by J M Guillen
Designate support has received our query. Frustration bled through her words. I have all available resources engaged in boosting local telemetry.
But no leads. The passageway continued forward, yet I felt that shadowed path was too obvious. Every move we’d made since we’d arrived onsite had been immediately countered by the cultist. In this moment, while the shapeless hunger haunted the cistern all around me, Amir might find a clever opportunity for a trap ahead.
At the thought, I turned.
The creatures might be slow, yet their march forward felt stark, certain. The closest shuffled along less than ten meters away.
“Dammit.” I brought my disruptor pistols forward and fired at the masked inhumanity behind me. In my haste, I didn’t think to alter the settings on the weapons, and therefore shot with the same wide force I’d used to tear into the amoeba-like abomination.
The burst bowled over groups of two and three at once.
“Fuck,” I swore and toggled the pistols back to a narrower bandwidth. If I kept the same amount of force but held its focus down to something akin to the diameter of a pencil, the shots should punch straight through them.
They’d stay down permanently after that.
With a tide of filth and decay, the baleful protoplasm lurched out of the water. It reared up more than fifteen meters over my head.
Blood drained from my face.
It crashed down onto the walkway, then pulsed toward me with an alien eagerness.
“Oh God.” I couldn’t help the moment of instinctual panic at the sight of it. Its dreadful stench preceded it and rolled over me with the foul reek of long-dead rot.
My skin itched.
Bishop? Rachel’s link came sharply in my mind.
I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let the wolf off the leash? I took a step backward.
You know the risk, Rachel reminded me as death itself gurgled toward me. If it wasn’t for Hyper-Rationality… let’s just say we had a hard job bringing you back last time.
You’re going to have a hard time getting me back if I get digested. I pulled my pistols and thumbed the focus wide again.
Don’t get digested. While she teased, Rachel’s link came softly in my mind. Just kill it.
Right. I shook my head. Why don’t I just obliterate the slimy bastard? I can’t believe I didn’t think—
I stopped in mid-link as the obvious became apparent. I had another option, after all.
Bishop? Rachel’s frantic link showed exactly what she thought of me cutting off like that.
Fine. I’m fine. I holstered one of my guns and frantically dug into the large pouch on my left leg. Within, I grasped the smooth, disk-shaped devices.
Frantically, I pulled both of the Tabula Rasa with hardly a glance at the settings as I stepped backward. I guessed the sluicing slime might be fifteen meters away as it oozed along the walkway. Most of the masked figures shuffled behind the immense mass of acidic gel, held back by its inexorable forward globbing.
I hated this. I hated calculating distance and diameter while excruciating death bore down on me.
Can you give me another boost to the Adept? I toggled the Rasa’s dial with one finger. Just for a moment? I already took my mecha-meds.
Well, you have been a good boy.
I felt Rachel begin to tinker with my mecha even as she linked. Everything around me seemed to slow, as my reflexes kicked up another notch.
I grinned, wolfishly.
“Later, sludgy.” I’d turned to the shadows before my little nitro boost burned out. After I sprinted a good ten meters, I turned back toward the amoeb-ination.
As if I’d trained for years in the major leagues, I hurled one of my Rasa straight at the noxious, mucousy menace.
The moment I released the device, I turned and sprinted away, toward the shadows.
“Go, go, go…”
Less than three seconds later the shadows vanished before brilliant-white, magnesium light. Silent thunder shook the room.
I glanced over my shoulder.
The ooze glowed white from within, a hand-sized glimmer that burst suddenly outward, swallowing several of the creatures behind it and much of the bridge before it.
Fuck, it’s too wide! My legs burned as I pushed onward. I set it too large! It’ll swallow—!
Radiance fell in upon itself.
In an instant, the air in the cistern crashed into the vacuum left behind by the device. A loud pealing rumble echoed through my bones, shaking the stones of the cavern.
