by J M Guillen
To look at it, no one could tell the difference from a typical suit. Except the quasi-steel breathed more easily than linen and could take a bullet or six.
Offhandedly, I wondered how much thought Anya gave to the clothing she requisitioned.
Probably none.
I stripped off my slacks and button-up, then slipped into the steaming water.
“Oh, God yes.” The water felt like heaven itself.
I didn’t dally, however. I showered up, splashed on some expensive cologne—Anya’s idea of a joke?—and slipped the gear from the ruins of my old suit into fresh pockets.
Wyatt always giggled at my tendency to wear a suit jacket and slacks regardless of the mission, but it felt appropriate.
“Hard to play super-spy without the proper attire,” I reasoned to myself as I gazed in the mirror. I tousled my hair and gave my reflection a grin then turned toward the back of the white room.
“This,” I said to myself as I glanced around at my options, “is more like it.”
The weapon’s cabinet had been loaded with various firearms, both mundane and Facility specialized. I saw more than one model of Maverick, as well as two different Talons—Facility sniper rifles, broken down for easy transport. A display off to the side held four different models of Vulcan, our own high capacity TASERs.
I passed those over, searching for a pair of Stilettos, my current favorite pistols.
“There we are.” I picked up the sleek, black weapons.
Stilettos required no ammunition, one of the things I preferred about them. Instead, they fired compressed bursts of sheer kinetic force—force I modulated at will. I enjoyed being able to fire ad infinitum, as well as the capability to choose how hard I wanted my shots to hit.
The hilt of each encased a small, blue injector, exactly like the others we used for the viral mecha. I popped both out and pressed them to my forearm. They hissed as the specialized mecha flooded my bloodstream.
The moment they hit my Crown, I heard the Adjunct prompt. Bishop, Michael. Asset 108. Do you wish to initiate weapon synchronization?
“I do,” I spoke out loud. “Please synchronize both for item possession and neural link.”
Without the mecha, the guns became paperweights. However, if I burned their operational reserves, those mecha could give the weapons a significant boost, create a shot exponentially stronger than typical.
Synchronization initiated.
My Crown tingled as the mecha altered the parameters of my nervous system. The sync would progress regardless of what I did, so I opened one of the weapons’ cabinets. Inside I found various throwing knives, tonfa, and even a set of injectable brass knuckles.
I considered the tonfa for a moment, as I enjoyed using them. Still, if I had my choice…
My gaze fell upon a set of katana, resting delicately on a display rack.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” I gazed longingly at the mated pair of katana on the wall.
Yet I couldn’t be certain I would have the neural space. I didn’t exactly have any sword training, but one of the packets I often took came preset with the required skills.
“Maybe,” I told myself. “If I have the space.”
I continued my perusal, noticing I hadn’t been provided with any dampening grenades or Wrath-class explosives. I shut the door and peered in the next cabinet. No, it only held ammunition for traditional weaponry.
I preferred weapons that wouldn’t run dry, thank you.
Synchronization complete, 108. How else can I help you?
I think it may be time for Cradle harmonization.
Understood, Michael Bishop. Will comply.
An otherworldly, high-pitched whir began on the other side of the room. I grit my teeth. The sound set me on edge, made me feel nervous in an illogical way I couldn’t quite explain.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, resigned.
The Cradle loomed at the far end of the room. At first glance, it appeared to be a stainless-steel table stood upright on one end. Closer inspection revealed handholds at the side and swivel capabilities. Along its left edge ran a dizzying array of LED lights, data readouts, and biogenic resonators. A white metal halo encircled the Cradle, its surface engraved with grooves. A swing arm attached to the halo via a hinged joint. At the end of it hung a blue-tipped silver rod, sleek, about the size of a ballpoint pen.
A polished chrome plate with an obsidian inset labeled the halo. I traced my fingers along the markings used by the Facility. I had no idea what they said, and I’d never met an Asset who could read them.
