by J M Guillen
“Alert! This drone has taken sig-sig-sig—” Abruptly, the message stopped.
“Ha!” I cheered. “Hell of a shot! You see that, Slim?”
Formless anger burbled within my mind.
Of course, not everything that fell was twisted metal. Dozens of tiny, armed darts also dropped. They hit the floor and set off a warzone’s worth of shattered physics and bubbling reality.
“Oops,” I scolded myself as I pulled my feet up, rolling into as much of a protective ball as possible. “Now that I didn’t—”
Sunset-colored Tasers fizzed, and temperature moderation spikes ignited around them. I couldn’t help but gape as the floor began to melt from the heat.
The very air rippled like a cascading river. The table legs softened under me, the steel supports sagging toward the floor.
The entire time, the recording of the woman’s voice warbled in my mind, providing an unnatural soundtrack to this comedy of errors.
“Oh, oh n—!” The table groaned and buckled and I began to slip down a ramp into that pit where physics was making a hell of an argument against itself.
I scrambled, shoved with my feet, and writhed against the restraining device. I kept trying to work my second hand free when the obvious suddenly occurred to me.
“Idiot.”
I reached into one of the pouches on my vest, where I still had a couple dampening grenades. I wrapped my fingers around the cool object and pushed the button.
“And we’ll just…”
WHUM. Ripples of Rationality waivered through the room, and the parade of strangeness died at my feet. At the same moment, the axioms bent by the Facility in their pseudo-Cradle realigned, and the cobalt light died.
The belt released me.
I couldn’t help but grin as I hopped down. I turned to look at the aberration, which still glared at me with its hateful, shifting eyes.
“And that, Slim, is taking care of business.”
Nothing but raw hatred and fury met my gaze. The solid emotion hit me like a sharp cinderblock slamming into my stomach. Hopeless terror wove through it all, the feeling of a very small man staring into an abyss of endless, ragged time.
“What is with you?” I looked from the creature back to the copper and crystalline rods that seemed to hold it in place.
Free/kill/release. Softer than they had been previously, I could scarcely hear the words through the chanting numerals of the recording that still marched through my mind, senseless and strange.
“If I kill you, you’re free?” Free from what? Why would Facility be holding an aberration here?
A thought occurred to me as I remembered the plaque on the door of this room. Every time the creature had torn into me with visions and horror, there had been an undeniable sensation of the vast emptiness of time.
“Quantum Chronodynamics.” I looked into the creature’s eyes and winced at the burning eternity there. “It’s time. Something about the flow of time.”
Free/kill physicality/shackle. That fury struck me again.
Brilliant onyx eyes flashed at me, their striations whirling softly, sucking my gaze in, becoming brighter and brighter until nothing could overcome their draw.
Shadows. Bending space. A silvered obelisk.
Vast emptiness overwhelmed me as the world melted, running in strands of infinite spirals. I tumbled, spinning backward—
“No.” I shook my head, not certain of what I was negating. “Not aga—” Startled, I raised my weapons. I stumbled back…
…and tripped, throwing my back into a firm, curved surface directly behind me.
Immediately a slight mechanical whir began, and the apparatus swung into motion.
Current packet: ADEPT, disengaged. Current packet: SPECTRE, disengaged. WARNING. Equipping a quantum packet on this iteration of Asset could lead to genetic drift and temporal splicing.
What?
It sounded exactly like the Cradle.
In fact, it also had the Cradle’s white metal and its chrome plate with incomprehensible obsidian markings.
Familiarity slammed through me as the main body of the mechanism began to tilt backward to a horizontal position. I had been here before. I knew it.
Trapped. Animal panic flushed through my mind.
“No!” I yelped as I slid down to crouch on the floor. “No changes!”
I couldn’t say why I’d yelled the phrase.
A mechanical belt slid across the table, just where my midsection had been. It connected with a solid, metallic thunk.
