by J M Guillen
“Not good.” Wyatt tapped on his keyboard, a confused sheen in his eye slowly shifting to alarm. He glanced up at me. “Controls are frozen, Hoss.” He tapped the keyboard again, with increasing speed. “Thing won’t respond.”
“You got us home!” I couldn’t stop grinning. “Who cares?”
Are we falling? Anya’s link felt natural, so much more familiar than her spoken voice. We appear to be falling.
Rachel moved up to the front, a faint frown on her face.
Wyatt struggled with the controls and then sent a shared link, Designate, the craft we are in is out of fuel and malfunctioning. His brow creased. We are no longer operational and in free fall. He tapped a couple of keys. Current trajectory shows projected crash site to be in the Gulf of Mexico.
Received. After a long pause, my Crown clicked. One moment, please.
“I hope it’s not too long,” I worried out loud.
“The Drażeri did this.” Wyatt swore. “One final ‘go to hell’. The system is geared to melt down.”
“Fuckers.” I pushed myself to a more upright position, though agony shot through me with every movement.
Here. Rachel’s link sounded only slightly petulant. I guess I shouldn’t let you suffer forever.
Instantly, sweet relief melted like caramel through my body.
Thanks. I put a hand on her arm. I am sorry, you know. I wasn’t trying to make things harder.
You never are. She sighed.
Synaptic holotecture indicates Asset 108 has a soft sync on a Gatekeeper packet, the Designate linked us all. We have clearance on a conduit link, which we can initiate in two minutes.
Two minutes? Wyatt paused as he did some math. “Well, we won’t have hit by then.”
Affirmative. The Designate remained ever calm. Standby for coordinates.
Designate, note that Asset 108 is far from system green. Rachel paused. He is at least partially uncoupled. Recent injuries may have involved the soft sync and the Crown augment.
Acknowledged, 135. Adjustments will be made.
“I’d better wake up our passengers.” Rachel stepped to the back of the craft.
The next two minutes seemed to stretch into hours as we watched the earth loom closer and closer. I did not like it. I knew we’d be safe, knew the Designates had everything in hand…
But I’d never been so far… up before. As we plummeted, I began to grow nauseous.
“I think I could come to hate heights,” I complained.
After the first minute, the Realmship began to tremble, and after the second we lost one of the fins, likely the one the Drażeri damaged. The craft began to heat in the atmosphere.
“Oh man.” I looked away from the front visual. “I don’t think I can watch that anymore.”
Conduit cleared. 108, are you prepared?
To be honest, I didn’t feel prepared. The last time I’d fired the Gatekeeper, it’d left me feeling like I’d put my brain in a blender.
Still, the choice remained between falling to my death and risking a stroke. As I contemplated the choice, I realized something I hadn’t considered.
We fell, rapidly tumbling downward. What stopped the conduit from remaining at whatever height I created it at?
Affirmative, Designate. I gave a small shrug. Will you anchor the locus within our craft? That math might be a bit beyond me.
We will, 108. Please hurry your preparations.
Initiating on your mark.
I made certain the Gatekeeper engaged at its default settings and centered an aperture in the middle of our craft, near Gideon and Sparks. I nodded to Rachel to imply she should standby, ready to help her charges through.
Now, 108.
I squeezed to ignite the aperture, which would automatically link to the conduit.
It fucking hurt.
“OW! OW, OW, OW!” I clenched my fist and eyes, and shifted away from the others as if to shield them from my pain. Even with Rachel’s mecha, I trembled.
This couldn’t be good: it felt like shredding an already injured muscle, but in my mind.
“I’ll see to you on the other side, Michael,” Rachel assured me.
It’s open? I relaxed enough to see. It’s open!
She steadied a stumbling Gideon.
His eyes met mine, but I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not.
As she helped him through, I actually felt the weight of the two of them. Just for a moment, I carried them, only using a broken back.
