by J M Guillen
As if someone had physically taken my head and twisted it, I twitched, violently.
I opened my mouth to complain, and the same thing happened again, only to all of us.
Our heads spasmed simultaneously.
Sovereign prerogative alpha-nine engaged. Not Paige, this message came straight from the system. The prompt felt heavy in my mind, much like the secondary comm. Initiating now.
“What?” Sofia turned to me, then Wyatt, eyes wide.
“There must be some mistake.” I shook my head. Sovereign prerogatives were the ultimate expression of a Designate’s authority. Used only in the most dire of situations, they included orders that literally could not be disobeyed.
The thought terrified me.
Bishop, Michael. Alpha of the Citadel. Engaged.
Petrova, Anya. Preceptor second tier. Engaged.
Guthrie, Wyatt. Artisan of the Citadel. Engaged.
Delacruz, Sofia. Gatekeeper of the Citadel. Engaged.
Which of the Sovereign Prerogatives have been put into play? Anya made certain to include all of us in her link. She looked down at her hands, almost as if already expecting to see the Hyper-Rationality nodes there pulsing with light.
No.
Not yet.
Michael? She looked at me. Which prerogatives? As was often the case, her link felt sterile.
But her wide, frightened eyes told me everything.
Before I could answer, another system message came.
A Variance in Rationality has been detected. Standard protocols are being initiated.
“A Variance?” Sofia brought one hand up to her mouth. “Honestly? I’ve never encountered a Variance.”
“I have. Once.” I practically spat the word.
“Fuck. Me,” Wyatt muttered.
I have it now. Anya’s fingers trembled, and I thought it might actually be due to nervousness rather than her interface.
“How bad?” I asked.
Super-Rational. Her eyes flicked from side to side as her fingers twitched. Michael, it is at one hundred seventy-eight point four.
“Please tell me you misplaced the point in your analysis?” Wyatt asked hopefully.
The Variance occurred less than two minutes ago. All local Irrational signatures have vanished. The system paused for just a moment. A second Variance occurred upon the Isle of Malta, within .0036 seconds of the first. This took place 1049 kilometers away.
The system is correct. Anya turned to stare at me. The Irrats no longer show upon my telemetry. The rift has vanished.
“Amir!” I cursed the name.
He has vanished as well.
“I knew he was up to something.” I kicked at the ground, furious.
You are to immediately return to the Corvus. You are to immediately set course for the coordinates that we will provide. Your Designate will be in touch with you shortly.
“Oh, I bet she will,” Wyatt snorted. “Now, at least.”
“Dammit!” I slammed my fist against the table. We’d been so close. We never should have chased after all of these stupid fucking rifts…
Michael. Anya’s link only came to me. We need to go.
As if to emphasize her words, the system prompt came again.
You are to immediately return to the Corvus. You are to immediately set course for the coordinates that we will provide. Designate Ling will be in touch with you once you arrive in Malta.
I took a breath and let it out slowly. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really, yet I couldn’t help but feel as if something had been taken from me.
So close.
“I have the aperture ready, Alpha.” My brash and confident Gatekeeper seemed subdued. “I will ignite on your mark.”
“Mark.” I smiled in an attempt to reassure her. However, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t ignore the terrifying system announcement.
A Variance in Rationality has been detected.
The last time I’d experienced a Variance, most of my cadre had died. I remembered the way they’d screamed in the darkness of the jungle, deep beneath the Earth. We’d lost a Designate. Our Gatekeeper had gone mad.
Gideon, my Alpha, had to carry me out, rambling and raving.
This time wouldn’t be any better. Gideon DuMarque was dead. Our Designates were out of touch.
I was the Alpha.
This time, there wouldn’t be anyone to carry me out.
A Variance in Rationality
The moment we stepped through the aperture, a cheery, if somewhat tired, voice greeted us.
“Good evening!” Rachel sat in the same seat she’d arrived in and pored busily through a small container of viral mecha. Apparently, she’d had time to change into another set of Caduceus white and blues.
Quasi-steel, this time. Her blues looked crisp, clean.
I couldn’t say the same. My suit reeked with frog vomit.
“Well hello, Caduceus!” I gave her the jauntiest smile I could muster. “Did you have some new lungs whipped up?”
“I didn’t need new lungs.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Just had to get these patched. Some jerk ventilated them.”
“Hey there, Rachel.” Wyatt gave her a somewhat weary smile. “Glad to see the robots got you all fixed up.”
“Believe it or not, ventilated lungs isn’t the worst injury I’ve ever seen.” She raised an eyebrow at me.
“Piece of cake, huh?” I grinned.
“Well.” She shrugged. “One set of mecha provides oxygen, one stops bleeding and another knits tissue. Still, I’m not exactly what I would consider ‘system green.’”
“I’m hoping you’re at least an off-yellow?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m conscious, capable of doing my job, and not in any pain. I imagine that if I release myself, my Alpha might do his best to keep me out of harm’s way.”
“I’d always keep you out of harm’s way if I could,” I mumbled. “Unfortunately, seems like harm is pretty intent on chasing us down.”
