by J M Guillen
He moved like poetry, like a song on the wind.
He hadn’t even looked toward me when he struck.
“Aaarkk!” I stealthily grunted as the kick sent me stumbling sideways.
Without a pause, without a breath, the robed figure continued his sinuous motion. He flawlessly leapt off his first foot as it landed and brought his other boot around to catch me with a second strike.
That dropped me. I collapsed to the ground, my bell thoroughly rung. Consciousness slipped away, like the setting sun.
Bishop? I jerked awake as Wyatt linked, his worry muffled as if through mud.
I tried to answer, but couldn’t. Darkness seeped in around the edges of my mind.
Someone, someone incredibly far away, reached beneath my arms. Vaguely, I felt them hoist me. I fought for awareness, tried to drag my mind into focus.
I need a system report on Asset 108, Anya linked from the other side of the galaxy.
System recalibration in process, my Crown reported to us both. Asset experienced disruption in consciousness. Booting primary plexus now.
Oh.
OH!
Fuck.
That message meant my packets had all gone offline. With the Wraith powered down, they’d caught me easily.
“Kiva. Kiva!”
Rough hands lifted me to a standing position, then dragged me forward. I shook my head, trying to remember why someone had smashed cement blocks against my skull.
In front of me, orange luminescence burned in my blurry vision. I felt hot, as if I stood before a forge.
I blinked, trying to get a clear view.
Please respond, Michael.
I will, I promised. Just gimme a sec.
The people who held my arms muttered to each other in a harsh, unknown tongue. Their words bent strangely, warbling as if underwater.
“Hot.” I closed my eyes against the heat. When I opened them, I saw the inside of the well. My captors held me a scarce half meter from the crystalline structure.
My bleariness burned away in the face of that terrible furnace. My focus sharpened into razor-sharp surety, as I recalled the skull-headed thing—
No. No creature loomed within the boiling fury.
Instead the thick liquid bubbling inside the well held a hint of deep crimson, so dark it scarcely gave off any light. Iridescent color spewed around the molten silver metal like an oil-slicked rainbow. Blue slid to aqua and green while yellow and pink glinted in my gaze. They coruscated in an ever-shifting sheen over the base silver, and a hellish red molten tone covered it all.
The Kabs wrestled me closer to the fury of that alien furnace.
“No—!” I struggled, assuming they meant to dunk me.
The room echoed eerily, sounding much, much larger than it appeared.
With a rumbling burble, the gurgles intensified and furious heat rolled over me. Sweat dripped from my skin and made my clothes cling as the liquid boiled.
“Stop!” I pulled against one of my captors.
A molten globule lurched up from the basin, startling me into silence. The amorphous blob of glowing metal twisted in the air before plopping back into the liquefied fire. Then it reached upward again…
…and formed into a crude, skeletal hand.
“Oh fuck, no!” I gaped as I jerked back with a gasp.
The skeletal hand reached up and molten silver ran down the slender appendage in slow, blueish rivulets. It twitched, reminding me of someone in the grips of a spasm.
“No,” I repeated. The word fell from my lips like a lead weight.
More molten liquid rose, a deformed human skeleton that dripped with igneous sunlight. As I watched, the skull craned toward me with infernal motes of fury shining in the eye sockets. The creature possessed no jawbone, only the top portion of the skull and empty light in its eyes.
Yet, with sound echoing from beneath the world, it spoke.
“¿LLemviis nor an Twai?” The words echoed sharply, sibilant sounds that seemed rounded and edged all at once. They reverberated, echoing slantways through the air. A question, seemingly, but I had no way to answer.
Michael?
Patch incoming. I included all my sensory data from the last few moments and hurried it along, porting to their memory.
Shit, Wyatt elocuted.
“¿LLemviis nor an Twai?” the figure demanded again, dripping ribbons of molten silver. It leaned closer, its eyes wide.
Had they widened when I sent the patch, at that exact same moment?
Maybe.
“If you think I can understand what you’re saying, you’re mistaken.” I struggled against the men holding me, wishing I could reach either my Stilettos or my blades.
“Paach.” The form spoke again, embers of crimson fury screaming in its eye sockets. “Paach enkomig. Sheeet.” It cocked its skull at me.
…It had repeated my link back to me, with Wyatt’s response,
Without warning, it lunged forward, swift as a serpent.