I tumbled forward, ass over teakettle, and pain blossomed sharply in my skull when my head hit the stone floor. When my somersault finally stopped, I slumped forward. I felt the sweet softness of unconsciousness slip around me, soft and inviting.
I drifted.
Bishop! From somewhere beyond time itself, I heard Rachel yell at me.
Always nagging, Rach, I linked dreamily.
I’ll show you nagging!
I felt something click just behind my right ear, followed by a whirring sensation.
A dump truck, probably full of adrenaline and amphetamine, smashed into my brain. Every muscle in my body jolted, as if I’d been hit with a defibrillator.
OKAY! I leapt up from where I’d fallen on the walkway and frantically peered around.
Had I passed out?
Less than two meters before me, the walkway ended in a huge gap. Water churned below after it had rushed to fill the space created by the Tabula Rasa. Within that water, I made out a few of the masked corpses struggling weakly, as if they’d forgotten how to swim.
No falling unconscious, Rachel lectured me. You still don’t know if that Irrat is onsite.
I suspect I do. I turned away from the water and gazed off into the shadowed distance.
No falling unconscious anyway.
Still no trace of Amir? I knew Anya’s answer before I linked yet asked anyway.
Long-range telemetry is offline in seven sectors worldwide. Her frustration seeped into me. Mediterranean sector two is completely adrift.
Goddamn it! I seethed and tried to push down the pain of loss. He can’t just get away! Do we have a decent timeframe on repairs?
No, Anya grumbled. Well, as much as Anya ever grumbled. Estimated response time is currently at thirty-seven hours.
Damnit. I ground my molars while I thought. We’re not exactly on dossier here. I’d like to submit a request to the Designates that I be allowed continued pursuit of 3302.
Already submitted, Michael.
You know me so well.
I’m afraid the request was denied.
Of course. Honestly, I’d expected as much. Requisition requests to a Designate were notoriously difficult to achieve, even when the situation wasn’t this… fluid.
We’d lost an Asset. But if telemetry was down in seven sectors across the planet, I imagined the Designates weren’t exactly in a mood to play things loose.
I turned and paced, thoughts boiling darkly in my mind. My breath came quickly and dancing crackles remained in my vision.
“Gideon.” I clenched my fist until it hurt.
I’d lost my mentor and one of the best men I’ve ever met. Moreover, I’d lost him to the same assholes who’d taken other friends.
“Not acceptable.” I shook my head. “Not by a fucking long shot.”
Extraction is already underway, Bishop, Anya informed me softly. I will send you Facility blueprints regarding what we know of the cisterns. Once you reach the surface, a conduit will be available.
I sighed.
Understood.
Wait.
That was my wiggle room, right there. If the Facility couldn’t get a conduit down here in the cisterns, then I had some time to poke around a bit. Even if I didn’t find Amir—
My foot slipped just a bit. Not enough to make me fall but enough to make me glance down.
I stood upon a piece of paper, one of the pages I’d blasted out of Amir’s hand.
Now that
I looked, dozens of them lay scattered all about me.
I raised my foot and reached for a page, trembling. Arcane symbols and numeric lines were scrawled across the old, rough paper between my fingers.
Gideon had counted the Noctiis as a win.
I turned my head and counted all the sheets. The beginnings of smile dawned on my lips. Maybe the situation could be salvaged. If the Liber Noctiis were even half as important to Amir and his fuckface buddies as Gideon thought…
I began to gather the papers.
Michael, do you acknowledge? You are to rendezvous for extraction.
Will comply, Preceptor. I picked up two more sheets. Give me just a moment, then get me out of here.
The Citadel
7 January, 2001 – Present Day
CRACK! The room reverberated with a deafening sound. The vibrant green around the edges of the doorways in my white room began to fade.
Location achieved, Asset.
“Sure.” Still bleary, I had no snark, not even a bit of my traditional lip for the automated system.
I shambled through the conduit as Designate Ling finished her sign off.
