minds?” I picked the coffee back up and took another sip. I had to pretend as if it didn’t taste like mud. “Do they think this had something to do with my dossier?”
“Who knows, man?” Reid paused for a moment. “Awfully convenient, though.”
“You think it might have been an ambush.” I didn’t exactly ask because the answer seemed certain.
“Maybe.” He sighed. “Just don’t be surprised if we have to have a discussion about this later. I’ll replicate the data and attach it to your dossier report. If you remember anything else, we need to know about it.”
For a moment, I couldn’t help but think of the vaguely Arabic man who had stared at me across the concourse. I had absolutely no reason to believe he might have anything to do with the she-bitch spider-scorpion…
“Will do.” I smiled and offered Reid my hand. “You need anything else, you let me know.”
“Understood.” He took my hand and we shook.
2
Factor Lockwood thinks someone set a trap for us—left that creature as a party favor for us. I still stank of otherworldly filth and gore as I walked through the airport. Now that I had moved outside the Factors’ quarantine area, I exposed the public to a wonderfully unique stench.
Does he? Anya didn’t have to communicate her disbelief; I could feel it.
He may be right. Only a Facility Preceptor would have found that snare.
Unlikely. Anya’s coolness bled across the link. The probability doesn’t play out. Facility Assets do not typically use citizen transportation. Leaving such a snare here is inefficient.
Except, I frowned, my exasperation obvious through the link. Except it did, in fact, catch me, didn’t it? I’m not suggesting this is the only location, Anya. It might have been one of several. I stopped and took a drink at a water fountain, trying to wash the taste of that bitter coffee from my mouth.
You believe the Irrationals responsible for our strange telemetry readings summoned not one but several aberrations for surveillance?
Yes. I paused. No. Not exactly. The aberration wasn’t immediately on the scene when the snare pulled me driftways into its topia. I think it might have a web of those snares, likely spread across the city. In fact, I suspect the Irrats know we triggered one.
I see. She stayed silent for a long moment. When she linked again, I felt her cautious logic. If what you say is true, the implication is that we are dealing with an operation of higher sophistication than we are accustomed.
Correct. I nodded, even though anyone around would think I nodded to no one in particular. It means our Irrats know of the existence of the Facility and understand our protocols enough to lay a trap.
That is a dangerous possibility. She paused again. I will bring this consideration to the Designate and patch the details of our conversation to Wyatt’s Crown. She hesitated. Do you have anything you would like to add to the packet?
Only that I reek and need a wash.
That seems unrelated. It is an added difficulty if you require clean clothing.
I do require. Also about a gallon of cologne. I headed down the steps, ignoring the disgusted glares of the people I passed.
I am pulling around to the south gate. I will be there momentarily.
I’ll be the handsome guy who smells like monster viscera and is smoking. You can’t miss me. I skipped the luggage terminal, as I had none with me. Once to the door, I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit up.
Asset Gardener reports the viral mecha in your bloodstream are tasked to 88% maximum, Michael. You might consider waiting before smoking.
I don’t care, Anya. I took a long, satisfying drag. You can tell the Caduceus I said so. Pick me up. Let’s get Guthrie and get this done.
Affirmative, Asset. Her normally cool tone went frigid.
Anya hated it when others ignored her advice.
3
Anya drove a black sedan, one of our Legacy-class vehicles. The car contained several axiomatic upgrades woven into the body, making it one of my favorite vehicles. The moment I stepped close to it, I felt the sedan ping my Crown.
My Adjunct immediately responded.
Bishop, Michael. Asset 108. You have been recognized as an operator for this vehicle.
Good to know. As Anya pulled up, I put out my cigarette and hopped in, shotgun. However, I will allow the Preceptor to continue her role as operator at this time.
Current mission-specific upgrades to this vehicle include a Wraith system as well as a contingent of Raiju-class drones hidden within the chassis. Telemetric relays have been activated within the dashboard to strengthen readings. Each seat also generates type seven emanations designed to sync with all active viral mecha. The message paused. Would you like the full list of specifications?
