by J M Guillen
In the street, Amir Cadavas wove his way through the crowd with the certainty of a city native.
I followed, taking care to not bowl over anyone who might get upset by being knocked flat by an invisible man.
If Amir suspected he had a tail, he showed no sign.
Michael was not ‘skulking,’ Anya linked primly. As an Asset onsite, I can confirm that 108 had been appropriately tasked during that dossier.
He accidentally fed his own blood to a four-armed wolfish horror of the astral tides! Rachel chided. That can’t have been part of the mission!
I do not skulk. I linked the words with every bit as much prim-nicity as Anya. Although, the bestial aberration did bond to me harder than Wyatt Guthrie bonds to a plate of biscuits and gravy.
Good news, Wolf-boy, Rachel linked. I’ve been working on my script for An American Werewolf in Istanbul. Want to audition? The edge of Rachel’s lips quirked a little.
I actually saw An American Werewolf in London. So you’re not going to get me with that one. I stepped out of the alleyway into the drizzling mist, intent upon my target.
Pity, she linked playfully. Although I have been a little bit worried about the name. Istanbul doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Yeah? I slipped through the crowd, doing my best to keep my eyes on the target.
I prefer Constantinople. Long time gone though. She sighed. Why they changed it, I can’t say.
Children. Gideon’s growl grumbled in my mind. Focus.
Copy that, I linked.
I trotted along the cobblestones, inconspicuous and very cool. Twice, I slid into doorways when the target turned.
If Amir suspected he had a tail, he showed no sign.
Target is the focal point of a negative point seven fluctuation in baseline Rationality, Anya inserted coolly. There is also a secondary signature with him, which shows a negative four point fluctuation. She paused. Alpha, I believe this secondary signature may be the relic mentioned in his personal record.
He has that fucking book! Gideon’s fierce glee surged through the link. Right now! He has the relic on him right now!
Well, what are the odds of that? I grinned, wolfishly.
Book? Rachel asked.
The Liber Noctiis made an appearance during our dossier within the Yucatán—the last time we saw this joker, I replied.
The tome is the centerpiece of the Darkened Road’s cosmology, an Irrational artifact every bit as dangerous as the cultists themselves, Gideon continued. Can we confirm, Anya?
The Irrational signature is identical to that recorded on Dossier I6-1995 by Katarina Yakovlev, she reported.
If we can get our hands on the Liber Noctiis, that’s a win. Gideon’s elation burned in his link. The Designates have classified it as a priority one item.
Should I engage? I quickened my step and reached inside my coat for a disruptor pistol. As Amir turned a corner, I performed the mental twitch that engaged the Adept packet.
Like a river of sunlight, warmth and grace coursed through my muscles.
Negative. Gideon paused. We may have been after other fish, but this takes priority. The Designates want that book, but we want his cronies as well.
Good thing you geared the Huntsman.
We had no way to know it would come in this handy, Gideon shrugged. Still, it should be remarkably easy to follow him if I can just get the asshole tagged. Then, perhaps, we can take down the whole cult.
Will comply.
Amir turned down a narrow alleyway, and I slowed my approach. Last thing I wanted was for him to duck into some hidey-hole.
Anya, may I have a reticule for the fluctuation in Rationality?
Of course, Michael. A brilliant-green indicator settled over my vision. Beneath it, the distance indicator read 13m.
I’m on the move as well. Gideon sent. Perhaps give each of us a locale on the other? A secondary, sky blue icon appeared off to my left, approximately twenty-six meters away—perhaps a street or so over.
I couldn’t help but grin. We finally had the asshole.
There was nowhere he could go.
Of Nothing and of Nine
9 July, 1995 - Six Years Ago
Facility Prime, Location Unknown
Earth
“We finally got him!” I lurched up in the med bay, my eyes wild. “There’s nowhere he can go!”
Bishop. That single word made no sense, felt like garbled sound in my mind. I blinked against the brilliant white light.