—wish you well in the days ahead.
“Right,” I mumbled. I stepped through, blearily. “Whatever.”
I felt ragged, bleak. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so exhausted upon beginning a new dossier. In fact…
Maybe I needed more information.
I opened the Adjunct dialogue and, instantly, a chipper voice whirred in my mind.
Good evening, 108. How can I assist you?
Adjunct, open saved aspects.
Will comply, 108, the cheery voice responded. I have program 12Y listed here in your recents.
The one Rachel made for me? I wrinkled my nose. The Star Trek Jedi guy?
You have recently played aspect F23 as well.
Paige.
That’s actually what I want. Give me Paige.
Will comply.
A momentary silence followed, one in which I had ample opportunity to, again, consider everything that had happened.
Gideon.
Hey there, Mike. Paige’s voice, so much like Elle Quirke’s, ran like warm honey through my mind. What’s up?
Paige, have I even been in torpor? I scratched at my scruff as I peered around. I feel awful.
It has been nineteen hours since your last activity cycle, she responded. Wait. That can’t be right.
Feels about right, I responded. Any ideas why I didn’t gear anything from my white room?
Um… no. Her confusion swirled like a physical thing. Mike, according to system records, you are currently in torpor in San Francisco.
Good. I shook my head. I prefer it when things make no sense.
You aren’t on a cold boot. You aren’t being requisitioned by Facility Prime. AES shows no scheduled system maintenance.
Okay, Paige. I gave her a crooked smile. Thanks.
I stood in a darkened passageway that stretched out before me. It could have been in any office building anywhere, as long as the building smelled like dog shit and had several broken windows. I stared out as I passed them, with the thought that I might be able to identify the city.
Somewhere in England? Maybe. The cars below drove on the wrong side of the road, but that could place me almost anywhere in the United Kingdom.
Seven or eight meters down the hallway, a crimson sphere the size of a basketball hung in the air. It burned quietly and sang a soft, eldritch song. As that light flickered, I in no way thought it made the shadowed passage look menacing.
“Well then.” I began to walk toward the sphere as I massaged the back of my neck.
I thought the Facility didn’t use tier three conduits anymore? Paige interjected into my thoughts.
“Me too,” I replied. “It’s been years since I’ve been assigned a tier three.”
The tier ones are practically universal. I could feel her brow furrow, even though Paige didn’t have one.
Tier one conduits were simple. I’d become accustomed to simply stepping through a door and coming out in another place. Instant travel. No search for the terminal marker, no cover-up, no fuss.
Now I had to walk down the hallway, like some kind of animal.
Paige, do I require an initiation code to operate this conduit?
Nope. Your Crown has already been queued to the conduit.
Well, that’s something at least.
I stepped into the burning sphere and only squinted a little at the electrical sensation that spread across my skin. The tier threes weren’t uncomfortable per se, but it did feel as if every centimeter of my skin fell asleep for a moment.
A scarlet flash burned in my Crown, I found myself to be slightly dizzy, and…
Elsewhere.
“About fuckin’ time.” The drawl carried more than a little amusement. I was half afraid I might have to come and wake you up.
You just want to climb into bed with me. I hear it’s a hillbilly thing. I blinked again to adjust my eyes to the strong, sterile light.
A Facility Location. It had to be. The white walls, the tiled floor, everything seemed crisp and perfect.
The only thing that threw off the professional atmosphere sat at a table in front of me, bearded and huge. He wore denim overalls for fuck’s sake and grinned at me like a loon.
“Overalls? Are you serious?” I gazed at Wyatt and gave him a tiny smile.
It was about all I had the energy for, if I were honest.
“How you doin’, Hoss?” Wyatt stood and extended me a hand, a bit of sympathy in his tone.
I nodded at him, and we shook.
“I guess you—” I cleared my throat. “You know?”
“I guess I do.” Wyatt fiddled with his beard, the way he occasionally did when he didn’t know what to say. “Fucked up.”
