by J M Guillen
I grinned widely before I even turned around. “Gideon! What the hell are you doing here, man?” I stood and gave him a bear hug of my own. “It’s been… what?”
“Nearly a year. I’ve been out of the country.” He smirked at me and signaled the bartender. “I’ll have a beer.” He glanced to me. “What about you? Can I hook you up with a Corona?”
“A Corona?” I scratched the side of my head thoughtfully. “No. I think I’ll stick with what I’m used to.” I held up my glass. “I’m more adept with liquor. Suits my style.”
“As you like.” Gideon slid onto a barstool and turned to Wyatt. “So? Bishop is hooking up with irrational chicks?”
“As usual.” Wyatt held up four fingers and ticked them off. “He meets them out of the blue. He has a whirlwind adventure with them. He goes to the ends of the universe for them.” He ticked off the last finger and shot me a glare. “Then things somehow don’t work out.”
“Fuck you.” I turned to Gideon. “What have you been up to?”
“Went on a tour of the Gulf of Mexico. Most exciting bit was renting a skiff and getting stabbed in the chest.” Gideon grinned at us. “Sting ray. Went snorkeling and apparently swam threateningly. Thought I’d die from the venom alone; man that hurt. The doc dug a barb longer than my hand outta me.”
“Better than Bishop getting dumped by crazy Italian chicks.” Wyatt muttered.
“I dumped her!” I waved my hands, and they both laughed. We fell into a comfortable silence and watched the television.
“Can you believe this shit?” Wyatt broke the silence and gestured at the banner running across the bottom of the screen: AFGHANISTAN TERRORIST TRAINING CAMPS. Followed by: OPERATION INFINITE REACH.
“What?” I sipped at my tequila.
“We’re at war, boys. It may not seem like it, but we are.” Wyatt shook his head.
“Not quite.” Gideon glanced at him. “We haven’t declared war. Not officially.”
“Officially.” Wyatt grimaced and waved a hand dismissively. “These assholes are everywhere. Just because the citizens don’t know it, doesn’t mean terrorist cells aren’t hiding, right here at home.”
“You’re over-reacting.” I glanced at him.
“Think that all you want. The bad guys are here, I’m telling you. Maybe our spies can’t see ’em, but they’re around. They’re just waiting.” He paused. “They could be anybody.”
I leaned around him to give Gideon an eye roll. We were both used to Wyatt’s conspiracy theories.
“Just don’t assume we know the truth, is all I’m saying.” Wyatt turned to me. “There’s a lot more secrets in this ol’ world than we know.” He paused. “People should know the truth, is all I’m sayin’.”
Something about the words he used or maybe the tequila, gave me a bitterly foul taste in my mouth. For a moment, my head swam, and my veins flushed, as if they ran with molten gold.
I drifted, and felt like I wasn’t in the bar at all.
“The people of the world must know the truth.” The older man stood before a large window, silhouetted by fire. Outside, a vast city skyline burned with malevolent, hateful colors.
“Whoa.” I put my hand to my head and peered at my glass. “This stuff is strong.”
“Yer gone for a few months with some crazy chick and when you come back, you can’t handle your liquor?” Wyatt shook his head. “Typical.”
“I’ll admit, we didn’t drink much.” I made a face. “Her friends were more into poetry.”
Even though I teased, the ghostlike wisps still haunted the edge of my mind. They seemed so familiar—had I dreamed them?
His voice sounded soft, almost kind. “Be honest with yourself, for once. What is true about your life? How do you know everything isn’t a lie?”
For some reason, that sentence struck home.
I steadied myself against the bar and reconsidered Wyatt’s paranoia.
“Maybe you aren’t crazy. Not completely, I mean.” I gestured at the television. “Everywhere we turn, there’s irrational people doing unreasonable things.” I took a sip. “Somebody should do something.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt’s voice had gone soft. “But not me. I’m far too busy.”
“Typical.” I gave him a scowl. “You’re all about pointing out the problems.”
“Well.” Gideon held his beer up. “Here’s to…” He paused. “Ah! Designating somebody to do something!”
“Here, here!” I laughed, and we clinked glasses.
The rest of the night we played catch up, told crazy stories about the bullshit we’d gotten into, and tried to see who could out-lie the others. We tried to play a few games of pool, but to be honest, I’d always sucked at it.
“It’s basic physics, Hoss!” Wyatt sunk another ball and peered up at me. “Choose a target. Calculate mass and distance.”
“Math is for people who aren’t pretty. I don’t have time to be calculating vectors all night.”
“Honestly, it’s good you dress so well. You need to have something going for you.”
“Asshole.” I laughed, and it felt good. “Like you know anything about physics.”
“More than you, apparently.” Wyatt sank another shot.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them. We played a round, and then another, and the night drifted around us.
I couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like I’d been away for an incalculably long time.
There was nothing like these two jerks to make me feel like I’d come home.
###
Aberrant Vectors
Novel Three in The Dossiers of Asset 108
JM Guillen
Irrational Worlds
Cold Boot
17 November, 1999
San Francisco, California
Earth
Dust and detritus sifted from the ceiling as the room trembled from the explosion.
