by J M Guillen
That sounded like a really bad idea. If the Designates later chose to scrape my Crown for data, I certainly didn’t want them to find I had chosen a… dalliance.
I didn’t answer Tatiana. Instead, I sent a link, Hey there, buddy.
“Oh my—!” He exclaimed from across the aisle. “Seriously? Are you serious right now?”
“What, baby?” His slender companion stopped her writhing and ran one finger down his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go,” I whispered to Tatiana. “It seems my pal has realized I’m here.”
“Are you sure?” She nuzzled against my cheek, her breath warm on my ear. “We haven’t really gotten to know each other yet.”
You’re some piece of work, Wyatt linked, irritation plain in his tone. How do you not know to give a man a little privacy?
We’ve got a job to do, buddy. I put one hand on Tatiana’s lower back, trying to hold her in place rather than allow her to continue to “encourage” me. If you had answered my link, I wouldn’t have had to come searching for you.
This is just amazing. He shifted in his seat.
“It’s not my fault,” I said, loud enough so he could hear. “Our client requires some attention.”
Wyatt sighed. “Honey, papa bear’s gonna have to step away,” he informed the dancer. “I have some business to deal with.”
“No…” The young Asian woman pouted. “You don’t have to leave yet.”
“You know,” Tatiana whispered, wriggling her hips as she glanced across at Wyatt’s alcove. “I don’t mind working with Jasmine. We could make it a party.”
“Jasmine?” I arched one eyebrow at her. “That girl’s name is not Jasmine. I don’t believe it.”
“You can’t just leave, Archibald.” Now she pouted too. “You know how much money I could have made if I’d focused on another guest?”
“We’ll make it right,” I assured her.
“I’m not leaving here sober.” Wyatt stood, one hand on Jasmine’s hip. A grizzly of a man, he stood nearly a head taller than me. He had the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen but always dressed as a good ol’ country boy. Today he wore jeans, a beat-up Stetson over his close-cropped head, and wide sunglasses that might be a full decade out of fashion.
“Two fingers of Jack.” He reached out and kissed Jasmine on the cheek. He held up a fifty and pointed at me. “For each of us.”
“That’s gotta be it, man.” I stood as well. “One last drink at the bar, but then we’re out.”
“Then we’re out,” he agreed wearily.
3
Less than five minutes later Wyatt and I sat at the bar, enjoying one last drink. I’d run my card again, ensuring Tatiana got a hefty tip. We’d assured Jasmine and Tatiana that, no, we definitely weren’t staying any longer and therefore weren’t their best options as guests to entertain.
“Too bad, though.” Tatiana toyed with my hair. “You’re a lot of fun, Archibald.”
“That’s Dr. Moneycock to you,” I responded airily.
“Right,” she agreed. “Come back and see me? Maybe after you save the world?”
“Maybe after I save the world,” I confirmed. “It’s a dangerous life I lead, though; it might be a while.”
“I’ll wait.” She giggled. “I don’t really have anything else going on.” Then she kissed me on the cheek before walking away.
“You couldn’t wait another hour?” Wyatt scoffed. “I was having a hell of a time.”
“I’ve had a hell of a time, all day.” I took a sip of my Jack. I hadn’t even swallowed before I felt the incoming link.
“Give me a minute, man.” Wyatt waved one hand at me. “Let me shift modes.”
Michael, I see Asset Guthrie is active and green, Anya linked.
Yep. We’ll be outside in just a minute.
I’ve been communicating with Asset Gardener ever since 423 came back online, she informed me.
The Caduceus?
Correct. She paused. She would like a quick word with you, if you are available?
Okay. I furrowed my brow. What does she want? I couldn’t imagine why the medical Asset would be interested in speaking with me.
Anya didn’t respond. Instead, I felt the clicks and whirs of my Crown’s handshake protocols. In less than a second, Asset Gardener’s Facility profile merged with my dossier and available Asset information. As if I’d known her for my entire life, I remembered her basic personality and Facility specs.
I felt her the moment her trace touched my Crown.
She felt pissed.
Hello, Caduceus! I did my best to exude cheer. How can I help you today?
Hello, 108. Asset Rachel Gardener sent irritation along with her link. I’d like to discuss the current status of your cadre.
Understood. I took another sip. I have just rendezvoused with Asset 423, and we will shortly make our way toward our white room. From there, I expect our dossier will begin.
108, you should be aware Guthrie’s current blood alcohol level is .08. He is impaired and unfit.
Really? I took a long, sideward glance at Wyatt. You’d never know it to look at the man.
You’d also never know it if your own BAC registered somewhere around .11, she replied. Neither of you are fit to engage new packets in a white room.
I… didn’t intend to drink, I explained lamely.
You accidentally got drunk in a strip club? I felt her eyes roll to the ceiling. I completely believe that. You are completely believable right now.
We’ll take care of it, I assured her. We won’t hook our Crowns to the Cradle while drunk.
Um, that is correct. You will not. She paused. Anya Petrova has viral mecha prepared. Both you and Asset Guthrie will take two injections of Type III viral mecha upon returning to the vehicle.
Understood, Caduceus. I finished my drink. You can count on me.