“Fucking—!” I lurched away but found myself held fast.
Yet the thing hadn’t been lurching at me at all.
It reached with those ungainly limbs, dripping molten metal. The skeleton’s arm flew swiftly and uncannily true, stretching as it reached for its target.
The young woman.
She hadn’t been one of the hands wresting me forward. Instead, she remained standing by the well as her two nefarious partners came and hauled the handsome off-worlder out of the shadows.
As the molten abomination reached for her, it flung a spray of melted ore in her direction. Those droplets sizzled where they touched her darker-than-midnight skin, and I smelled her flesh as it burned.
Her scream painted exquisite agony across the darkened room.
Gasping, I gazed up at the creature. It stood motionless in its basin and glared at us with eyes of elemental fury.
When I regarded the young woman, however, I gaped.
Her slender boots hung centimeters off the floor. She hovered, every muscle quivering. Tiny droplets of glowing silver sizzled on her face.
The drops moved of their own accord, branding angular patterns in her flesh.
We’re comin’ in, Hoss.
We are green, Michael. The patrol moved on.
Dunno how we’ll get in yet, but you dropped that marker. We’ll start there.
“No.” I shook my head, the word a despairing whisper. Fuck no. Remain.
“We main,” the skull mimicked. “Kno. We main.”
An aura of crimson fury hung about the young woman, and her eyes burned with wrathful light. She turned toward me, those terrible eyes empty and desolate. They radiated white fury, a light that cast no shadow.
When she spoke, I knew her words made no sense, just like the creature’s. This time, however, I understood. The words burned in my mind, keening a lost and terrible song.
MICHAEL BISHOP. YOU ARE A CATALYST OF THE ORDINAL STONE, FRACTURING 1309-971.
“I’m…” I canted my head at her, completely gobsmacked. “I’m a what now?”
THIS ATRIFICIA IS IN ALIGNMENT WITH YOUR FRACTURED SHARD. The woman paused, her head ticking slightly to one side. THIS CONFIGURATION IS AWAKENED. CURRENT STRANDS BEAR A NULL CHARGE AND ARE SEVERAL DEGREES ASYMMETRIC. PATTERN STRINGS HAVE BEEN REROUTED FOR NON-PRISTINE PURPOSES.
“I’m confused.” I stood up straight and stared at the midnight-skinned woman. An aura of scarlet fury burned around her, and her eyes showed only the whites.
When I glanced to the two men holding me, I saw stern, devout faces. These guys were fanatics. I’d do well to remember that.
YOU ARE A CATALYST OF THE ORDINAL STONE. YOU BEAR THE CAPABILITY TO ALTER THE STATE OF THIS LOCALE. She paused. DO YOU ACCEPT THE CURRENT CONFIGURATION?
“Um, I guess?” I blinked, befuddled. “Can these guys let me go or what?” I glanced over my shoulder at one of my captors, the younger man.
DO YOU ACCEPT THAT WE ARE WITHIN ALIGNMENT?
“If that means your goons
back down, then yes.” I cleared my throat. “We are within alignment.”
Instantly, the two men released me. I stumbled just a bit but caught myself.
THE SATHANTÜR CONFIGURATION IS WHOLE AND FUNCTIONING. WE ARE FULLY PREPARED TO BEGIN OPERATIONS.
“What operations?” I glanced from the spooky woman hanging in the air back to the figure clad in molten ore. In the center of the well burned the blue triangle marker, the source of our alien emanations.
Right. I needed to stay on the ball here.
CURRENT REQUIREMENTS ARE OBVIOUS, she said, without a touch of scold in her echoing tone. STRANDS BEAR A NULL CHARGE AND ARE SEVERAL DEGREES ASYMMETRIC. PATTERN STRINGS HAVE BEEN REROUTED FOR NON-PRISTINE PURPOSES. BOTH SITUATIONS CREATE DANGEROUS INCONGRUITIES.
“You need help.” I nodded, feeling as if I’d caught up at last. “I have no idea what most of that means, but words like ‘non-pristine’ and ‘asymmetric’ imply a problem.”
WHILE ASYMMYTRY EXISTS, THIS ATRIFICIA IS UNSTABLE. THE QUADRARY DICTIM STATES ALL ALIGNED CATALYSTS MUST STRIVE FOR SYMMETRY.