Bishop. That was me. Michael Bishop, Asset 108.
An older man wearing utilitarian blue and white clothing stared down at me. He gave me a kind smile. 108, we need you to confirm you are with us. What is your auth code?
“Authorization code 020798361,” I rattled off. I blinked at the man and glanced blearily around. “Why are my legs strapped down?”
You’re at Facility Prime in Asset Emergency Services. There was an irregularity with your most recent dossier.
Yes. I shook my head and tried to remember. I could only recall scattered bits of what had happened in the Yucatán, but nothing solid, nothing specific. As I stared up at the older man, I recognized him as a Caduceus-class Asset. “I don’t remember much of anything.” I felt panic begin to claw at my throat. “Why can’t I remember?”
You were on dossier in the Yucatán. Your cadre encountered a Variance in Rationality. As a result, many of your Crown systems became damaged, including phaneric memory.
“A Variance?” Panic burned through my veins. Literally nothing within Rationality held a more dangerous classification.
Do you remember anything?
“Yes.” My heart continued to pound in my chest as I struggled to remember. “We were in the jungle… No.” I frowned. “We were underground.”
Asset 108, it is vitally important to Facility intelligence that we understand what happened in the Yucatán. For this reason, since you returned from dossier twenty-seven hours ago, you have been undergoing synaptic replication.
“You scraped my Crown?” I felt a little violated. I’d heard about the process, but as far as I knew, I’d never had the Facility manually replicate my memories.
We’re attempting to, the man clarified. Your Crown suffered significant pattern loss while in the presence of the Variance. We’ve made several passes so far, but we found it impossible to keep you unconscious during the process. That’s the reason for the restraints.
“How long do synaptic replications typically take?”
Usually around four hours. The Caduceus turned to a table next to my bay and picked up an injector. As I said, the situation is highly irregular.
“Twenty-seven hours?” That made no sense. “And you have no idea why it’s taking so long?”
You continually regain consciousness partway through the process. As a result, we get only clipped memories, fragments. He shrugged. I’ve explained these things to you five times now.
“What about Gideon?” My eyes widened as I had another thought. “Elle? What about Elle?”
We’re trying to learn everything we can, the man linked cryptically. For now, the most important thing is for you to rest. We need to initiate again.
As he spoke, he pressed the injector against my right bicep. I felt the initial cold of its sterilization sequence, followed by the tiniest pinprick. It hissed.
“Okay.” I blinked and instantly felt drowsiness settle thickly in my veins. “Rest.”
This may prove difficult. Because you’re not responding entirely to the disassociation sequences as you would in torpor, you may find the process of synaptic replication somewhat uncomfortable. The Caduceus tapped at the interface he held, a slight frown on his face.
“In what way?” My tongue felt heavy.
This experience will be exactly as if you were collating engrams through a Neural Lacuna. He smiled. They’re just memories, 108. Try and remember that.
Sable midnight fell around my head.
***
�
��What’s the play, Alpha?” I turned to Gideon and gestured. “Cadavas could be anywhere.”
“The trail leads here.” He glanced over the rise and then spat. “But there’s no town on the map.”
Many Yucatec settlements are not charted, Katarina linked.
“Seems deserted.” Gideon sighed. “Or abandoned. But if so, I think it’s been recent. Those are thatched roofs. There’s no holes in them anywhere.”
“You think the cult moved, though?”
“No,” Maxwell Barnes, Asset 330, said in his throaty French accent. “Here. Those assholes are here.”
“I agree with Max.” Gideon gave the dusky-skinned man a nod. “They’re here.”
“Want me to toggle the Wraith?” I raised an eyebrow at my Alpha. “I can slip down there and take a look at—”
***
—intricate copper masks. They’re covered with some kind of glyphs. I bent closer and tried to get a good image on my phaneric memory. There’s a dozen corpses here, all nude except for these masks.
