by JM Guillen
“I dumped her!” I waved my hands, and they both laughed. We fell into a comfortable silence and watched the television.
“Can you believe this shit?” Wyatt broke the silence and gestured to the television. The sound was off, but a banner ran across the bottom: AFGHANISTAN TERRORIST TRAINING CAMPS. It was followed by: OPERATION INFINITE REACH.
“What?” I sipped at my tequila.
“We’re at war, boys. It may not seem like it, but we are.” Wyatt shook his head.
“Not quite.” Gideon grinned at him. “We haven’t declared war, Wyatt. Not officially.”
“Officially.” Wyatt grimaced. “These assholes are everywhere. Just because the citizens don’t know it, doesn’t mean that terrorist cells aren’t hiding, right here at home.”
“I think you’re over-reacting.” I glanced at him.
“Think that all you want. They’re here, I’m telling you. Maybe our spies can’t see them, but they’re around. They’re just waiting.” He paused. “They could be anybody.”
I leaned around him to give Gideon an eye roll. We were both used to Wyatt’s conspiracy theories.
“Just don’t assume we know the truth is all I’m saying.” Wyatt looked at me. “There’s a lot more secrets in this ol’ world than most people know.”
Something about the words he used, or maybe the tequila, gave me a sudden, bitterly foul taste in my mouth. For a moment, my head swam, and my veins flushed, as if they ran with molten gold.
It was as if I wasn’t in the bar at all.
“The people of the world must know the truth.” The older man stood before a large window, silhouetted by fire. Outside, a vast city skyline burned with malevolent, hateful colors.
“Whoa.” I put my hand to my head and peered at my glass. “This stuff is strong.”
“Yer gone for a few months with some crazy chick and when you come back, you can’t handle your liquor?” Wyatt shook his head. “Typical.”
“I’ll admit, we didn’t drink much.” I made a face. “Her friends were more into poetry.”
Even though I teased, the ghostlike wisps still haunted the edge of my mind. They seemed so familiar—had I dreamed them?
His voice was soft, almost kind. “Be honest with yourself, for once. What is true about your life? How do you know everything isn’t a lie?”
For some reason, that sentence struck home.
I steadied myself against the bar reconsidering Wyatt’s paranoia.
“Maybe you aren’t crazy. Not completely, I mean.” I gestured at the television. “Everywhere we look, there’s irrational people doing unreasonable things.” I took a sip. “Somebody should do something.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt’s voice was soft. “But not me. I’m too pretty.”
“Typical.” I gave him a false scowl. “You’re all about pointing out the problems.”
“Well.” Gideon held his beer up. “Here’s to…” He paused. “Designating somebody to do something!”
“Here, here!” I laughed, and we clinked glasses.
The rest of the night we played catch up, told crazy stories about the bullshit we’d gotten into, and tried to see who could out-lie the others. We tried to play a few games of pool, but to be honest, I’d always sucked at it.
“It’s basic physics, Hoss!” Wyatt sunk another ball and then peered up at me. “Honestly, it’s good that you dress so well. You need to have something going for you.”
“Asshole.” I laughed, and it felt good. “Like you know anything about physics.”
“More than you, apparently.” He sank another shot.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them. It felt like I had had been away for a very, very long time.
There was nothing like these two jerks to make me feel like I was home.
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Next in the Paean of Sundered Dreams!
Everyone's childhood ends, but not everyone's ends in horror and whispering flame.
Thom Havenkin is an orphan and his days are filled with stories and lessons, while his nights are laced with twilight adventures and daring deeds. It's a wonderful, idyllic life, but it's a life he doesn't even know to cherish.
Until one fateful night that changes every night after. The night of the Haven's fire; the night Thom's life burnt to the ground.
In this short prequel, fans of the award nominated On the Matter of the Red Hand, will learn more about the dire moment where the whispers of darkness and sorcery first touched Thom's life. They will be introduced to new faces of Teredon, faces who will have long shadows in the coming darkness that haunts the city.
Yet this short story is about far more than sorcery or the haunting darkness. It is a story about questions, and about choices.
This is a story about becoming a hero.
=================================================
This short story is a PREQUEL to On the Matter of the Red Hand. It may be read as a stand-alone work, but will be best enjoyed by fans of that work.
Regarding Oaths and the Whispering Flame
The Third in the Dossiers of Asset 108 series is now available for pre-release!
And now a sneak peek at
Chapter One
November 17, 1999
San Francisco, California
There was an explosion in the distance. Dust and detritus sifted alarmingly from the ceiling, implying that the entire structure might, in fact, decide to fall in.
“There’s just too many.” The grizzled man’s eyes narrowed as he peered into a darkened hallway. “We won’t make it through this way.”
An eerie, crimson light flickered from overhead, outlining his silhouette starkly. The man started to speak again but was interrupted by a sourceless, mechanical, vaguely feminine voice.
“WARNING. Infectious biohazard is confirmed in this area. Please vacate to your nearest safe zone.”
“Fuck that,” sneered a younger man. “You’re just afraid.” The young man gestured toward the darkened passage. “We punch through here. It’s the shortest way and we don’t have time to play it safe.”
