by JM Guillen
This time, he did not whisper. No strands of poetic telepathy touched my mind.
As the Drażeri fell to the dark stone below, he screamed audibly, which gave me more than a small amount of satisfaction.
I looked down and saw the figure twitch on the cobblestones below. The fire had entirely burned away his flesh, and most of his skull had shattered.
Then he stopped twitching.
I peered about the courtyard, looking for the other soldier. I had a reasonable fix on his pet monster; it was probably still in that small building. But the Drażeri himself…
He was nowhere to be seen.
I hefted the gatekeeper in my hands, mentally juggling as I looked around. I hadn’t even set the thing to link its quarrels with any of the apertures, which was, in hindsight, a rookie mistake. As I searched, I linked the device to the aperture hanging in midair, thinking that one would be the most helpful.
In that moment Anya saved my life.
Michael, Rationality is shifting significantly, three meters behind you.
I hurled myself to the right just as a burst of verdant wrath exploded on the spot where I had been crouching. I spun around, only to see the other soldier come up the stairwell onto the rooftop.
Damn it. Obviously, he had seen me fighting his friend and had decided to provide backup.
The Drażeri sprinted up toward me, raising his weapon high. I rolled to the side but not before he smashed its iron length into my ribs. Pain, completely unrelated to irrational fuckery, exploded through my body, and I lost my breath.
I also lost the gatekeeper.
The Drażeri soldier stood over me, glowering down as I sucked air. His lips curled, cold and merciless. He swung his weapon again, this time connecting solidly with my hip.
I screamed.
He smashed that iron rod against my fallen body. It was mind-rending, an absolute agony that I couldn’t overcome. I screamed as the crushing pain of it exploded through me.
Obviously, the soldier had the capability to end me at any moment. I had seen the raw fury that his weapon could command, after all. It would take him literally seconds to melt the flesh from my body.
But after I had slaughtered his companion, he wanted a little more revenge than just my quick, clean death.
This Drażeri wanted me to hurt.
He swung again and again. The iron rod connected heavily with the ribs on the other side of my body. Then, he leaned in close and pummeled a hammer-like fist into my face.
I didn’t even have the oxygen to scream.
Bishop! Rachel screamed for me across the link. Hold on! I’m re-tasking your mecha to deaden the pain!
As the soldier’s fist connected with the side of my head again, I couldn’t even track the meaning of Rachel’s wail. My entire world blossomed in fresh, wet, scarlet agony after he lifted a heavy boot and gave me a fierce kick, right where he had been working on cracking my ribs.
Then the pain evaporated like the mist at dawn.
Don’t overdo it. You’re severely injured. Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean that you can push it. Rachel paused. Your ribs likely sustained displacing fractures, 89% chance; a bad twist could puncture your lung. I’m boosting your adrenals as well.
“Noted.” It didn’t even occur to me to link.
The Drażeri reached for me again.
In an animalistic fit of adrenaline and rage, I reached up as the Drażeri soldier readied himself to punch me again. I grabbed those long, intricate braids, then I threw myself backward—careful not to twist. My weight pulled his head down, dragging him off balance as I shot my foot up.
I wondered if I was the only human alive to have ever kicked one of the Vyriim servitors between the legs.
Alien physiology aside, the Drażeri were apparently similar enough to us to make my shot count. His black eyes widened in fury as he stumbled, an inarticulate gurgling erupting from his gaping mouth. His weapon clattered on the roof.
I scrabbled sideways, grabbing the gatekeeper. Using just my legs and keeping my back rigid, I whirled toward him. I noticed that, even beyond my precautions, my body didn’t seem capable of responding with my customary agility.
I could worry later. Now it was time to end this.
The gatekeeper sang in my hands as I fired it squarely at the midsection of the still stumbling soldier.
The quarrel embedded in the Drażeri’s chest with enough force to knock him backward a couple of steps.