Can you patch a visual, Mike? Elle linked, her words light and airy in my mind.
Yes, I can, I smiled, knowing the waifish Gatekeeper would feel it through her Crown. Just for you.
In less than a minute, I’d sent several images to my cadre.
These people may all be Yucatec Maya, Katarina observed. If you remove the masks, you might see slightly flattened heads or wide noses.
Huh. I reached for one of the eyeless masks, found the edge, and tried to pry it upward.
Um. The mask wouldn’t move. I tried to slip a fingernail between the mask and the person’s face…
But no. No space existed.
“Oh!” I jerked my hand back as I realized the truth. In that same instant, I felt my gorge rise.
I understood exactly why the masks remained stuck.
Alpha, they won’t come off. The more I studied the situation, the more I understood. They’ve been seared onto these people’s faces. The flesh is melted against them.
What? I felt Max’s disgust over the link, could almost see his wrinkled nose. You mean after they died?
I dunno, man. I shook my head and gazed at the array of bodies. But knowing the guys we’re chasing, I somehow don’t think—
***
“—these people were alive when impaled.” I stared up at the young man in front of me.
Naked and bloody, the body had been eviscerated. The cuts were meticulous, exacting in a way that made me ill just to consider.
We hadn’t made it ten minutes out of town before we found the first corpse. The pole had been forced through the body, then erected on the side of the road. A copper mask, eyeless and covered with glyphs, had been seared against the face.
Lines of bodies bordered the path on both sides and guided us deeper into the jungle.
The markings upon the body emanate slight amounts of Irrationality, Katarina informed us as her fingers twitched.
“There must be a hundred of them.” Max shook his head. “How does a cult this small slaughter so many people?”
“The Darkened Road has dozens of followers that aren’t Irrats,” Gideon growled. “Calls them Zealators. Usually they’re just goons with guns, but sometimes they have an Irrational trick or two.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Like that guy with Amir in Mexico City. Did you—”
***
“—hear that?” I stared into the midnight darkness of the jungle. In the distance, we heard all manner of wildlife, jaguars and howler monkeys, mostly.
But this sound, this was something else entirely. Somewhere in the jungle, someone wept, wailed.
“What, Bishop?” Max canted his head. “Just jungle, man.”
“No.” I glanced at him in irritation. “Listen.”
We both fell silent.
Immediately, the sound came again. It drifted through the jungle, lamented, lost. It sounded like a child, like a ghost in the darkness.
“Oh shit,” Max gasped. “What is that?”
“Closer.” I drew my Stiletto and spun around. “It’s getting closer.”
Fear came with it, elemental and sharp. It flowed outward from the jungle, like tendrils of mist.
Rationality dipping in your vicinity, Katarina’s pronounced Russian accent came through our Crowns.
“Fuck.” Max stared into the jungle, his eyes wild with fear. “I’m engaging the Juggernaut, Bishop.”
“Okay,” I hissed. My breathing came tight, ragged. “Keep your eyes open. I think it—”
***
“—just shouldn’t be here.” Elle peered down into the chasm. “But the Gatekeeper says it drops beneath sea level.”
They’re called cenotes, Katarina informed us. Limestone sinkholes, commonly encountered within vast series of caverns.
“I don’t like the idea of vast caverns.” Gideon glanced at Elle. “We need to leave quarrels out here, just in case we get lost.”
“There’s no question that we’re going in, is there?” I stared again at the blood scrawled across the large stone, the letters painted in wide strokes.
COME THEN. HE LIVES YET.
Below the words, Maxwell’s severed hand lay staked to the ground.
“No question.” Gideon met my gaze and gave me a slow nod.
“Fine, Alpha.” I quirked up the side of my mouth. “Let’s go. I’d follow you straight into hell.”
“This might get messy.” He rubbed at his chin. “But we have to—”
***
—engage. System message incoming, Katarina linked, and I felt the weariness within it. Most of the blood had dried on the side of her face, but I feared she’d have a scar.