I’ll check the specs later. I shot Anya a boyish smile as I fastened my seatbelt. “Did you miss me?” I asked, nodding even before I finished the sentence. “Of course you did. You missed me.”
She said nothing but crinkled her nose ever so slightly. Then she shook her head, as if to clear the scent from her sinuses and pulled away from the airport.
“You know, other coworkers exchange pleasantries when they start a day’s work.” I slumped down in the seat a little and gazed at myself in the car’s mirror. With a little tousle, my hair regained some semblance of acceptable.
“You smell like a sewer,” Anya opened conversationally. She didn’t add any sting to the words, simply spoke them, matter of fact as always.
“There it is.” I chuckled, opening my arms as if to hug her.
Anya’s voice always sounded so strange when she actually spoke. Many times while on dossier, I could only communicate with her through the sterile utility of our links. But when she spoke in person? Anya’s soft voice had a musicality to it, a sweetness.
I thought it quite beautiful.
“We’re running late.” When she shook her head, her straight, blonde hair bounced partially over her face. She pushed it back behind the white tactical gear covering her shoulder and glanced at me with winter-blue eyes.
“That’s not exactly my fault,” I explained. “The Factors demanded I hang out for a little bit.”
“Fault doesn’t come into play here.” Anya watched the road, her mouth a smooth line. “We have a task to complete, and we are running behind.”
“This is why you’re my favorite Preceptor.” I pointed at her. “I missed you too.”
“I did not indicate I missed you.” The tiniest furrow appeared between her eyes, the scarcest shadow of confusion.
For my ice princess, this spoke volumes.
As a Preceptor, Anya had permanent Asset enhancements. Much of her internal nervous system had been built, cell by cell, toward the purpose of altering her sensitivity to ripples in reality itself.
No small feat, that. The Preceptors were living diagnostic operatives. Specifically, these diagnostics included the capability to read telemetric relays and therefore coordinate a cadre while in Irrational situations.
Anya amazed me in action, a genius in a tight spot. More than once I’d been surrounded by otherworldly horrors, certain that events were headed south, but she had stood with me. She could remain cool in the center of Irration
al hell itself, all the while calmly updating me as to how deep the shit had actually risen.
Unlike Wyatt and me, she never got to turn off her life with the Facility. Anya’s position could not be negotiated. She lived this life, twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.
I would say I felt sorry for her, but emotions weren’t her strong suit. I genuinely didn’t know how much she could suffer. In fact, when it came to Preceptors, I didn’t know much at all.
“It’s Facility 8,” Wyatt had once observed while we waited to be debriefed. “I know it’s gotta be somewhere in Moscow, but I just don’t know where. That must be where they receive their fancy-schmancy modifications.”
“Schmancy?” I let one eyebrow rise. “Are you saying Facility 8 can make me into a super-genius?” Every Preceptor I ever met scored off the intelligence charts. “If Facility 8 can pull that off, sign me up.”
“Oh, Hoss.” Wyatt shook his head. “Making you a genius? I’m bettin’ some things are even beyond the Designates’ capabilities.”
“Why do you think they’re always women?” I furrowed my brow, trying to sort it out.
“Why are they always gorgeous?” Wyatt winked at me. “Have you ever seen an ugly Preceptor?”
“I’ve never even seen an average-looking Preceptor,” I mused.
“Here’s how I figger it.” He leaned close, conspiratorial. “I wager they have to be genetically perfect to accept the neural architecture. That’s the only thing that explains it.”
“Could be,” I replied. Preceptors were wonderfully fit in all the most enticing ways. Perhaps specific genetics had become a requirement in crafting their telemetric relays. Were that the case, then their physical characteristics might be a side effect.
“Now, if only the Facility could ingrain a sense of humor.” Wyatt toyed with his beard as he chuckled.
“It would be nice if she understood more of my jokes,” I agreed. “It truly is a shame for someone to miss out on my amazing wit.”
“I’m gonna nod and pretend you said you were an ‘amazing twit.’” Wyatt sank back in his chair, grinning to himself.
We’d had that conversation almost three years ago. In all that time, Anya had never been anything other than courteous and highly professional. No matter how I might try to tease her or crack wise, she remained aloof.