Anya helped Sparks to his feet, but she couldn’t support him. Wyatt stepped back to help her, and together they got him upright.
“I can’t possibly thank you.” His voice sounded bleary, but he smiled. “Never thought I’d make it, you know.”
“We haven’t made it yet.” Wyatt pulled him along. “Come on, before we land in the Gulf of Mexico.” Wyatt nodded at me as he passed.
See you soon, Hoss.
I nodded back.
Again, I grimaced in pain as they passed through. Something burst in my sinuses, a brief stab of pain, and blood gushed from my nose.
Once they’d gone through, it was my turn. I took one last glance at the dawning ocean from the trembling skiff.
“Man,” I muttered. Vertigo and motion sickness blerched roilingly in my stomach.
The moment I exited, white light flashed in my mind. That cool, soft sensation felt like the most comforting thing imaginable.
Michael Bishop, Asset 108. Welcome to Facility Prime.
Synaptic Replication
I lost consciousness immediately.
My locale made for a lucky break. Facility Prime, the center of our best and brightest, housed technological marvels that made the rest of our miracles seem commonplace.
Caduceus-class Assets, including Rachel, immediately rushed me to Asset Emergency Services. A good thing, as I collapsed the moment I stepped through the conduit, bleeding, twitching, and mumbling something about “damned tentacle monsters.”
Probably best I don’t remember it.
In the end, I had not one but two intracranial aneurysms, as well as other minor cerebrovascular incidents. The soft sync had become badly misaligned during the incident in the Maelstrom, which led to system-wide cascading failures through my holotecture.
To make matters worse, the Crown used the relays from the secondary comm when attempting to mitigate total deterioration. Of course, Rachel burnt out our secondary comms while neck deep in otherworldly horror, so its attempts met with futility. While her patchwork repairs allowed us to link, that comm didn’t have near the resources required to assist me in not dying.
Therefore, as I’d sat with Wyatt on the Realmship, shooting the breeze about who saved whom from Drażeri harriers, I’d already suffered severe processor deficiencies, but didn’t have the system analytics online to know it.
Rachel had frantically tried to stop my Crown from cycling into shutdown, which meant I had no mecha available for pain management. As I chatted the time away, she’d saved my life.
I guess she hadn’t just been bitchy.
AES kept me unconscious for nearly two weeks. Much of my neural interface had to be rebuilt from scratch, and I’d suffered enough damage to the nerve plexus along my cervical vertebrae that the Facility decided I needed entirely new axial implants.
When I finally awoke, Anya sat by my side.
“Hey.” I blinked and glanced around the sterile room. Brilliant white and metallic implements lined one side of my bed. One shaped like a column of silver stretched to the ceiling held blue lights all along one side. It encased the hard port connections to the back of my shaved head.
“I think I need five more minutes.”
“For what?” Regardless of her statement, Anya’s eyes twinkled.
“Oh man,” I chuckled.
“I received clearance on this visit; you should be adequately conscious.” She brushed her fingers along my face.
“I still feel like a dump truck exploded somewhere in my
middle ear.” I gave her a smile.
For a moment we just stared at each other, silent.
“Hello, Michael.” Anya gave a tiny, nervous smile that lasted for less than a second. “How do you feel?”
“Much better.” I grinned, pleased to see her. “Although I suspect I’m still enjoying some painkillers.”
“I cannot say if you enjoy them.” She glanced at a screen over my head. “But several dozen Type I-A mecha circulate within your system currently. I am certain they are moderating your pain processes.”
“Anya.” I struggled a little but sat up. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be…” I trailed off as I realized I had no idea of what Anya did while I spent time in torpor. The Preceptors, after all, didn’t have downtime like I did. “I dunno… practicing amazing side-kicks?”
“I have been studying Facility standard martial arts.” She smiled. “I did not appreciate the helplessness I felt in Sathantür.”
“You were amazing,” I gushed.