“There’s just too many!” The grizzled man’s eyes narrowed at the darkened hallway before him. “We won’t make it through this way.”
A crimson light flickered overhead, throwing a stark silhouette against the wall. The man opened his mouth again only to be overridden by a sourceless, mechanical voice:
WARNING. Infectious biohazard confirmed in this area. Please vacate to your nearest safe zone.
“You’re wrong,” a younger man sneered to the first. “You’re just afraid.” He gestured toward the dark passage. “We punch through here. It’s the shortest way, and we don’t have time to play it safe.”
“Yeah!” I exclaimed, cheering for the guy on my television, and leaned back on my couch as I took another sip of my beer. “Punch through. You tell ’im, Blake.”
I liked that Blake played things a little loose.
Outside, the San Francisco sky continued to rain.
“I don’t know who died and put you in charge,” the older man grumbled, as he gave Blake a cold look, “but your stupidity is going to get us all killed.”
“Maybe.” Blake glanced from Captain Stark to the curvy blonde woman at his side, mugging for the camera. “Or maybe I’m the only thing that’s going to get us out of here alive.”
“Seriously?” I laughed and almost choked as beer went part-way up my nose. “Who says shit like that?” I snorted and fell back on the couch again, gesturing at my television. “Who writes shit like that?”
“You’re a wild card, Blake Runner,” the older actor growled. “We’re going to have to find another way or we’ll be stuck.”
“Stuck.” My grin soured. “I know just how that feels.” I reached for the remote, pawing more than once at my side table.
Lamp. Keys. Magazine…
No remote.
Hmm. I looked around the room and frowned.
“Dammit,” I sighed. It seemed like I either had to actually take the time to stand up to look for the remote…
Or keep watching this schlock.
I settled in. I took another draw of my beer.
&nbs
p; Outside, the sky rumbled. I frowned. Storms seldom came to the Bay area, but occasionally a bad one rumbled through.
I glanced at the clock. Noting that it had somehow already slipped past seven, I frowned harder.
“Where are you, Guthrie?” My brow furrowed. What time had he said? Seven-ish, maybe? Of course, the oaf had been pretty vague about our plans in general.
“I’ll go on without you if I have to.” Blake’s eyes flicked from the older soldier to his curvy companion. “But this ends tonight, one way or the other.”
“Yeah, I’ll go on without you, Wyatt,” I muttered and took another sip. I pushed to my feet and glared at the end table where the remote should have been. “Anything would be better than staying in with this crap all night. I’m sure I can find some company.”
“You go alone and you’ll be dead before dawn.” Captain Stark’s grim voice rang with certainty. “You’re a fool, Blake.”
Thunder sounded outside again and I started. The rare weather unnerved me. I stepped to my window and peered into the night. I could see most of the city from my apartment, towers of chrome and glass sprawling before the ocean. Typically the view calmed me.
Not tonight. Tonight I felt twitchy, like a razor drawn across a thin wire.
I leaned against the windowsill and noticed that my hand trembled just a bit. I touched two fingers to the side of my neck and counted quietly.
My brow furrowed deeper at the racing pulse.
Something felt wrong, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Wyatt should have come by already…
I stopped in place and popped my knuckles. What time had he said he’d be by again?
I tried to remember when I’d last spoken to Guthrie but drew a blank.
“This is ridiculous.” I drained my beer and tossed the can. I stepped toward the kitchen, intending to grab another.
Instead, I froze in place, one foot in the air. My eyes went wide.
For a long moment I stood, stock still. I stared into my apartment unblinking.
My foot slowly settled to the floor as slivers of frozen steel sliced through my mind.
Asset 108, initiation code 020798361. Override class two. Designate authorization 110809. Cold boot in progress.
Reality melted around me. Directives and purpose clicked into place.
I stalked from my living room, through the kitchen, and into my bedroom. I didn’t particularly wonder at my destination or my reason. My thoughts came heavily, as if covered in syrup.
“Access code iota-six-three.” The words fell from my lips without conscious thought. I felt distant from my body, like I watched it from afar.
Access granted, 108.
Part of the wall behind my bed slid away, revealing a room beyond. Light flickered within, shining over white tile and stainless steel.
This didn’t seem nearly as strange as it should. In some back corner of my mind, I hoped Wyatt would pick this moment to drop by.
The look on his face would be priceless.
I walked briskly into the sterile room, blinking in the brilliance of the white light and my continuing disorientation.
The room loomed large—almost as large as my entire apartment. How bizarre that I hadn’t ever noticed that it existed.
Then I saw the guns.
“Oh! Oh my…” The left-hand wall held dozens of long-barreled, scoped weapons; bulky, mechanized shotguns; and pistols of every shape and size.
Curious.
But no time. My feet carried me past to a large cabinet on the far side of the room. Like everything else, it shone with stainless steel.
I reached for the upper left corner of the cabinet, without realizing what I meant to do, and placed my palm against the smooth metal.
My hand tingled.
Asset 108, confirmed.
The cabinet hissed as hidden hydraulics responded to my touch. I stepped into the cabinet, a little taken aback at its size.
A wardrobe?
