by J M Guillen
“Every one.” I shook my head. “That sounds implausible.”
In many cases, these topias contain peoples which have been relocated from other worlds, entire races captured and enslaved by the psionic phage. Arbiter 712 estimates that, within these realms, trillions of sentient beings may be under 45717R’s malefic control. Paige paused, as if waiting for me to respond. Yet the information boggled me.
Trillions.
How did one even stand against a foe like that? An enemy who could take on the body of a trusted friend? An enemy whose numbers comprised roughly three entire orders of magnitude greater the population of the planet?
“What records do we have of their armaments and strategies?”
The class of their technological advancement is typically quite advanced; their tactics during war are brutal. When 45717R seeks to inhabit a world, it seems inevitable they do so.
“You’re saying we can’t defeat them?”
I’m not, Paige responded. True as that may be, 45717R does not spread across the Myriad like a cancer. Their selection of topias for occupation is very specific. Arbiter 817 gives us one of several voice records which might assist.
“Okay.” I took a drag. “Shoot.”
Paige’s tone shifted then, from a younger woman to a lady who sounded as if she’d seen it all. The recording came crystal clear, as if 817 stood right next to me:
The topiatic realm of Eredẵs sat squarely within the Refting Dirge for its entire existence, surrounded on all sides by worlds held by 45717R for thousands of generations. This fact has been noted and studied, with servitors of curious Archons occasionally making inquiries. A peaceful culture flourished on Eredẵs, one which valued wisdom and curiosity.
For time out of mind, 45717R ignored the small world as if it didn’t exist. Then, for unfathomable reasons of their own, the Weir-craft of Dhire Lith, Cirniel, and Fel Arasel ignited weftingways into Eredẵs.
That realm fell within days—
“Pause.” I frowned and kicked at a stone.
What’s up, Mike?
“You say there are several of these? Voice records?”
817 left fifteen voice records regarding her experiences with 45717R. She apparently believes them to be a great threat.
“Play me another.” I took the last drag on my cigarette. “Some other world.”
Will comply.
The topiatic realm of Aelthien is a unique curiosity in this regard. Located far outside the Dirge—indeed, outside the Outer Umbral Arc—it would seem this primitive world should be far from the attentions of 45717R.
Yet nothing could be further from the truth.
Aelthien is the home to several subraces of base sapiens, as typical for most worlds which contain sentience. Also expected is the worship of several different Archons, with living mythologies built around them. These worshippers have bound affinities with various elements or concepts.
Unexpected is the presence of 45717R, positioned upon floating outposts which hover above the surface of the world.
These beings do not attack the realm below, nor do they place their own among the populace. Any and all activities which some might view as hostile are avoided.
They simply wait.
No efforts have determine—
“I hate mysteries,” I spat. “It sounds like all we have is a whole bunch of nothing. Just bullshit.”
There is… something else, Paige offered, a bit reluctantly. The official entry updated as we listened to 817’s records.
“Really.” I arched an eyebrow.
I’ll just place it on your visual array.
The box holding the entry headings emptied only to be replaced with different text. In stark white lettering it read:
ADDENDUM: It is a certainty that within Dossier # I63-1998, 45717R initiated events which directly affected Rationality. Specifically, 45717R ignited technology that damaged the R3 subset of Temporal Axioms, the L9 Subset of Spatial Axioms, and the entire holoquantum spectrum of the Axiomatic Realmwall. Events are unfolding, and this entry will be updated accordingly.
“Oh man.” I popped the knuckles on my left hand.
This is your current dossier designation?
“It is,” I responded. “Things just keep getting better and better.”
Mike, Paige linked, this is too much. The Designates only have three Assets on dossier, don’t they?
“Yup. Three,” I replied gloomily. “And we’re in the middle of fuck all. No conduits. Extraction will be hard.”
That’s putting a kind face on it.
Hoss? The link burred in my Crown, sounding a bit disjointed. Please confirm location so ass-kicking can commence.