“Yeah.” I started to say something else but couldn’t exactly find the words. I’d rather not talk about it, I think.
I get it. He nodded. Gideon was a good man. Helluva leader.
“Yeah,” I repeated. “You know what I’m here for?” I gestured toward my own head, in the vicinity of my Crown. “You got the dossier?”
I don’t. Wyatt gave a shrug that more resembled an avalanche than anything else. But I know where the Designates expect us to be. Come on. He gestured as he began to walk.
I dunno. I gave him a suspicious glare. If this is you trying to trick me into some kind of Thai strip club…
That happened once! He shook his head, as if disgusted. I was doing you a favor.
We were on assignment! I chuckled and shook my head. Chasing some jackass who… I tried to remember.
Angels, wasn’t it?
Right! Some jackass who thought he could pull angelic Watchers from the Old Testament out of his pocket.
That’s why we needed the club, Wyatt insisted. The ladies in that place were Irrational. I thought they might be angels.
I’m not certain they were ‘ladies’!
As we bantered, Wyatt led me down the hall, past several stainless-steel doors. When the passage came to a T, he took a left. A couple more turns and he led me into a small meeting room.
It took the two of you long enough. Anya stood at the front of the room, focused on telemetric readings. The bank of computers covered most of that wall, along with a silver terminal orb that hovered in midair off to Anya’s left.
Brooks Brothers here wasted a lot of my time, Wyatt explained. You know how he can be.
“A terminal orb?” I stepped closer to the primary interface and watched my reflection in its smooth surface. I’d seen them before. Hell, I’d used one while fumbling my way around a Facility black site just a year or so ago. Typically the orbs were used for heavy lifting within the system.
To see Anya make use of one made me wonder what she was up to.
Indeed, Michael. She turned toward me, a soft smile more in her eyes than on her lips. It’s been an overwhelming few hours.
Tell me
about it.
I have informed Designate Ling of your arrival. Anya turned back to the telemetric displays, her brow furrowed. We will be briefed shortly and are advised to remain here.
Well enough by me. I glanced around.
A meeting table dominated the far side of the room, while a third wall held dark screens. In the corner, a second door stood firmly closed.
Kind of weird for all of us to get briefed together.
The Designates want me t’ be here to explain things to you, Wyatt informed me as he pulled out one of the chairs and tortured it with his weight. They said it gets hard not being able to use big words. Gets in the way of their Reptilian conspiracies.
I’m pretty certain I shouldn’t be here. I stepped closer to the powered-down terminals and tried to track what the interfaces might be for. Doesn’t the Crown require something like six hours of torpor for every hour of use?
Not yours, Wyatt jibed. Only Assets who actually use their brains have that limitation.
Caduceus Gardener has been assigned to assist with that lack. Anya felt distracted as she plucked at an interface I couldn’t see. I feel confident she will be able to bypass any functional issues you may encounter.
Not exactly my point. I frowned a touch. I believe that, in my entire career, I’ve been called off torpor early exactly zero times.
Huh. Wyatt frowned. I hate to admit it when yer right.
It occurs to me that the current situation is unusual in several ways, Anya linked. I have completed several non-protocol tasks in the past several hours.
Our conspiratorial theorizing was rudely interrupted by a general link, as a young woman entered the room.
Wyatt! Sofia Delacruz smiled at the bear of a man, the link curling in a soft Spanish accent. You get assigned to babysit this joker?
You know how it is. He sighed. Genius is often punished with extra responsibility.
Oh. She nodded. So Anya’s doing the babysitting?
I have not been tasked with any specifics regarding Michael or Asset Guthrie, Anya linked while she peered into her interface. My instructions only involve waiting to be briefed.
Typical. Sofia stepped over to me, a sarcastic glint in her eye. What have you been up to, Mike?
Oh, you know… I sent a little of my own sarcasm through the link, Mostly gringo stuff.