“I noticed.” Rachel gave a somewhat wan smile. “The moment I queued myself back into the cadre, I received the notification.”
“You didn’t happen to bring any dampener grenades, did you?” Wyatt teased. “Our Alpha here forgot his today, and as a result I’ve had to use Rosie to shut down all of those rifts.”
“I didn’t.” She raised one eyebrow. “Not that I ever gear dampening grenades.”
“Maybe I should just go get some now,” I mused. “I could have my Gatekeeper send me back to the Citadel to refit, while you take this baby back through the Maelstrom.”
“Urk.” Delacruz wrinkled her nose. “Are we really going through that thing every time we fly anywhere?” She sat down and glanced at me over her seat. “Can I come with you?”
“It’s practically instantaneous.” Wyatt offered her a sideward grin. “Don’t worry, Sofia, you’ll definitely get used to it.”
I sighed, full of the knowledge that she would never, in any way, get used to it.
“We’ll receive an update from our Designate when we arrive in Malta.” Rachel gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. “I think we’ll be allowed time to refit.”
I hated that she was right.
“Well enough.” I turned and gazed at the rest of my cadre. “Are we ready to go?”
“No.” Delacruz stoically sat strapped in, though already she appeared a touch green.
Yes, Michael. Anya fastened her restraints and made certain her weapons were appropriately holstered.
“Nobody asked if the pilot’s ready,” Wyatt grumbled. He made his way to the front of the craft and began to strap himself in. “Haven’t even received coordinates.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Alpha speaking,” I teased and turned around. “Our Artisan will be flying us around the horrific, mind-bending gloaming until he receives our proper coordinates.”
How would the Designates transmit coordinates into the Maelstrom, Michael? Anya gave a tiny shake of her head. Are you e
ven thinking?
“Ha!” Rachel laughed and then snorted.
“Thanks for trying, Mike.” Delacruz closed her eyes.
“I have coordinates,” Wyatt informed us. “Just received a packet.”
“Good.” I nodded. “Just what I wanted to hear.”
That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. Punching back through the Maelstrom didn’t exactly excite me. Nevertheless, I leaned back into my chair, took a deep breath, and tried to relax.
The Corvus would make it. I knew that. Aside from issues with falling out of the sky, Wyatt handled the craft with the same assurance he did the Tangler.
It truly wasn’t the gloaming darkness I worried about.
I worried about what we’d find on the other side.
2
With an explosion of impossible color and immeasurable sound, we burst into the skies over Malta.
And came to a dead stop.
Every one of us jerked forward in our seats, and the Corvus hung perfectly still.
If I didn’t know better, I’d believed Wyatt Guthrie hummed ‘Little Red Corvette.’
“I’m going to initiate the Wraith.” Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. “That way we’re not an unidentified flying object hanging here in Maltese airspace.”
“Brilliant!” I coughed; my seat strap had caught me in the neck. “Do that.”
“That was your chance.” Rachel shook her head sadly. “You could have said ‘Make it so.’”
“What?” I shook my head.
“I’ve been waiting all day for you to use that one.” Rachel lamented.
Incoming packet, a system voice informed us. Available via recorded stream only.
“And here I actually have room to port it to memory!” I sighed.
Packet will engage the phaneric nodes of:
Bishop, Michael, 108
Petrova, Anya, 171
Guthrie, Wyatt, 423
Gardener, Rachel, 135
Delacruz, Sofia, 217
Stone, Demetrius, 702
I gave Wyatt a sideward glance at the last and rolled my eyes the tiniest bit.
He chuckled.
A syrupy warmth coated the back left side of my skull as the system engaged my phaneric node. The overt manipulation of that system surprised me a touch. We used the phaneric node on every dossier, but typically it remained in the background.
I’d never actively felt the node engage.
The phaneric technology had been named after the Greek concept of ‘phaneron.’ Simply, one’s phaneron comprises what an individual can experience with their senses.
The phaneric node stimulated the parts of the brain that dealt with perceptual input. This technology enabled the Facility to place tokens over our visual field, create markers that showed spikes or desirable locales, and place various readouts, like ambient Rationality numerics.
Wyatt liked to say that we had no way to know what we actually saw. According to him, all of our sensory input might have been augmented by the Facility. For all we knew, he said, we might all be floating in a vat of protoplasm somewhere.
Playback has been initiated simultaneously to all affected Crowns. This information stream has not been stored in any packet or in any Facility system. Should it be deleted from an Asset’s Crown for any reason, the Asset will lose access permanently. Due to the nature of the Lattice membrane and memory storage, once an Asset has lost access to a memory of this type, the Asset will be unaware of the loss and unable to seek out this intel.
Take care with this packet.
“So you can’t remember what you’ve forgotten,” Wyatt muttered.
He and I exchanged worried glances. In all the time I’d been an Asset, I’d never experienced information exchanged in this way.
Furthermore, you will find it impossible to create a packet with this data. While you may discuss this information among yourselves, you’ll find it quite impossible to communicate this data to any other Asset or individual.
“Wow.” Rachel sounded a bit taken aback. “Do you know what they would have had to do to accomplish that?”
“No. I don’t.” Wyatt leaned closer to her. “Save it.”