Not that it had never been tried.
“Designate stuff,” Wyatt confided in me once. “Some kind of secret language.”
“Yeah?” We slipped through the old Chicago underground, searching for a small cult holed up in an old speakeasy. “How do you figure?”
“I’ve seen the markings,” he said with no small amount of glee, “on one of their Ordinal slates.”
“You saw one of the slates?”
“Designate Johanson is a bit slow sometimes.” He paused. “I wasn’t trying to look; it just happened that way.”
“Aren’t they the same as the dataglyphs?”
“I think so. I use a few for the Tangler but not many.” He took a few more steps through the darkness before continuing, “I don’t know where they came from, but it’s an entire language. I’d kill to know it.”
Initiating now, 108. Several of the lights along the side of the Cradle pulsed in a triggering sequence. Prepared for Crown entanglement.
With this last link, the white halo slid to the bottom of the table. Verdant lights blinked amidst clicks and whirs. I walked over to it and stepped inside the halo.
Initiate entanglement.
Will comply.
When I first entered the halo, I felt the subtle snick as it entangled with my Solomon’s Crown. I leaned against the table and held onto the side handles.
Noiselessly, the table began to shift beneath me, leaning backward.
The halo began to move of its own accord, as it calibrated to my settings and system. It positioned the rod around my head, paused, and then darted to another location, lightning fast.
Bishop, Michael. Asset 108. With each word, the end of the rod pulsed a brilliant cobalt blue. Would you like to peruse sanctioned neuralware? Your current classification will allow for three packets slots.
Three? The extra slot made me grin. The Designates had decided to let me have some fun. Peruse packets, please.
I noted the system time; eight minutes remained.
The world around me resolved into a shimmering whirlwind of scarlet dataglyphs; a maelstrom of symbols. Many of them moved along strands of shimmering light, the closest representation of the Lattice my mind could conceive.
Opening neuralware channels now, 108.
As I received the link, several of the strands bent toward me as if attracted by magnetic force. My neuralware channels entangled with these, and with a solid KA-THUNK in the back of my skull, my entanglement sequence completed.
Initiating packet selection, it chirped.
A collection of dataglyph-marked spheres appeared in my mind’s eye, each a different packet of Facility firmware. They could grant me battle skills, control over exotic technology, or even limited mastery of localized axioms.
Not complete mastery, of course. The Facility would never license us to warp and rend reality ourselves. We weren’t Irrats, after all. First-tier Assets such as Wyatt and I were typically kept on a pretty tight leash.
Heck, most of the time my assignments didn’t stretch much beyond low level psychics and cultists.
Mentally, I thumbed through the packets. The sheer number of them left me confused. Fury, Adept, Raptor…
I even found a Seraph packet. I hardly ever saw that one.
“Weird.”
I thumbed past Titan and Juggernaut, my hackles rising. Most missions offered one or two possibilities. Often, the
Designate selected packets for the Asset pre-incursion.
What did this freedom mean?
The system also offered a Caduceus packet, designed to direct and bolster the viral mecha in our bloodstreams. A sweet option, but it would take up all three of my Crown slots.
Besides, I had the feeling Rachel Gardener would be all the Caduceus I needed.
“What is all this?” I shook my head, a bit overwhelmed.
I thought back to what Wyatt had said about this being the largest Irrational event on record. He’d mentioned repercussions.
Were we being prepared for those repercussions or for the expected danger-level of the current dossier?
“Doesn’t matter.” I ground my teeth. “Choose something and move along, Asset.”
The Spectre packet caught my eye. I hadn’t ever used it, but I knew the specs. The idea of being physically insubstantial appealed to me, but I needed to be on hand if Anya required assistance. If Wyatt geared the Artisan to counteract Irrats, then my cadre needed me to be a bit more of a bruiser.
This wasn’t the time to experiment.