“Wait.” I narrowed my eyes as I realized. “That would mean you expect assistance from ‘Catalysts’ who are ‘in alignment’?” I turned from the woman to the lurking molten figure, feeling a bit duped.
TWO OTHER CATALYSTS ARE WITHIN THE ATRIFICIA. WE SHALL BRING THEM TO US AND DISCUSS NEEDED OPERATIONS.
“Two other…” It took me a moment, but the truth smacked me in the face at last. “You mean my cadre. There are two other Assets.” I blinked. “You did hear our links.”
YOU ARE EACH CATALYSTS OF THE ORDINAL STONE, the young woman replied, as if that explained everything. INFORM THEM THEY SHALL NOT BE HARMED. WE ARE IN ALIGNMENT.
“Copy that,” I responded, amazed. “I will… inform them.”
The spooky levitating lady said nothing after that. I watched her for a long moment before opening a link.
Situation green.
A long pause followed. Please apprise.
Patch incoming, I responded. I suggest you port this to memory immediately.
Why do I have the feeling you’re sending us nothing but trouble? Wyatt groused.
Because you’re a God-damned genius, I responded, porting the data. You understand how these situations tend to play out.
Seconds later Wyatt opened the link again. Damnit, Hoss. I felt bone weariness in that link. What have you gone and kicked up this time?
I’m really not certain. I regarded the eerie woman and the molten behemoth which puppeted her.
For once, I really didn’t have anything to say.
5
Less than ten minutes later, Anya and Wyatt stepped into the light of the well and its inhuman inhabitant. Other than to communicate our basic status, we kept the links to a minimum as the Kabs escorted them within.
My packet contained all the data needed to prove the molten skull-head could receive and understand our links.
Therefore, caution.
“Hey there, Hoss.” Wyatt paced into the dull half-light and smiled. “You sure you wouldn’t prefer hangin’ out at The Booby Trap and drinkin’ yer afternoon away? The ladies there are all kindsa friendly.”
“Maybe I was mistaken about that. I’m just not accustomed to you being right.” I shook my head. “You’ll have to forgive me.”
Anya ignored our quips and kept her eyes firmly focused on the form in the well. As she slowly walked forward, her fingers performed an undulating dance, twitching as she read telemetry.
“There.” I stared up into the creature’s burning eyes. “Now everybody is present and accounted for.”
It remained silent, gazing back at me with hollow, ember filled orbs. That stare said nothing, indicated no human emotion. Before it, I felt like a speck, a mote of nothingness against infinity.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but worry that Wyatt had been right.
Parabola
WYATT GUTHRIE. ANYA PETROVA. YOU ARE EACH A CATALYST OF THE ORDINAL STONE, FRACTURE 1309-971.
“I am uncertain what you mean.” Anya turned from the igneous creature and regarded the floating woman calmly. “We have never been referred to in that fashion.”
WE HAVE AN ALIGNMENT. The young woman tilted her head slightly as she studied Anya. Her eyes burned with the spectral light. THIS ATRIFICIA HAS AN ACCORD WITH YOUR FRAGMENTATION OF THE ORDINAL STONE.
“I took that to mean burny-face here thinks we’re buddies,” I confided to Wyatt.
“Yeah.” He nodded, stoically regarding the woman. “I get it.”
THIS CONFIGURATION IS AWAKENED. CURRENT STRANDS BEAR A NULL CHARGE AND ARE SEVERAL DEGREES ASYMMETRIC. PATTERN STRINGS HAVE BEEN REROUTED FOR NON-PRISTINE PURPOSES.
“When… ‘she’ said that before, I didn’t quite get it.” I turned from the woman to Anya. “But it seems as if things aren’t exactly functional.”
“Pattern strings.” Anya peered at the woman. “That term is used by my equipment interface.”
LOCAL PATTERN STRINGS HAVE BEEN REROUTED, the woman repeated. YOU MAY HAVE WITNESSED THIS YOURSELF.
“The filaments within my interface are incorrectly aligned.” Anya brushed a strand of golden hair from her face. “Is that what you refer to?”
THESE FORCES ARE BEING CHANNELLED INTO AN ALTERNATE PATH.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Wyatt crossed his arms and glanced toward Anya and myself meaningfully.