“Thank you. I requested Asset Gardener to inform me of your scheduled system reboot.” Again, she glanced at the screen but then met my eyes. “I simply wanted to know you were well.”
“Is she still mad at me?” I grimaced. Rachel could hold a bit of a grudge.
“She expressed displeasure with your choices, but she is not angry.” Anya paused. “If it is any comfort, you did the only thing that could have stopped the Drażeri.”
Midway through her comment, I realized something that should have been obvious.
“You aren’t linking.” I gave her a speculative look while I tentatively felt into my Crown.
“Your Crown will be fully interfaced in another twenty-four hours. It is best if we speak until then.”
I nodded. “Gideon?” I trusted she would know what I meant.
“Asset DuMarque and Asset Sparks are both expected to recover fully.” She paused. “Your injuries proved worse than either of theirs.”
“I’ll have to remember to rub that in.” I chuckled and glanced down at her, realizing she placed her weight equally on both legs.
“My knees are also operational order.” She smiled, seeming in anticipation of a joke.
My mouth twisted wryly but I couldn’t think of anything that might amuse her.
Her smile slid into a more friendly expression.
“When can I expect to be debriefed?” I asked.
For a moment, Anya glanced away, seeming uncertain of herself. When she turned back, however, she firmly met my eyes.
“None of our cadre was debriefed, Michael. Instead, we went through synaptic replication.”
“They scraped our Crowns?” The process always sounded a bit macabre to me. “Why?”
“They sent us on a mission to recapture a lost Asset and we ended up adrift in a foreign topia.” Anya shrugged. “We likely brought back more data on Aberration 45171-R than had ever been collected before.” She paused and it seemed like something about her tone went a touch off. “I imagine the Facility wanted to be absolutely certain to peruse every piece of the phaneric record.”
It made sense, honestly. Still, I always found it a little unnerving when it happened. The Designates had the capability to review every sensation recorded by the Crown, but typically they didn’t. Instead, they debriefed us and the portions of a dossier deemed important got stored away.
Synaptic replication always felt a little like an invasion of privacy.
“There have been no recorded instances of incursion by 45171-R since we have returned,” Anya said, changing the subject.
“Yeah?” I sat a little more upright. “We lowly Assets aren’t usually abreast of deep telemetry. Is this a change?”
“Yes, Michael. Since the time you were taken, we have had regular incursions. Not always military in nature, just reports of activity. We tracked them all over the globe. Now…?” She shrugged.
“They’re gone.” I finished for her. “Seems a bit easy.”
“Official telemetric procedures have not adjusted. 45171-R is still a high priority requiring vigilance. It is simply that there have not been any reports.” She paused. “In light of Asset 081’s packet and our experiences, the probability that only one faction of the Vyriim was responsible for our recent troubles has been logged.”
“Do you know?” I tried to sit up but found I couldn’t.
“About the Ts’kekegoth?” She knew exactly what I meant. “We facilitated a great military victory for them.”
“I get the feeling they’re fanatics.” I shook my head a touch, that word wasn’t quite right. “Dedicated. They’re devoted to what they’re doing.”
“The Drażeri gloated when she revealed what we had done,” Anya said. “She showed us how we spread their kind across the Myriad.”
I remembered Crowe’s invasion warnings and couldn’t help but shudder.
Of utmost importance is one vital piece of intel. Aberration 45171R intends on a full occupation of Rationality before September 18, 2015…
The Vyriim planned for the long haul according to Crowe. I couldn’t imagine this one encounter had so profoundly changed their schemes.
We would see them again.
“I promised Asset Gardener I would not keep you long, Michael.” Anya took a breath. “I simply wanted to check on you myself.”
“I appreciate it, Anya.” I smiled at her. “Always good to see a friendly face.”
“You should be placed in torpor soon.” She turned to leave. “I am certain we will be on assignment again before you know it.”
“Certainly.”
She stopped, already halfway facing away from me. Then, she stepped back.