Slowly, one marker appeared on my visual array, followed by a second.
“Hey, Paige, hold on a sec.”
Cool beans, Mike.
I pulled my attention away from the Adjunct, not liking what it had to say. It felt easier, thinking of it as “the Adjunct.” That way it remained a machine.
Because I trusted Paige. Well, I trusted Elle, the woman the Adjunct had been patterned after. If Paige thought we might be in too deep…
It confirmed everything I believed.
Drones, Glyphs, and the Age of Funk
Hey there, buddy. I sent Wyatt a rueful smile. You enjoy visiting exciting and beautiful Sathantür?
Beneath their markers, I saw “0.275km” in a small legend. I grinned, impressed. I had little more than a quarter kilometer to go.
I’d made decent time.
That was some class-A motherfuckery right there, Bishop. Genuine irritation bled through his link.
Hey now. I chuckled. Firenzei is gone. We’re all safe.
What did the Designate think of your stratagem, Michael? Even Anya sounded a bit annoyed.
We have discussed my elegant solution, I responded. I’m glad you’re both well.
Reckless asshole, Wyatt grumbled. I almost didn’t make it back!
Asset Guthrie’s vehicle appears to be damaged, Anya informed me. It is emitting vapors.
Mine did that. I pulled myself out of the gully wash. Green smoke?
You called it, Wyatt admitted. We throttled these things hard when fleeing Firenzei.
They must not be charged enough to keep them running long, I reasoned. I had to dive off before it stopped and pulled me driftways again.
You what? Wyatt yelped.
When mine started smoking, I triggered the Adept. Dove off the ATV. When it stopped it fucked off back to its home topia.
Did you not consider turning the vehicle off? Confusion wound through Anya’s link.
I… I felt my cheeks burn. You know, I didn’t. I just remembered that whenever I stopped, it pulled me back.
Christ, Bishop, Wyatt chuckled. It’s a switch.
I was panicking at the time!
Oh God above, Paige interjected to me alone.
You stay out of this, I linked the Adjunct.
Why don’t you stop panicking and rendezvous with us? We’ll figure out what to do next, okay, Hoss?
I have another idea, Paige suggested, including all Assets in her link. Mike is about 34 meters from the drop zone for Hornet-class drone YT-330t, which will happen in approximately three minutes. Perhaps the rendezvous can be scheduled for after the pick up?
I winced.
Normally, this would have been a simple system message for all of us. However, I stood closest to the drop, therefore it made the most sense for me to be the pick-up man.
So my Adjunct had been tasked with providing the data.
I knew Wyatt’s response immediately.
Mike? A wicked grin crept across his face. Bishop, you runnin’ simulations of pretty girls over your Adjunct while you’re alone on the desert?
What? I scowled. No, I required the Adjunct to assist with data processing while I traversed the desert. That’s all.
So you don’t have her walking around topless on your visual array?
No!
I turned toward it.
Paige! Wyatt crowed. That’s what you named her, right?
Michael, I did not know you still ran aspect F23. Anya’s link felt odd, a concern I couldn’t pinpoint.
Didn’t you have an aspect specifically patterned after a French maid? I growled at Wyatt. I don’t think you have room to talk.
Whatever. The large man chuckled. I’m not one to deny a man his fantasies.
I’m approaching the drone, I linked. Maybe you can finish making fun of me after I bring you your much-needed meds.
Ha! Wyatt actually laughed over the link. Fair enough, Hoss.
YT-330t proved to be a standard Facility drone. The winged robot resembled a metallic crossbreed between a jeweled wasp and a hyperactive dragonfly—if someone had blown the result up to the size of a dachshund and given it a pneumatic projector and a hold full of axiomatic spikes, limited-capacity, barbed grappling hooks, and God knew what else.
As Wyatt would say, these things didn’t play fuck around.