I ignored the mechanism, instead turning to aim my Stiletto squarely at the center of the door.
“Come on, you bastard.”
The drone burst through a basketball-sized hole in the door.
Glowing blobs of liquid metal dripped from the edges of the hole and trailed from the wings of the drone as it glided above me.
I rapidly altered the field of my Stiletto, calibrating to the necessary diameter. I fired once and missed, but the second shot struck center mass.
The drone and its array of weaponry disintegrated with one shot.
“Ha!” I jeered. Without hesitation I rolled to the right and up to my feet. Next to the door, katana upraised, I readied for the second drone to come sweeping in.
It didn’t.
Firing through the hole in the door, the damned thing shot at my feet without so much as poking its nose in.
I danced away, dexterously avoiding the tiny darts that had scattered all across the floor with the exploding Hornet. Some had already begun to spark with electric fire.
Raw hatred crashed over me like a wave.
I glanced over my shoulder to find the aberration seething at me, onyx eyes blazing. Its faceless, silver mien somehow projected loathing.
Shadows. Bending space. A silvered obelisk.
“What do you want?” Dizzy, I put one hand out to steady myself and glanced down at the floor to make certain I had clear footing. “How come I feel like choking myself on your behalf?” I narrowed my eyes at it,
The glare of hatred took on a tinge of impatience.
Free/kill physicality/shackle.
“Free you from what?” I shook my head. “It’s not like you’re in—”
A cage.
Of course. The trapped creature had been held in a secure—formerly secure—Facility location. Hell, knowing how the Designates handled aberrations, Silver Steve here shouldn’t have been able to twitch, much less mentally mess with my mojo.
But the systems weren’t exactly on point, were they?
Whuf!
“What?” I spun. A spike the size of a toothpick stood upright, buried in the tile floor half a meter from my foot.
“N—!”
Half a second later, my chest hit the floor as I fell inexorably toward the tiny metal spike projecting gravity several times that of Earth’s. Flattened instantly, I gasped for breath, unable to draw it.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched two drones sail serenely into the room.
Caught. Check mate, game over. Either one of the glittering dragonflies could terminate me at any second. Or they might just wait and watch me die of suffocation. Unless, of course, the gravitational pull caused me to lose blood-flow to my brain.
That might be more pleasant. I’d pass out quickly and die unaware.
Dammit! Not even the Spectre could help now. Even out of phase, as long as I had proper connectivity, gravity still affected me.
I floundered, thrashing my limbs like a caricature of someone drowning as the two drones circled above my prone body.
My hand holding the katana brushed my pocket, and I felt…
I bared my teeth in a feral grin.
One move left, bastards.
I twitched my fingers as hard as I could.
CLICK.
My thumb had managed just enough pressure to set off the dampening grenade stashed there.
WHUM. A tsunami of rampant Ratio
nality stormed through the room. Gravity returned to Rational levels, and I could breathe again. The moment that the ripples died down, I engaged the Spectre.
Then, heroically, I continued to lie on the floor, gasping with relief at the ability to draw air into my lungs.
The Hornets, of course, pounded the tile underneath me with all manner of drone ordinance, but thanks to the Spectre, I didn’t care.
I could breathe.
An infinity of hateful laughter burbled over to one side, and I turned my head to regard the unpleasant aberration as it pointed at me and laughed.
“Oh, ha ha, fuckface,” I grumbled, getting to my feet. I scrutinized the equipment readout above its head. “I’ve had just about enou—”
CLICK. My head whipped toward the sound.
The drones had deployed a dampening grenade of their own.
“Nope!” I whirled on my heel, dropped my katana, shut down the Spectre, and scooped up the dampening grenade. One motion, smooth as silk.
Continuing my spin, I activated the Adept and hurled the axiom-reasserting thing, not at the jackass aberration, but at the copper and crystal prison which held it.