An image of Designate Ling resolved in front of us. Just as every time I saw her, her professional dress remained meticulous, perfect. Her black hair had been coiled on top of her head, and she wore her glasses, the ones that made her Mandarin eyes seem just a touch too focused.
The tiniest bit of static flickered through her form.
That concerned me as well. I’d never once seen an imperfection in a phaneric transmission.
I must apologize for my absence; however we have had a significant issue at Facility Prime. This missive is specifically intended for the members of the Citadel Initiative. The nature of this excursion will not be relayed to any other Assets.
I shifted in my seat. The more I heard, the less I liked.
On 6 January, Michael Bishop and Gideon DuMarque found themselves in pursuit of a known reality terrorist and wanted individual, Amir Cadavas, Irrational 3302. These Assets had not expected to encounter 3302 or his cabal and therefore were not prepared for the forces they found themselves arrayed against.
I sat back in my chair and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
The image flickered again.
Gideon DuMarque is presumed lost from that encounter. However Michael Bishop, Asset 108, managed to procure portions of an item of great worth to 3302 and his cabal.
A second image resolved itself, next to her: the red leather of the bookbinding I’d destroyed while in the cistern beneath Istanbul. Also arrayed were the many loose pages I’d picked up after my conflict with Amir.
“The Liber Noctiis.” Wyatt nodded. “Gideon used to talk about this thing.”
This book, entitled the Liber Noctiis, has been classified as Irrational Relic # 0918. It remains a priority one item. It contains secret lore from worlds beyond Rationality and possesses a consciousness of its own. This book is keyed to the actions of ‘The Darkened Road,’ and we have only recently begun to understand why.
“You only got part of it?” Wyatt stage whispered to me.
“Yeah. A few dozen pages.” I eyed him as the image crackled a bit, and the next few words warbled.
Something significant was wrong.
Upon his return to Facility Prime, 108 immediately status-requisitioned to AES. There, he received some of the alterations and upgrades that he would require as Alpha of the Citadel.
Like the fourth port. I nodded to myself.
The Liber Noctiis was classified and stored, as all such items are. A specific Designate task force assembled in order to study the relic. The Designate paused for a moment, as if uncertain how to continue. The outcome of this study was unforeseen and catastrophic.
Several images resolved around her, showing different scenes. For a moment, two flickered and wavered as if they might not appear at all.
Eventually they clarified.
I am confused, Anya linked.
Typical room images appeared from a ceiling-level perspective, as if one peeped out from a security camera. Each scene appeared to be located within a Facility Laboratory, complete with sterile, white walls and shining chrome appliances.
And mutilated corpses.
In some of the scenes, they simply lay where they had fallen, surrounded by pools of crimson. In one case, a brilliant orange fluid leaked from a man’s skull.
Something from within the Crown, I felt certain.
“Oh, God.” Rachel pushed herself back in her seat, her hands over her mouth.
When I glanced at her, I realized she hadn’t even seen the one I had.
The others were far worse.
In one, a Designate sat in a chair, cordage coiled around his naked body. The cords had sliced into his flesh, and his blood ran onto the floor. His eyes had been clawed out, leaving two gaping holes.
He trembled, violently—more violently than the human form should have been able to a
ccommodate, even with a packet like the Adept.
He vibrated, not like a human, but like a machine about to explode.
In another image, I saw a Designate hunker on a desk, naked. The man appeared more like a gaunt predator than any human I’d ever seen. As I watched, he peeled strips of flesh from his own body, while he muttered and giggled.
“Inside.” He smiled. “The gifts she gave us remain inside.”
There were more, so many more.
Hyper-Rationality emanations are strong at Facility Prime, just as they are at certain other locations. Be that as it may, Relic # 0918 shattered the consciousness of every Designate and Asset who studied it. It re—ined inert when exposed to Hyper-Rationality and was unable to be destroyed.
“Unable?” Wyatt let out a slow whistle.
“I burst it apart with one disruptor shot.” I muttered. Something didn’t seem right about that.
Of the limited data that co—d be recovered from the relic, few conclusions could be agreed upon. Among these, the most important seems to be a theme regard—ng the nature of temporal axioms— specifically, time more than space. The relic discusses the nature of certain vitally important moments of time, and the actions that must be attended to at these times.
“Like ninth January?” Delacruz wondered.
“Fuck ninth January.” Wyatt chewed his own lip. “Think about eighteenth September.”
All Designates were immediately requisitioned to handle this dilemma. From across the g—obe, every Designate came to Facility Prime.
“Who—?” Anya started to actually speak but stopped.
I glanced at her, and she blushed a touch.
Who do you suppose requisitions a Designate? she asked.
Reptilians, Wyatt answered. Maybe gray aliens.
This, then, is the cause behind my absence during your initial mission. Facility Prime has been compromised. The forces at work behave as a cascading error within the Facility system. Some Designates remain compromised and, more importantly, are currently location unknown.
“Horseshit!” Wyatt exclaimed. “They know where we are down to the centimeter. How can they lose a bunch of Designates?”
“It’s awful.” Rachel hadn’t taken her hands from over her face. “Compromised? What could that even mean?”