The Hornet disengaged its Wraith as I approached, thus drifting into visibility. It peered up at me, eyes shining in the pale moonlight.
It flitted silver wings but didn’t take off.
Let me access its cargo hold sequence, Paige cautioned.
Moments later I heard a quiet hiss. A silver panel on the chest of the drone slid open.
“These things creep me out,” I admitted to Paige. “I can’t help but think one could slaughter me if it had the mind to.”
They’re wicked little things, she agreed. But they’re geared to ping an active Crown as a friendly—at least, when roaming like this.
“That’s good.” I bent over and retrieved the small package.
No sooner did I have the mecha than the Hornet re-engaged its Wraith. I could still see it on my visual array, a simple white outline.
Its wings buzzed as it lifted off, speeding away.
Mecha achieved. I’m incoming.
We’re here, Wyatt sent.
I’m a quarter klick away. I’ll see you soon.
2
The first thing we decided, once we found each other again, was to sit put.
“Firenzei might double back,” I reasoned. “Why don’t we let the asshole get good and far in front of us? Then, we get in, get our readings, and get out.”
Reasonable, Michael. Anya nodded. I have already picked up some unusual activity from Locale One; remaining in place will help me determine the axiomatic means.
“I can set up some perimeter spikes.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “In case some motherfucker decides to teleport over and try to shoot us.”
“Good idea.” I pulled out the viral mecha from the drone drop, divvied up the spoils, and settled in.
An hour after Wyatt’s ATV failed, we still waited.
Nothing. No Firenzei.
I think it’s time to move. I stretched. Dude’s gone.
But I have all these spikes laid out! Wyatt protested. I wanted to watch him teleport into the middle of a fiery explosion.
“Me too, buddy.” I stood. “Just not in the cards.”
Firenzei is not in operation anywhere on my telemetry. His range would seem to indicate we would read him before he targeted us.
You have an idea of his range? I raised an eyebrow.
I went over all the data we have, she replied. His displacement is trackable.
Huh. Wyatt stared at her. Maybe we could do something with that.
“I don’t care if I ever see him again,” I grumbled. “Let’s move. We’ve got a Locale One to hit.”
“I’m up. Let’s get in, get out, and go home.” Wyatt grinned at me.
I feel as if we have neglected something. Anya’s link felt a touch distant. That Irrational acted as if he knew you, Asset Guthrie.
“Found ’im in the Booby Trap,” Wyatt admitted. “I thought he was just some jackass.” He spat into the dust.
“He did seem to be a jackass,” I confirmed. “Good eye.”
“We got into a bit of a scrap; he didn’t pull anything Irrational though. Asshole must have been scoping me out.”
“I know you’re accustomed to weird dudes scoping you out in bars, but…” I hated to even mention it. “How did he know where to find you? Or who you were?”
“I don’t know, Hoss.”
“In that case, it is reasonable to assume they have identified all three of us,” Anya noted. “Although I cannot say how.”
Wyatt and I exchanged a dark glance. For a long moment, we stood in silence.
I sighed.
“There’s no guessing, and it doesn’t help.” I stared up at the sky. “Time’s tickin’.”
“Roger that,” Wyatt agreed. “Let’s get going.”
Traveling by foot, a long hour passed. Dark fell, swiftly growing deeper. We still walked, miles from anywhere. Anya all but crawled along so she could analyze her data. Wyatt’s gear slowed him as well. Fortunately, I was practically high on viral mecha.
In fact, on that front, we were all feelin’ fine.
After the drone drop, we’d acquired enough injectors for each of us to get four stims—and have several injectors left over. We each possessed different requirements, naturally. Wyatt received mecha that would augment the oxygen in his bloodstream as well as repair worn muscles from our long hike. I’d taken some of that myself, as well as a host of pain-killing VM. Also, I’d gotten another injector to help knit up the damage done to my back. By the time we’d reach Locale One, I should be nearly whole.