Less than a second later, he vanished in a crimson blur only to reappear at the aperture hanging in midair.
He fell.
Perhaps he was simply too stunned to use his psionic capabilities. Perhaps he required the iron rod, which still lay where he had dropped it. Either way, he did not have the capability to respond in the same way that his companion had.
The Drażeri broke wetly against the stone of the plaza.
Bishop! Rachel’s link clawed frantically in my mind. I could feel that it was a general link that included my entire cadre. Please report.
Both of the soldiers are dead. I collapsed to a seated position, my back against one of the small garden walls. I do not have a location on the creature at the moment, but its handlers are dead.
God, but I needed a cigarette.
We are going to have to rendezvous sooner than we had believed. Gideon’s tone was stark, but I could also feel a touch of relief. Rachel says you are compromised. Is it too much to ask you to confirm the situation regarding their aberration?
It certainly is! Rachel cut in. Alpha, you aren’t looking at his synaptic holotecture. The man should rest, give the viral mecha time to knit him back together.
Bishop. Gideon’s link was weary. Can you walk?
I seem to be doing… okay. In truth, my body did not want to move the way it should. I can tell that neither my ribs nor my hip are as willing to support me as they typically are.
His ribs are broken. He just doesn’t know it. Her voice was terse.
Rachel seems to think you should rest. Gideon sounded resigned; I knew that he didn’t want to countermand the diagnosis of the Caduceus.
I can still move, Alpha. I’m green, just a little compromised.
Just keep an eye out for the creature and keep us apprised. He paused as if a thought had occurred to him. Did you leave corpses in the middle of the street for anyone to find?
I did. I cautiously and slowly leaned to my left and looked over the edge. But I think I can do some cleanup here. Maybe use the Gatekeeper to move the bodies.
Copy that. I could feel Gideon nod over the link. Remain on-site and take care of those corpses.
We will be there in approximately eighteen minutes, Michael. Anya’s link was cool, as always, but I could feel something else beneath it.
Relief? Maybe.
Roger that, Ayna. I smiled, knowing they could all feel my reassurance over the link. Just get to Waypoint One, and we can discuss what happens next.
Still giving orders? Gideon chuckled. How about you focus on not stirring up more trouble while we’re on our way?
Roger that. I closed the link. The moment it closed, I felt another open.
Hey, jackass. Good job not dying. Wyatt seemed positively snarky.
I’m betting I’ll wish I had when Rachel’s done with me.
Probably. Listen, I thought of about thirty things to tell you about the Temporal Corona but didn’t want to interrupt you getting your ass beat. I thought now might be better.
Fine. I staggered to a standing position as I looked down on the plaza. Fuck, but I was sore. I hated to imagine how I would feel when my pain receptors came back online. You might as well help me figure out how to use it to clean up a couple of servitor corpses.
Roger that, Hoss. Sounds like a plan.
12
In a few minutes we’d moved the two broken bodies and retrieved the disruptor I’d thrown using the Temporal Corona. I’d positioned the aperture at street level, beneath the Drażeri,
and let the remains and most of the viscera fall through to the garden where I was hiding. Though I couldn’t possibly clean up every bit of splatter just by making it fall through an aperture, most of the grisly evidence of my carnage was no longer on display for any servitor that walked by.
After closing the apertures I could see in the courtyard, I spent another moment with Wyatt, learning how to close the one hidden in the small room with the hot tub.
You can always link “terminate all” into the system. It takes some resources, but it’ll shut them all simultaneously.
It takes more to close them all at once?
Sure it does. Wyatt’s link felt amiable. The system has to figure out the proper order itself in that case. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with instances of paradox looping.
I guess that’s bad? I created one more aperture below, hoping to let gravity draw the violet Drażeri blood in.
Paradox looping is some crazy shit. Back home, you run the risk of wearing Rationality thin, creating rifts. This far out… His link trailed away. You just can’t know what will happen, Hoss. Don’t do it.