Faster than thought, before the katana had clanged to the floor, I aimed my Stiletto, pulled the trigger, and aimed again.
Once more, a drone exploded into ten thousand glittering pieces.
WHUM.
I smiled grimly as the world wobbled on its axis. The dampening grenade took effect.
The prison shattered; the violet mist vanished. The creature’s cry of triumph echoed in my mind, an eternal wail that rang along a vast and endless chasm.
“I bet the Designates will be pissed.” I sighed. Still, I couldn’t afford to play Groundhog Day anymore.
I shut down my comm. The sudden lack of inhuman numerals felt blissful.
Two birds, one stone. Drone and aberration gone, all I had to deal with now was one more—
Whuf, whuf, whuf, whuf! White hot spikes, all the size of toothpicks, peppered the ground near me.
I ran through the door, Spectre packet reactivated, before I could blink.
The final drone followed me, diving back through the hole, firing furiously.
“Give up!” I shot back and missed, creating a crater in the hallway wall.
Dammit!
“Error.” The Hornet flew unerringly at me. “Error, 108. This drone cannot cease its functions.”
“That’s too bad.” With a snarl I shoved the Stiletto back in its holster and pulled the second katana from my back with both hands. Holding it over my head, I charged toward the quicksilver drone, screaming like a madman.
I pushed the Adept, hard, and thrust the katana straight for its buggy little head.
“Ha!” I cried magnificently.
An electrical bzzt! announced the drone’s impalement.
“Error.” The Hornet wobbled in the air before slamming into the ground. “Error, 108. This drone is mobility impaired.”
It made two wild, clanking noises, and I thrust my blade down, directly into its back.
My electresium katana sliced right through its hull.
The light behind the drone’s eyes died.
“Ohhhh-kay.” I smiled and picked myself up off the floor, hurting in my everything. I wobbled, a bit dizzy.
Where is my other katana? I peered around.
It glittered from the far side of the room I’d trashed.
“Oh.” I shook my head. I really needed to be more cautious with my weapons.
I scooped up my katana from the drone’s wreckage and headed back to Quantum Chronodynamics to fetch its twin.
God, I better get to the Telemetry Relay Station soon, I thought as I walked wearily to the abused door. I need a cigarette.
Addiction aside, however, the truth felt like lead in my stomach.
The Spire was in serious trouble.
“Which means more bullshit has to be coming down the pipe.” I sighed. “As soon as Guthrie shows up I’ll find out something ridiculous, like we have to clear The Spire, floor by floor with a toothbrush. Or perhaps the entire Facility has been infected with symbionts, and we have to capture them all… for observation.”
Typical.
I shook my head as I headed toward the relay station.
I could hardly wait.
Fluidity
Telemetry Relay Station 0090
I read the small plaque and leaned one hand against the door, panting. The blue reticle hung squarely in front of me, its crosshairs pulsing softly.
The conduit lay less than two meters in front of me, just behind the door.
“Come on, if you’re there.” I peered down the hallway, back the way I had come. This, of course, would be the moment for some Facility slaughter-drone to swoop down on me or perhaps fill the atmosphere with weaponized viral mecha.
But no. Perfect quiet filled the scarlet-lit hallway. The unnatural light fizzed and flickered overhead, but as far as I could see, there weren’t even any of the aberrant blossoms near this door.
After a few moments of caution, I touched the pad at the side of the door, laying my palm flat against it. I knew better than to hope to hear the system acknowledgement in my mind.
Yet the door slid open with a soft hiss.
The Telemetry Station had slightly curved corners, although it was still basically a cube. Gigantic, vintage, steam-radiators or, more likely, things that just resembled them, stretched from the floor to the ceiling along two of the walls.
“Weird.” I scratched my head as I examined the devices. I’d never seen the like.
Constructed of thick glass, I observed the neon-blue liquid that boiled and bubbled within them. The entire apparatus vibrated, humming with a persistent, haunting song.