I’d probably learned more about viral mecha on this dossier than on all my others combined. Before, I hadn’t cared to learn much about them, just ‘inject this thing in your leg.’
Anya’s experience with injectors played out quite differently.
The Preceptor-class viral mecha weren’t as physical as ours. In fact, some of hers acted as slight toxins in a typical Asset’s systems. Most involved an upgrade to her capability to process data, and some added extra memory capabilities through the mecha themselves.
Whatever her cocktail today, Anya seemed even more detached than usual. Her blue eyes vacant, her head twitched as she processed a huge amount of axiomatic data. She jerked as I watched, as if having small fits. As we walked along, she held her hands out, sometimes in front of her, sometimes to the side. Her fingers plucked at nothingness, as if the world had been constructed of some great string instrument only she saw.
We need to decrease speed twenty-seven percent, she linked, clipped and robotic. Locale One is less than one-hundred meters away, up the mesa and around to our east. The area is not quite Rationality zero, so I need to do some quick analysis.
You do what you need to, princess. Wyatt leaned against an outcropping. My dogs are barkin’. I don’t mind sitting a spell.
Briefly, I glanced over the topographies in my Crown while Anya worked.
Five minutes later, she sighed. “This is going to take longer than I initially believed.” While her right hand drifted down to her side, she turned to gaze at Wyatt and me. “There is an anomaly I cannot account for within the missile silo.”
“Dangerous?” Wyatt pulled off one of his boots and massaged his foot.
“I do not think so.” She glanced at him and her brow furrowed. “It appears as if some of the basic Facets of Rationality have been tampered with, yet only at this location. Even as I peruse the data, I cannot determine why this would be so.”
“If it’s not dangerous, are we ready to advance?” I popped the knuckles on my left hand.
“Unfortunately, no.” Anya gazed at me, her eyes the blue of the summer sky. “I need to determine what is happening here and why. Telemetric readings are the entire purpose of our presence.”
“If it’s not dangerous, maybe I should go ahead?” I watched Wyatt put his boot back on. “It’s not far, and I can toggle the Wraith.”
“Th
at sounds good to me,” My large friend nodded. “But yer the one with the Designate sync in place. I know that makes you all ‘in charge,’ but maybe you should get clearance?”
“Smart,” I agreed and stepped away from them.
“Super genius,” Wyatt responded, tapping his temple.
I sighed and opened the dialogues on my visual array, selecting Designate Ling’s crimson dataglyph. A dulcet tone pinged in my Crown.
Immediately, she inundated my mind, more intimate than any link.
108, she greeted me. It appears you’ve almost made Locale One?
Correct, Designate. First I wanted your input on our next move. I toggled the sync port, making all my experiences of the last ten minutes immediately available for her.
The cool wash of her perused my Crown with fingers of silvery mint.
Preceptor Petrova is correct. Her purpose is to process and record localized data. She paused. It is preferred that she continue her current task.
I expected as much.
You should take point. Keep the Wraith initiated and do not engage any unfriendly targets.
Only fight friendly targets. I sent a wry smile. Understood.
We shall keep the sync on standby as you approach the location, she continued, as if she didn’t realize how funny I was. If you encounter anything unusual, initiate this connection first.
Understood.
Hopefully, there won’t be anything dangerous to report, Asset. She paused. It is possible Petrova can learn everything we need to know here, and we can then plan for your extraction.
Still no conduit? I truly didn’t need to ask. We stood in the middle of a vast, empty nowhere.
A conduit to your current location is impossible, she confirmed. However Asset 306, Liam Hunter, is standing by. We have a Gatekeeper conduit available in Barstow and Asset Hunter can extract you using an Atlas-class vehicle.
No Facility helicopter? I teased.
The Atlas is tactically outfitted, should you require additional firepower during your extraction, she reminded me. Resources are in position.
Well, that’s good. I nodded. So Anya will stay here and continue her telemetric readings. I’ll step ahead and provide a live link on Locale One.