You just took another drink! I felt her shake her head, gasping in disbelief. You know I can watch your physical reactions in real time, right?
I… did not know that, I admitted. That was my last swallow. I’m retrieving Guthrie now and removing him from the premises.
That would be best. Do not engage new system packets while in your current state.
Copy that.
I will also defer your body’s sleep requirements. If this dossier can be completed within the next forty-eight hours, that would be preferred.
Understood, Rachel. I smiled over the link. Thank you. The moment I sent the link I felt her fade from my Crown.
I guess the ice princess is waiting outside? Wyatt glanced at me.
You know she is. We have to get moving. I’ve already had a rough day.
You and me both. He smiled, a flash of square white teeth. Almost got into a bar fight.
You’ve been offline, so I couldn’t send you my day. I sucked on a piece of ice. Let me catch you up. I sent him the patch, porting it to his memory. In that instant, Wyatt remembered my day, as certainly as if it had happened to him.
Wow. His eye momentarily widened. That’s a truly messed up day. He took another sip. You aren’t the only one though. Here.
I felt the slight whir of his patch. Instantly, as if I’d lived the memories myself, his recollections formed in my mind. During Wyatt’s long evening in The Booby Trap, each moment loomed sharp and horrifyingly intimate. I remembered every sight, scent, and sound in full, three-dimensional technicolor. Every beverage he’d drunk, the five women he’d dallied with…
And yes, he’d gotten into a bar fight with a lean guy topped by a shock of red hair. Apparently Wyatt caught the guy staring at him, and then the guy had been rough with one of the ladies. Wyatt and the bouncer threw him out.
Afterward, Wyatt had celebrated.
My friend certainly made use of his time and money, and I experienced every second as if it had been my party instead of his.
Wyatt’s tastes were… eclectic to put it mildly.
He grinned widely at me.
&nbs
p; Dude. Not cool.
You just try to forget that. He finished his drink, adjusted his hat, and stood. Let’s get out of here.
I blinked and tried to push the images of Wyatt’s long night to the back of my mind.
When I stood, he recoiled, his nose wrinkled.
Damn, Bishop. You reek.
I sighed and followed him out of the bar.
4
“This is not my place of employment.” Anya’s quiet voice grew firm. “Not at this time.”
“All’s I’m sayin’ is maybe you should. It should be. That’s what I mean.” The man leaned against the Legacy. After too much time inside The Booby Trap, he slurred and stumbled, in no shape to drive.
“She’ll take your idea under consideration, I’m certain.” I walked around the man and opened the back door.
“Hey, I jus’—”
“We don’t care, pal. We gots to go.” Wyatt tipped his hat to the man as he got in the passenger side.
That man offered me a job in the restaurant. Anya blinked in confusion.
She doesn’t get it? Wyatt stared incredulously.
I shrugged.
He said I looked like a perfect fit. Anya continued, He told me he thought I could do just as well as any of the other women in there.
“Ha!” Wyatt patted her knee. “You could, Petrova. I just bet you could.” When Anya moved his hand, he laughed again.
Let’s go, I linked them both. Anya, do you have viral mecha for us?
“I do.” She threw the Legacy into reverse. “Asset Gardener has made it clear that each of you require two.”
“Two?” Wyatt gasped. “Princess, I’m just fine, I promise you.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.” I leaned forward between the two seats to glare at him. “We’ve had too much to install any packets.”
“That might not be so bad.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Maybe we should step back inside? Take a couple hours to sober up?”
“Maybe another time.” I shook my head.
“White room dispersal is on a very limited timeframe,” Anya informed him. “Going back into the restaurant isn’t the best use of our time.”
“I dunno…” Wyatt gave her a teasing smile. “I really think you’d fit in well there.”
“The injectors are in the glovebox,” Anya stated. “Taking them immediately would amplify their effectiveness.”
“Yes, Mom.” Wyatt opened the glovebox and handed me two injectors.
“Michael,” she went on, “I’ve made certain you will be equipped with a shower and clothing exchange.”
“Thank God for that.” Wyatt rolled down his window. “Seriously. You smell like raw sewage.”
“Well, some of us had to work today.” I sat back with my injectors, hoping to protect my cadre from the worst of the reek.
We drove into the desert.
The world fell away behind us.
Cradle and Crown
Several kilometers outside of Las Vegas, Anya turned south on 160. Somewhere past Pahrump, she pulled into a small, abandoned gas station. Wyatt had been half asleep, but now he sat up and pulled his hat back.
How about a beer run? He linked to me alone.
I’m pretty certain I haven’t seen you take your injections yet. I’d say now’s the time.
We were a few hours outside Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the viral mecha began to take hold. He pulled his pant leg up and took the shots.
“Gentlemen,” Anya began. “For the next fifteen minutes, the washroom behind the station will function as our white room.”
“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “All my best stories today seem to involve extra-dimensional restrooms.”
“From here,” Anya continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “it’s less than two hours to the hot site. Extraction teams have been readied, but they are also using mundane transportation. We have no conduit support for this location.”
Still? Like myself, Wyatt held out hope that a Facility team might be able to set up an extraction conduit.