Stepped closer.
“Michael, I wanted to tell you…” She seemed to be reaching for words.
“How wonderful it is working with me?” I teased.
“It is,” she confirmed, completely serious. “Wonderful. I’m pleased we were able to recover you.”
“I am too, as it happens.”
“I am sorry we were unable to recover… your friend.” Anya glanced down. “I know she was important to you.”
“My…?” I trailed off as I realized who she meant.
Caprice.
“No.” I affixed her with a steady gaze. “Anya, Caprice isn’t a friend. When I’m in torpor, she’s just someone who was there. Just another part of my offline protocols.”
“Well, yes,” Anya countered. “But certainly—”
“No,” I said again. “Anya, you are my friend. You are someone I choose to care about. You could be simply an acquaintance, but you’re absolutely not. I always enjoy our time together.”
“You do.” Her eyes were unreadable.
“I choose you as a friend. Caprice was never my choice. She was just a ramification of system torpor. That’s the difference.”
“I see.” She nodded slowly. Then, she smiled, just the barest hint. “You are my friend too, Michael Bishop.”
“Good.” I stretched. “Perhaps in our next crazy adventure we can stay inside Rationality for a change?”
“I will put in a request.” That smile grew, touched the edge of her mouth.
“Excellent.” I feigned a stern mien. “And as always, Preceptor Petrova, we wish you well in the days ahead.”
She shook her head as she left.
She smiled the entire way.
2
“No. Both of those options are right out.” I leaned back in my kitchen stool, holding the phone to my ear.
“Come on, Hoss. It’s a new place.”
“I don’t care.” I had to fight back laughter. “I’m not spending my Friday night at a strip club named Barely Illegal. That seems a bit unsavory. “
“We can hit up the Boobie Bungalow.” In the background, I heard Wyatt’s television cranked up to eleven. It felt like I watched the stock car race with him.
“I’m cool with us getting together.” I stood and walked over to my refrigerator where I pulled out a b
eer. “I’ve just been through the ringer lately. I’d like a quiet night, and I’d like to hang out with some friends.”
“I mean, it’s not like you have any friends,” Wyatt snarked. “What about Mexican food? I know just the place.”
“Mexican’s fine.” I set the beer on the counter. “I could really go for some tequila.”
The moment I walked in to Wholly Frijoles, I thought this place might have been a mistake as well. I coughed and fanned my hand in front of me as cigarette smoke wafted into my face.
Gross.
“Shut the door!” Some faceless silhouette hollered from over near the pool table. “It’s too damn bright out there!”
“Sorry!” I waved toward the Neanderthals playing pool and stepped inside.
“Well, would you look at this asshole right here?” Wyatt stood up from his barstool and crushed me in a bear hug. Both his eyes were already bleary from drink. “God, Hoss, feels like I haven’t seen you since, what, June?”
“Been busy. You know how it is.” I sat next to him and waved to the bartender.
“Somethin’ to drink?” The man had a rough cast about him, all scowl and iron-corded muscle. He would have been right at home in some shit-hole bar in Tijuana.
Or California, as it happened.
“I’ll have tequila.” I pointed at the bottle I wanted, and the man nodded.
“Yeah. I know how it is.” Wyatt jeered as he glanced up at the television. “You been busy with that Italian chick. Fuck. I’d be busy too.”
“Caprice?” I nodded to the bartender as he brought me my glass. “Haven’t seen her in a while.” I took a sip and grimaced. “She turned out to be kind of a freak, if I’m honest.”
“Yeah?” Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “I like the sound of that.”
“Not with this chick you wouldn’t.” I shook my head. “Couldn’t argue with her. She had a bullshit way of getting inside a guy. She liked to mess around with what you thought.”
“Ah. Well,” Wyatt drawled sagely. “She was too pretty to be sane.”
“Is Bishop hooking up with crazy again?” The gravelly voice came from behind us.