Roger that.
Once complete, I terminated all open gates and then created two new ones. I made my way down into the plaza, hobbling through an aperture into the same, shadowy alleyway that I had first hidden in. I probably could have simply walked down the stairs from the terraced garden; I would have found myself only a few steps away from Waypoint One.
But honestly Rachel’s tinkering had started to fade, and I was beginning to feel disabling pain on the outskirts of my mind. Walking down stairs sounded torturous.
Once in the alleyway, I leaned against the cool stone of the wall for a long moment. Carefully, I peered around, looking for any sign of the shambling, dog-like aberration.
It was nowhere in sight. Just in case, I placed a third aperture about sixty meters above the small rooftop garden, mentally straining a little to get the distance. Once my coordinates were properly set, I keyed the gatekeeper’s quarrels to the one in the air.
Better to be safe.
I scouted my location for several moments, straining my senses and holding the gatekeeper at the ready, but apparently Rover had left.
Unfortunately, walking just that little bit, had exhausted my weary, battered form. That might not have been the worst beating of my life, but it was without a doubt in the top ten. Perhaps I should reconsider Rachel’s advice to rest. I didn’t need to push things as long as I might be a hair’s breadth from puncturing a lung.
Once I determined that the alleyway was secure, I created an aperture across the plaza that appeared in front of the structure that housed Waypoint One. After I stepped through, I terminated all apertures except the one hanging over the garden. I couldn’t have some random patrol stumble across my strange portals hanging in the middle of their city.
That would be foolish and quite possibly catastrophic.
Then I made my way toward Waypoint One.
Like the other buildings, this one was made from stark, black stone with the wispy color dancing beneath the surface. However, inside it looked to be little more than a small chamber with an open archway leading to the plaza. The floor was covered in tiny, pearlescent tiles, and three pots against one wall each housed something that appeared to be a real plant instead of some fungus. Inside, a stairwell spiraled up to the next floor and down to the level beneath. Anya’s marker for Waypoint One flickered beneath my feet, so I geared up my Crown’s optics and stepped carefully into the stairwell.
Ow. I winced before I hit the second step but continued forward.
This was really going to hurt.
As I limped in agony down the darkened stairwell, I noticed that this building actually had decorations on the walls, cleverly designed tapestries that depicted intricate scenes. In almost every instance, they seemed as if they were objects of veneration. They showed events of great victories or battles. In each, the Vyriim hung horrifyingly in the midair, knots of tentacled horror inspiring the Drażeri onward toward conquest of world after world.
They were chilling.
At the bottom of the stairwell, I found the first wood that I had seen in the entire city. Crates lined up against one wall, most of which had been opened and were now empty. Several clay pots, the tops sealed with wax, sat near the crates. I was tempted to break them open but was half-certain that I would find some larvae or some other horror within.
Anya, your marker is centered behind a wall. I ran my hand along the cool stone, pushing at it. In fact, unless I’m mistaken, it’s several feet behind the wall.
It is possible that the marker is not exact. Anya’s link sounded stilted. Was she frustrated with me? When I arrive I will be able to perform in-depth telemetry. We are at the plaza now.
When I heard my cadre slipping down the stairs, I couldn’t help but grin like a maniac. Anya arrived first, walking in front of the others with her hands out, plucking at the strands of her interface. Behind her, I could see the faint blue glow from Wyatt’s oculus implant.
“You guys are late to the party.” I flashed that mad grin at Gideon and then at Wyatt as they emerged, mostly intact, from the stairwell. “I had to have all the fun by myself.”
“That was not fun.” Rachel glared at me sternly when she reached the foot of the stairs. “I don’t know what else is going to happen here, but you and I are about to have a fairly intense diagnostic session, Mr. Bishop.”
I’ve watched a few movies that started out just like that. Wyatt snarked at me through the link. Some pretty nurse, running diagnostics on some poor fool.