I took in the rest of the room. Several tables had been pushed together along one wall holding what looked like eighteenth-century typewriters with keys in an alien tongue.
“Dataglyphs?” I mused to myself.
Maybe.
Several of those keys blinked, as if awaiting input. Glass tubes full of that same boiling and steaming blue liquid attached to the back of each typewriter.
The room smelled of ozone and mold.
“Straight out of sixties sci-fi.” I stepped closer to the devices, but other than noticing that the lights blinked in eerily uniform patterns, I couldn’t determine what they could possibly mean.
“Doesn’t matter.” My eyes fell on the metallic semi-circle of the conduit. “Not what I’m here for anyway.”
I switched on my comm.
This is Michael Bishop, Asset 108, access code iota-six-three. I have made Locale One and have cleared all Irrational targets from the vicinity with—I checked the reticle—one minute twenty-two seconds to spare. Please apprise.
No official response came. Instead, that haunted chant began in my mind again, the woman who sounded as if she spoke from across some great and terrible void.
Niiiine…Twow… INit-eeeating See-gma… FiffTEeen…
I’m going to switch my comm off again. I can’t be on point while listening to the interference. I paused. Makes me want to scratch my skin off.
I turned it off and sank into one of the chairs that sat with the desks. I let out a long, exhausted breath. Hopefully, the worst part of this was over.
The Spire, thus far, had been a carnival of horror.
I sat, still fiercely relaxing, when the metallic frame of the conduit pulsed once, an intense verdant light, and the space around it swelled and bent.
“Oh. Company.” I had always thought it an oddity that each conduit gave off different spectra when used, but today it could have been a vomit green with traces of bruised lavender, and I wouldn’t have taken note.
I sat up, watching the lights dance.
CRACK! The conduit emitted a deafening sound and culminated in a burning flash that seared my retinas.
A bear of a man stepped through, a hazy residue swirling around his head.
Broad shoul
dered, Wyatt Guthrie stood almost a head taller than me, with brown hair that he kept shaved close. The same could not be said for his beard unfortunately. Guthrie bragged about being a proud Alabamian barbarian and didn’t care much for Facility appearance codes. Thus his bushy facial hair took up most of his face.
“Hoss.” He nodded at me, the flickering light in the room glinting off the blue lens covering his replacement left eye. Before he finished nodding, he winced and glanced up at the ceiling in irritation.
“Kill your comm.” I nodded sagely. “That’s the only way to shut her up.”
“Damn. And I thought yer mama could yap.” He sighed, and I watched him perform the tiny tick that indicated he had toggled some function of his Crown.
Then his talented fingers began dancing at the crescent keyboard that hung at his hip. As he peered around the room, his T-90 Axiomatic Redistribution Algorithm I, or the Tangler for short, began to hum and whirr on his back.
“Um,” I frowned at him, prodding, “my apprisal?”
“Hold on.” He didn’t even look up. “Stabilizing the conduit.”
“Here I thought you were bringing my update.” I folded my arms, gazing at him. “Instead, you look like a man who’s getting ready to dig himself a ditch.”
“I do have some work to do.” Wyatt turned to me, and I read the shadowed grimace on his face. “We’re in what you might call a fluid situation.”
“Yeah?” I sat up straight. “If I didn’t know your Crown were off, I’d patch you my last hour. Then you might see what—”
The conduit began to warble and sing again and space bent around it like spun sugar.
“I get it,” Wyatt leveled his gaze at me. “Fluid.” He glanced at the conduit.
The conduit cracked again, bending space and shining with brilliant, azure light. I shielded my eyes before looking away.
Then Gideon DuMarque stepped into the room.
He nodded at me, and I nodded back.
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Fluid.”
“Bishop.” Gideon strode toward me, a grimness pulling at the edge of his lips. He extended a hand.
I took it.
“Hey, Gideon.” I gave him a short nod, only just then realizing what he wore.