In seconds, I drifted through the array of choices. Cavalier, Rapier, Tempest…
“The Wraith.” One of my most frequent packets, I brought it forward. I manipulated the packet interface and glanced through its specs. The Wraith only took up one of my slots and had always served me well.
The diaphanic emitter, the Wraith’s firmware, had saved me on more than one occasion. It employed a simple axiomatic change but a potent one. When engaged, the vast majority of my surface area would no longer interact with most bandwidths of light. Practically identical to invisibility. Handy in a pinch.
However that barely scratched the surface of the Wraith’s utility for stealth and subterfuge. The emitter dampened noise as well as bent light. I didn’t know all the specifics, but on more than one occasion, the packet had enacted preinstalled subroutines, assisting me in unexpected ways.
“Bullshit,” Wyatt had said when I brought up the possibility. “You’re just the luckiest asshole alive.”
“The Wraith can alter sound; we know that,” I insisted. “So when an unexpected noise distracts a guard—an unexplainable sound with no cause—what else could that be?”
“You’re implying a packet can make choices, think for itself.” He shook his head. “Even if it could, it’s not worth the metabolic alterations.”
He had a point; it definitely stoked the metabolism even when inactive. Protocols dictated the emitter not be active for longer than fifteen minutes at a time.
Do you wish to install the Wraith? The Adjunct sounded chipper.
I do.
Crown slot 12-b is currently configured for this class of packet.
Do it.
The swing arm darted to my left, coming to a stop level to my neck. The small rod swung closer, flashing with cobalt light.
Crown dock 12-b engaged. Packet transferring to iteration 108. A series of clicks whirred. Packet installed, Asset.
One choice down.
I gazed longingly at the Gatekeeper packet for creating Facility conduits. The standard process followed smooth lines of logic. An Asset geared with Gatekeeper would be deposited into a hot zone. From there an Asset would establish a conduit available for extraction or reinforcements.
Then I remembered what Anya had said about aberrant vectors. In an unstable area, a conduit might not open in the intended location. It could open anywhere at all.
I remembered the deafening, screaming wind of the spider-scorpion’s lair and shuddered.
So no, not today.
Instead I accessed the Adept.
This packet requires two slots to function. Do you wish to—
Yes. Continue, I urged, impatient. Begin packet installation. I glanced at the system time, four minutes.
Crown slots 12-c and 12-e are currently configured for this class of packet.
Perfect. Use those.
The halo moved a few centimeters, and the arm darted wildly. Its tip pulsed, bright blue.
The Adept packet altered reaction times and concentration, making the user superhumanly fast. It also came with a plethora of preprogrammed combat routines, including various melee moves perfect for the katana. It even generated proteins to keep the user alert and intensely focused. Wyatt and I theorized it created natural caffeine or an adrenaline alternative.
Of course, Wyatt also theorized I might be addicted to the intense rush that came with the packet and suggested I needed professional help for it.
Personally, he wouldn’t be caught dead with the Adept.
“I prefer fighting the ’Rats from as far away as possible.” Though this had been one of our earliest discussions, I still saw his grin. “I prefer not to fight at all, actually. Set it up so you win before you start. Sun Tzu and all that shit.”
I felt differently. I’d never learned any true martial art, but with the Adept packet, I never had to. When activated, everything I needed coursed through my body like sweet quicksilver. I had speed, muscle memory, and fighting styles.
With the Adept and the Wraith cybergeared into my Crown, I could be devastating. I became a character in a bad anime, without the need to power up.
Crown docks 12-c and 12-e engaged. Packet transferring to iteration 108. Another series of clicks whirred. Packet installed, Asset.
Perfect. Please disengage Cradle.
Disengaging, Asset.
One minute remains, Michael, Anya linked. Wyatt is complete and has emerged.
I’m finished. Grinning, I grabbed both katana on my way out as well as a few more injectables. When I stepped into the brilliant desert sun, Wyatt laughed.
“Playin’ a ninja again, I see. What’s the sound of one hand clapping?”