She might lose the eye altogether.
It’s about tim— Gideon stopped mid-link.
I glanced toward him, expecting to see him distracted by something.
But no, he seemed confused.
My Crown whirred then, an odd sensation I’d never enjoyed. I associated it with being out of control, system updates, and other things that the Designates decided might be required.
I started to say something but noticed I couldn’t move. I still breathed, my heart still beat, but every muscle I had wouldn’t so much as twitch.
After a few seconds, warmth flowed through my body. It felt like warm caramel trickling through my veins.
My muscles warmed with it, and I could move again.
“What was that?” I turned toward Gideon. “Alpha, what was that?”
Sovereign prerogative gamma-twenty engaged. The system prompt sounded heavy in my mind, much like the secondary comm. Initiating now.
“What?” Elle turned to me, her eyes wide as the moon. “That can’t be right.”
DuMarque, Gideon. Alpha on Site. Engaged.
Yakovlev, Katarina. Preceptor third tier. Engaged.
Bishop, Michael. Asset on Site. Engaged
Quirke, Elle, Gatekeeper. Engaged
Barnes, Maxwell. ASSET PRESUMED LOST.
“Those prerogatives only engage if a Variance in Rationality is encountered.” Elle turned to Katarina. “Is that it? Do you show a Variance down here?”
I believe so. Kat seemed a bit uncertain, which surprised me. Typically, she seemed so sure. It is difficult to say, this deep beneath the ground. We do not have enough Telemetry relays in the area.
“If it’s truly a Variance in Rationality, we’re absolutely fucked,” Gideon snarled. “I’ll call up the Designate. One way or the other he’ll—”
***
—offer immediate, onsite Designate support, the Designate linked. This Variance is unexpected and incredibly dangerous. However, this is not impossible to overcome. Asset Quirke will immediately create an aperture at the provided coordinates, and a Designate will immediately—
***
“—get slaughtered like a sheep!” Gideon roared and turned his pistol against the Zealator. He fired once, then twice.
The man fell, missing most of his face.
&nbs
p; Yet more came. Deep within the darkness of those awful caverns, they lurched toward us.
“Max was just bait!” Elle stared at me, her pixyish face overwrought. “They took him just to get to us!”
It must be most of that village, I replied, as I turned toward an oncoming woman who screamed shrilly in a tongue I didn’t know. The ones that didn’t get slaughtered.
The situation was an unknown, Designate Davis linked, his chiseled face a snarl. He fired his own pistol—one of the large Mavericks—into to stomach of another crazed, bald madman.
“No shit!” I turned and fired.
Coarse language is not required, Michael Bishop, the Designate linked.
“[The Harvester shall come!]” The Zealator fell and snarled, “[You have not yet begun to learn the secret name of agony, the equations of suffering!]”
“Maybe not, fucko.” I shot him in the chest, my kinetic burst like a bowling ball fired by a trebuchet. “But I think the equation—”
***
“—is not complete!” Amir cackled wildly and his eyes burned with the fury of the damned. “Oh, Michael! You haven’t even begun to see!”
And with that, the masked cultist slid a wicked blade through the side of Designate Davis’s neck.
I heard the visceral tear of his flesh, saw the dark fluid splatter across his face and into his blond hair. It ran down the Designate’s chest.
The man just stared at me and trembled.
Amir ripped the blade outward, and a spray of warmth scattered across me and the stone floor.
Gaping, Davis sank to the floor.
System shock pro-pro-protocols initiated. He twitched twice and then fell to the ground.
“You don’t grasp the truth, Michael.” Amir walked toward me, his voice muffled by that awful iron mask. “Yet I shall show you. I swear by my power that I shall slaughter you while you scream and beg. I shall gift your warmth to those you cannot comprehend.”
“You are the one who doesn’t get it,” I snarled. “Where exactly—”