On the left hung several suits, expensive things that looked as if they had just been pressed.
Quasi-steel. I couldn’t say where the word came from, it just felt right.
A mirror hung in the back of the wardrobe, and a light above it flicked on as I stepped inside.
I turned to the right side of the wardrobe. It held several different versions of tactical wear: thick black vests with micro-lattice cells covering the chest, and several variants of armored trousers, most with innumerable pockets. Four different styles of boot, each looking brand new, had been placed on the floor.
Without a second thought, I began to get dressed.
As I pulled my t-shirt off, it seemed as if things made a little more sense.
“Wyatt isn’t coming over.” I shook my head, amused with myself. “We’re supposed to meet up. Duh.”
As I pulled on the improbably light plated trousers, I let out a self-depreciating chuckle. All my nervous energy earlier had been foolish.
I was right in the groove.
Moments later, I stood outside the wardrobe, fully dressed in combat-ready tactical wear.
A small refrigerator sat nestled against a wall that I hadn’t noted before.
“What’s this?” I knelt down and opened it.
A small collection of hypodermic devices glistened under the bright light of the fridge. While perusing them, a woman’s voice spoke inside my mind:
Michael, it’s time to proceed.
“Okay.” I looked up at the ceiling as if I would see a speaker there.
We need to initialize packet calibration.
“Copy that.”
I knew right where to go: the device on the far side of the room. Without much thought, I grabbed a large handful of the mysterious hypos at random.
They seemed important, somehow.
I stood, shoved them into a pocket on my thigh, and walked across the room, a bounce in my step. The grin on my face felt a touch childish, but I couldn’t help it.
I just felt so happy.
At the far end of the room, a large device dominated the corner. Upon initial inspection, it looked to be a simple, stainless-steel table standing up on one end.
“No.” I reached out to grip the handholds. The table swiveled at my touch. “Not a table.”
The Cradle. I had no idea how I knew that. I just did. My smile faded just a bit.
For some reason, I did not care for this device.
A halo of white metal hovered impossibly in the air around the Cradle. Several fine grooves on its surface allowed the metallic swing arm to move freely. A polished chrome plate inset with dark surface markings gleamed in the white metal.
Your packets are preselected, Michael. Please engage the Cradle.
I walked over to it, easily shoving the swing arm out of my way. At the end of the arm, I saw a sleek, silver and blue rod, approximately the size of a ballpoint pen.
SNICK.
I jumped at the sensation, as if something behind my left ear had clicked unexpectedly into place.
Warily, I leaned against the table and held onto the side grips.
“Oh!” I caught my breath as the table shifted beneath me, leaning backward. The arm moved of its own accord, darting around with a slight whir.
I hate cold boots. The thought felt alien, yet somehow comforting. Still…
There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with my boots.
The swing arm darted like an insect, positioning the rod around my head, pausing, and then darting to another location.
Bishop, Michael. Asset 108. With each word, the end of the rod pulsed a brilliant cobalt blue. Designate packet selection is confirmed: SPECTRE, ADEPT.
“Spectre?” That seemed odd. Irritatingly so. Wyatt wouldn’t have to deal with unfamiliar equipment.
Out of nowhere, I had the vague desire for a cigarette.
Michael, we need to bring you up to speed but do not have time for your Crown to fully initiate and process a dossier of this size. The voice echoed slightly
in my mind.
“Understood.”
The table leaned forward again, and I released the handles.
I took a couple of steps forward and then opened a small wall cabinet to my right.
Inside rested several small, round devices, each with a glaring scarlet button on the top. They looked molded to fit my hand. I hefted one, examining it with an askance eye.
Familiar. The name for these things hid right at the edge of my mind.
It didn’t matter. I needed them. That felt obvious, but I couldn’t quite recall the reason.
I placed several of them inside the many pouches on my vest. As I grabbed the last, I paused for a moment and stared hard at the device.
“Dampening grenade!” I smiled as the term popped into my mind.
108, you are to be dispatched to a Facility location that has been classified as a Status II hot zone.
“Okay.” I wrinkled my nose. The odd terms only made a loose, vague kind of sense.
Unknown Irrational targets have successfully completed several incursions at multiple coordinates. Several Assets are presumed lost.
“Understood.” The giddy happiness faded, and my brow drew low and tight as I processed that information.
As Asset Guthrie initiated prior to you, his system is active. He has the full dossier within his Crown. You will be dropped into the hot zone via conduit and will clear the area to await his arrival.
“And he’ll advise me from there.” I nodded, understanding dawning in my mind. I only had to worry about one thing: clear the area.
Correct. Initiating conduit now. The doorway back to my bedroom closed silently on unseen hinges then clicked loudly. The seam pulsed a brilliant orange.
That glaring orange light assaulted my mind, impossible to look at directly. I glanced away, but the light died almost as quickly as it had begun.
As the doorway began to hum, I stepped to the wall of weaponry. I took two bulky, long-barreled pistols and popped the injectors off the hilts. Moments later, I had injected myself and strapped on the holsters.
All this thoughtless, automatic.
Bishop, Michael, Asset 108. Do you wish to initiate weapon synchronization?