I’ll let her know you think she’s pretty.
I gingerly leaned back against one of the crates, deciding that perhaps I shouldn’t give her a difficult time. We were all making the best of the situation we were in, and I had asked quite a bit of her in the past thirty minutes. “That sounds great, Rachel.”
“Well.” Obviously she didn’t know quite how to handle my cooperation. “Good. Just stay still, and I’ll get my interface set up.”
“This wall isn’t like the others.” Anya’s tone held a trace of curiosity. “It’s a construct.” Her finger-plucking increased in speed, and she actually furrowed her brow a touch. “Specifically, it’s an energy-to-matter construct that has been assembled using a very specific set of frequencies that we’re all quite familiar with.” She turned to look toward the rest of us, and I swear I could actually see surprise on Anya’s face.
“You’re shitting me.” Wyatt stepped forward, running his fingers along the smooth stone. Almost unconsciously, the fingers of his right hand toyed with the crescent-shaped keyboard that hung at his hip. He peered into his interface, and the blue lens over his oculus pulsed with light. “I’ll be damned. This is the work of a Veracitor-class Asset.”
“What?” I wouldn’t have been more stunned if he had slapped me.
Veracitor-class Assets altered a very specific and interesting set of axiomatic parameters. In the same way that Wyatt used the tangler to shape the laws of physics, the Veracitor used the Elemental Loom. This clever device could literally shape matter around itself, building and destroying physical items with little more than mathematics, physics, and a Crown augment that amplified an Asset’s imaginative faculties.
“You want it gone?” Wyatt looked at Gideon, waiting for the go-ahead.
“I do,” Gideon’s voice mused. “But it may be here for a reason. I’d hate to destroy it and then figure out that we’d prefer it in place.”
“Maybe I could use the Corona?” I wasn’t even done speaking, when Rachel gave me a gentle smack on the side of the head.
“Maybe you could sit still for three minutes?” She let out a tired breath. “I thought you were going to cooperate with me?”
“Sorry.”
“Dangerous option.” Wyatt shook his head at me. “You could create an aperture and then use your Crown augment to move it through the wall. Problem is we don’t know what’s on the other sid
e. What if the wall is solid? Do you want to be the one to step through an aperture into a solid wall?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” I sighed, letting Rachel prod at my ribs. “Ow!” I gave her a dirty look.
“Remain still, please.” Her voice was sweet, but she was laughing at me. “Your ribs need a lot of work. I’m going to get some more resources into your bloodstream.”
“The anomaly is approximately three meters on the other side of the construct.” Anya’s tone was soft, as it always was. The femininity of her voice always surprised me when she spoke, as her links were typically sterile. “Telemetry of existing axiomatic strands shows a ninety-eight percent probability that if we centered an aperture at that location—” Anya stopped, her head twitching. Her fingers plucked at the air for a long moment.
“What is it, Preceptor?” Gideon peered at her.
“This construct has a flaw.” Her fingers twirled faster, and a trace of confusion passed through her ice-blue eyes. “It was quantumly infused with incorrect parameters.”
“What kind of flaw?” Wyatt worked his keys while his gaze stayed deep in his interface. Information blazed through his oculus.
“It can be completely bypassed with the proper axiomatic configuration.” She deferred to Gideon. “Alpha, I believe this construct was designed with the capability to be removed, and replaced.”
“Explain.” Gideon ran one hand along the slightly scruffy underside of his face.
“Well, I’ll be fucked.” Wyatt’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “She’s right, Gideon. Whoever created this thing had to be a mathematical genius. I can take it down and put it back using the tangler.”
“Here are the specifics I’m showing, Wyatt.” Anya kept working as she apparently sent him a patch. “It’s got an electro-magnetic key written into the construct. The whole wall should cease to function if exposed to this wavelength.”
“Affirmative, Anya.” Wyatt’s tone seemed thoughtful. “Gideon, I can place a spike somewhere in here—”