“What’s the sound of one man handing you your ass?” I offered.
Chuckling, we walked back to the car.
I glanced at him as we walked.
“Tangler again, huh?” The Artisan might as well be a permanent install for him.
Wyatt wore a sleek, black backpack with several readouts along the side. A semi-circular keyboard hung from his belt at his right hip. The keys were in no tongue I understood—mostly dataglyphs. It calibrated the rivet gun-like attachment hung over his right shoulder.
“I stick with what I know,” he replied.
Technically, it wasn’t named the Tangler. The single most complex piece of equipment at the disposal of an Asset had an appropriately grand name: the T-90 Axiomatic Redistribution Algorithm. With it, Wyatt could temporarily alter Rationality within a given radius to almost any specification. Defensively, he could set up fall back locations by changing the laws of physics on the battlefield. He just had to choose a radius and input the alterations. An Artisan could shift gravity or alter the density of stone. He even had the capability to convert one element to another.
Wyatt’s skill with the thing amazed me.
“You go ahead swing your swords at the ’Rats. I’ll stay back, thanks.”
“You’re cheating,” I countered. “At least I engage straightaway. Boiling your opponent’s blood or turning his bones into acid seems unfair.”
“It is unfair.” He grinned at me. “There’s a reason we aren’t allowed to do that crap, typically.”
“Typically.” I snorted. “You like to skirt the regs with that thing and you know it.”
“Heh,” he replied. “Whatever gets me home.”
Wyatt seemed like an unlikely choice to wield such a complex device. To look at him or even speak with him for a few moments, a person might walk away believing Wyatt to be a shallow redneck who loved beer, stock car races, and strip clubs.
One would be correct.
But the Tangler required a genius-level grasp of mathematics and a mastery of particle physics. I’d seen him alter the rate at which wounds healed, transform the oxygen in a man’s bloodstream into red-hot plasma, and even shift the direction of gravity right underneath an Irrat’s feet.
> Typically, offensive uses of the device remained prohibited. But sometimes…
Suddenly, I realized Wyatt didn’t have any guns.
“What happened to the pistol you wanted? A Maverick, wasn’t it?”
“Nope.” His expression appeared grim. “Not today.”
“Why not?”
“This is an entirely new Artisan packet. Took all my Crown slots. Plus a shitload of injectables.” He paused. “I even have to be cautious what mecha I use.”
Unusual. Most of our weaponry required either a Crown sync or viral mecha. Both said something.
“So today you’re not running anything but the Artisan?”
“You got it.” He nodded. “Tangler only. It’s an odd packet. I won’t need near the Designate clearances I have in the past.”
“And that means…?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Means I’ll be able to mix it up quicker, have more authority on the fly.”
Wyatt wasn’t saying something.
“That’s good for us, at least,” I probed.
“Right.” He gave a rueful grin. “Sure. Sure it is. Makes a man think, is all. Interesting time to let up on the reins a bit.”
I thought back to all the available packets. It did feel like the Facility had allotted us more than standard resources. I took another few steps before probing again.
“Does feel like this is more than a typical insertion, doesn’t it?”
“You never geared the Artisan, so you don’t know.” He spat into the dust. “While I’m in the white room, I typically have to clear ten to twelve algos with the Designates, while the Tangler equips.” He met my eye. “Most of the crap you see me pull is precleared hours before I do it.”
“That makes sense.” I nodded thoughtfully. If the Designates gave preclearance on whatever weird physics fuckery Wyatt pulled, it might be easier for them to create equilibrium in Rationality once he’d finished.
“When I geared this packet, the Adjunct said no preclearance required.” He scratched his beard. “I’m supposed to patch a record of every algo I use on this dossier. After the fact. I have general clearance to act as required.”
“That’s—” I shook my head. “That’s a ludicrous amount of leeway. They’ve given you the capability to alter Rationality as you see fit?”