“You will?” I shook my head, just a bit. “Do you know something about this, Bubba?”
“Damn, you’re dumb.” My large friend chuckled.
“It’s probably just that you’re a genius,” I snarked.
“I’ll go ahead and walk you through it. If I go too fast, just say so, and I’ll use smaller words.”
“Please.” I gestured toward him. “Educate me.”
“I know you’re not a man for contemplatin’ yer mission.” Wyatt guffawed. “But we’re on this carnival ride because the Facility found crazy-ass spikes in Rationality. Remember? The big scary ripples that threatened the integrity of reality itself?”
“I remember.” I watched the igneous creature regard us as we spoke. How much of the conversation did it follow?
“So we head out searchin’ for the source. As soon as we hit the deep desert, Anya reads another spike. We get caught in its energetic wake and deposited here in creepy-cave town.”
“This is the energy source,” Anya realized. “This is what powered the spikes in Rationality. That is why I read the emanations from this place.”
“Gotta be.” Wyatt nodded. “When it says ‘forces are being channeled into an alternate path’…” He gave a gentle kick at one of the grotesque veins that suckled at the amethystine well.
“Do you know who is responsible for this?” I asked the figure directly. “We might be more ‘in alignment’ than I realized at first.”
THEY ARE A VIRULENT SPECIES; A RACE OF PARASITES. The Kab woman stared at me, and her eyes burned with white flame. THEY CAME WITH THEIR SERVITORS AND BUILT THE PARABOLA. WITH THIS DEVICE, THEY ALTERED THE BASE NATURE OF THIS PLACE.
Wyatt met my gaze, and I knew we shared the same thought. ‘Parasite’ had a very specific association in our minds after our recent experiences with tentacular horrors.
“Parabola?” Anya tilted her head, a touch uncertain.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I forgot I haven’t exactly shared all the secrets of my adventure with you. Hold on.”
I assembled a patch, one comprised mostly of Firenzei’s ramblings. I made certain to accentuate his discussions regarding ‘the Parabola’ and how they only needed to await the completion of a single cycle before they got off this rock.
“Here. This is what I meant earlier, when I linked that I had lots of data to report.” I forwarded the link.
“Earthside,” Wyatt mused as he perused the data. “Thorne didn’t just teleport away, she shifted realities.”
“They’re travelling back and forth.” I chewed on my lip.
“The energetic requirements to repeatedly breach the axiomatic realmwall would be…” Anya stared off into space for a moment and then shook her head. “Stunning.”
“Do they have a purpose?” I regarded the hovering woman, trying not to be creeped out by her empty gaze. “Do you know why they’re doing all this?”
THIS SPECIES IS WELL KNOWN FOR THEIR IMPERIALISTIC NATURE, the woman responded, her echoing words haunting. CURRENTLY, THEY HARVEST THE FORCE FROM THIS ATRIFICIA TO OPEN WEFTINGWAYS INTO A SPECIFIC ALTERNATE REALITY.
“Into Rationality.” Wyatt glanced from Anya to me. “Earth. Those squiggly shits are planning some kind of invasion.”
“This place is a staging area,” I agreed. “Those spikes were likely just them getting their equipment ramped up.”
“Working with humans too,” Wyatt growled. “Irrats.”
“You said something about required operations?” I turned my gaze back to the Kab woman, the vessel for the Atrificia’s voice. “Do these operations require destruction of the Parabola or the defeat of this parasitical species?”
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE PARABOLA, A TASK BEYOND THOSE WHO TEND TO THIS ATRIFICIA. The woman began to twitch, her back arching into a bow. YET ONCE IT IS DESTROYED, HARVESTING ESSENTIAL FORCE FROM THIS LOCATION SHALL BECOME IMPOSSIBLE.
“That sounds like something right up our alley.” Wyatt turned to Anya. “’Course, if we destroy the mechanism the ’Rats use to go Earthside, we might find ourselves permanently adrift.”
“Radonic Transmitters,” I muttered, perusing the packet I’d sent. “That’s what Firenzei said they needed to get the fuck off this rock.”
THE RADONIC TRANSMITTERS ARE SMALL ORBS, POWERED BY THE FORCE HARVESTED FROM THIS LOCATION. CURRENTLY, SEVERAL GAIN HARMONIZATION FROM THE PARABOLA ITSELF.