“The unstable Rationality levels of this region have made that an impossibility,” she stated firmly. “No matter how we run the topiatic coordinates, the Gatekeepers cannot guarantee the stability of a conduit due to aberrant vectors.”
“That’s brilliant,” Wyatt grumbled, annoyed. “So when we’re in the thick of it, and some ’Rat is summoning horrific lamentations, we just gotta… what, out run them?”
“No Irrational with that capability has been confirmed on-site, Asset Guthrie.” Anya’s head twitched the smallest amount. “Our primary objective remains getting close enough to Locale One for me to read ambient Rationality. If there are further directives, the Designate will update us as required.”
“In and out.” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Due to the unusual nature of this event, Michael is in possession of a sync with Designate Ling.” Anya nodded in my direction. “We are to activate the sync when we are one kilometer from Locale One.”
“You have a system sync?” Wyatt’s eyes grew wide. “You’re Asset-in-command?”
“Not really,” I assured him. “Ling just wanted a ride along.”
“We’re all going to die,” he lamented.
“This is all old news to me.” I smiled at Wyatt. “I haven’t spent the last several hours offline at The Booby Trap.” I opened the car door. “I do, however, smell like monster viscera, and a shower is on the offer.”
“You need one, Hoss,” he replied. “My mama would say you smell like chitlins that done went bad.”
“I shall remain here while you get equipped.” Anya met my eyes for just a moment. “I thought I might continue my research into the Irrational spikes to see if I can identify any further patterns.”
“Brilliant.” I gave her a thumbs-up. “Make certain you patch Wyatt what you found with the Fibonacci numbers.”
“I have not done that yet, thank you.” Anya turned toward Wyatt, and I watched his miniscule tic as he received her patch.
“That’s flipping weird.” He scowled. “I like all of this less and less.”
“Good.” I clapped him on the back. “At least we agree.”
Together, we walked toward the abandoned structure.
The grit and dust of Nevada had leeched all the color out of the gas station, and one of the dirty windows had a crack all the way across the top. Overhead, the morning sun fell like a hammer on the anvil of the desert.
“I assume you’re going to pick up the Tangler?” I knew Wyatt’s answer. For all his rough charm, Wyatt remained one of the few men I knew with the intellect to absolutely master that piece of tech. I hoped he’d take it; the man was an artist with the device.
“If I can get it. I’d love to walk in there and see a couple of pistols though, just in case. Maybe a Maverick, if I have Crown space.”
“Sure.” I considered. “I’ll probably take kinetic disruptors; I’ve gotten fond of them lately.”
“Stilettos?” Wyatt gave me an askance eye. “I dunno, Hoss, I like my guns to have bullets.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “Right up ’til the bullets run out. Firing blasts of kinetic energy, I won’t have to worry about that.”
“Sure.” He nodded. “I get it.”
“It’s a sneak mission though, so I’ll poke around for an emitter.”
“The diaphanic emitter.” Wyatt shuddered. “Nope.”
“Really?” I squinted at him, trying to shield my eyes from the sun. “What’s not to like about nigh-invisibility?”
“Can’t stand the things. I don’t know what they do to my metabolism, but I’m always starving afterward.”
“It’s what keeps me trim.”
“Heh.” Wyatt kicked at a stone and then changed topics. “You understand, we’re in some deep bullshit here.”
“Are we?” I squinted at him. “I don’t think the Designates know what kind of bullshit we’re in, not yet.”
“They know
enough to send you in with a sync,” he replied. “And that Fibonacci garbage Petrova found?” He shook his head. “Something huge is happening.”
“Maybe,” I replied airily. “I prefer to keep my predictions of doom and gloom to myself until we’re up to our necks in Irrational horror.”
“Mark my words, Hoss.” Wyatt stopped in front of the door and turned to gaze at me. “This may not seem like much now. But we’re potentially looking at the largest Irrational event within modern Facility records. There’s bound to be repercussions.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “You’re not wrong.”
Bishop, Michael, the Adjunct chirped in my Crown. Do you wish to initiate conduit?
In a moment.
For that moment, Wyatt and I stood in silence. Then I rapped my knuckles on the door.
“After you, my good man?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “Anything to get away from that smell.” Wyatt opened the door, muttering his clearance codes. Unlike when I used a conduit, I didn’t see the sudden flash of a crimson dataglyph. Instead, Wyatt simply opened the door and strode into a dilapidated public restroom then shut the door behind him.
Wyatt’s gearing up, Anya. I’m headed in.
Affirmative, Michael. Remember, we only have fourteen minutes remaining on that conduit.
Understood.
I touched the door and cleared my throat.
“Asset 108. Authorization code 020798361. System green.”
I opened the door. This time, ruby bursts of light flashed around the edges of the door, and the dataglyph burned into my mind.
I walked into the white room. The door closed behind me, leaving me in another place altogether.
2
Inside, I blinked the harsh desert sunlight from my eyes. This room had been set up differently than the last. Anya had indeed requisitioned a shower, and a fresh set of clothes hung beside it. The suit wasn’t in my preferred colors, but it seemed a perfect fit with lots of flexibility.
“Quasi-steel,” I noted as I fingered the cloth.