“Yeah!” I nodded, cheering the guy on my television and leaned back on my couch as I took another sip of my beer. “Fuck that. Punch through. You tell him, Blake.”
Outside, the San Francisco sky continued to rain.
“I don’t know who died and put you in charge,”—the older man gave Blake a cold look—“but your stupidity is going to get us all killed.”
“Maybe.” Blake looked from Captain Stark to the curvy blonde woman at his side. “Or maybe I’m the only thing that’s going to get us out of here alive.”
“Seriously?” I laughed with a mouth full of beer and almost choked as it came part way up my nose. “Who says shit like that?” I cackled, and fell back on the couch again, gesturing at my television. “Who writes shit like that?”
“You’re a wild card, Blake Runner.” The older actor’s voice was hard. “We’re going to have to find another way, or we’re not making it out.”
“I think I need to make it out of this show right now.” I reached for the remote and pawed more than once at my side-table before I realized it wasn’t there. I looked around the room, still didn’t find it, and sighed.
It seemed like I was going to have to either stand up to look for the remote or keep watching this schlock.
I took another draw of my beer.
Outside, the sky rumbled. I frowned then shrugged it off. Thunder was odd in the Bay area, but not unhear
d of.
I glanced at the clock. It was already seven.
I frowned harder.
“Where are you, Guthrie?” Wyatt had promised to swing by tonight, but he was late.
Wait. Was he late? I couldn’t remember what time he’d said. Of course, now that I thought of it, my best friend had been pretty vague about our plans in general.
“I’ll go on without you if I have to.” Blake’s eyes flicked to the older soldier and back to his curvy companion. “But this ends tonight, one way or the other.”
“Yeah, one way or the other, Wyatt,” I muttered and took another sip. Standing, I glanced at the end table where the remote should have been. “Going on alone would be better than staying in all night, and I’m sure I can find some company.”
“If you go alone, you’ll be dead before dawn.” Captain Stark’s voice was stark with certainty. “You’re a fool, Blake.”
Thunder sounded outside again and I started. The rare weather was more than a little unnerving.
I stepped to my window and looked outside. I could see most of the city from my apartment, typically a calming view.
Not tonight, however. Tonight I felt twitchy, like a razor drawn across thin wire.
I leaned against the window sill and noticed that my hand trembled, just a bit. I touched two fingers to the side of my neck and counted quietly.
My brow furrowed as I realized my pulse was elevated.
Something was wrong, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Wyatt was supposed to have come by already…
I stopped in place and frowned. What time had he said he’d be by again?
I tried thinking of when I’d spoken to Wyatt and drew a blank.
“This is ridiculous.” I finished my beer and tossed the can. I stepped toward the kitchen with the thought that I’d get another.
I froze in place, one foot in the air. I set it down as my eyes widened and slivers of frozen steel sliced through my mind.
Asset 108, initiation code 020798361. Over-ride class two. Designate Authorization 110809. Cold boot in progress.
Without another thought, I was on the move.
Filled with unknown purpose, I walked quickly from my living room, through the kitchen, and into my bedroom.
I didn’t particularly wonder where I was going, or why. My thoughts were heavy, as if covered in syrup.
“Access, Iota-six-three.” The words fell from my lips without conscious thought. I felt distant from my body, like I was watching it from afar.
Granted, 108.
Part of the wall behind my bed slid away, revealing a room beyond. Light flickered within, shining over a room of white tile and stainless steel.
This didn’t seem nearly as strange as it should. In some back corner of my mind, I hoped Wyatt would pick this moment to drop by.
The look on his face would be priceless.
I walked briskly into the sterile room, blinking from the brilliance of the white light and my continuing disorientation.
The room was large—almost as large as my entire apartment.
How bizarre that I hadn’t ever noticed that it was here.
Then I saw the guns.
The left hand wall was practically lined with guns: long-barreled, scoped weapons; bulky, mechanized shotguns; and pistols of every shape and size.
Some distant part of my mind was interested in looking at them closer, but my feet carried me past them to a large cabinet on the far side of the room.
As was everything, it was a shining thing of stainless steel.
I reached for the upper left corner of the cabinet, without realizing what I meant to do, and placed my hand against the smooth metal.
My hand tingled.
Asset 108, confirmed.
The cabinet hissed as hidden hydraulics responded to my touch.
I stepped into the cabinet, realizing it was far larger than it had seemed. It was a wardrobe.
On the left side hung several of my suits, expensive things that looked as if they had just been pressed. There was a mirror in the back of the wardrobe, and a light above it flicked on as I stepped inside.
I turned to the right side of the wardrobe. It was quite different.
Several different versions of tactical wear, thick black vests with metal plates covering the chest, and several variants of armored trouser, most with innumerable pockets hung there. Four different styles of boot, each looking brand new, had been placed on the floor.
Without a second thought, I began to get dressed.
As I pulled my t-shirt off, it seemed as if things made a little more sense. Wyatt wasn’t supposed to come over; I remembered now. I would meet him… somewhere.
As I pulled on the heavily plated trouser, a self-depreciating grin played around the edge of my mouth.
All my nervous energy earlier had been foolish.
I was right in the groove.
Moments later, I was completely dressed, and outside the wardrobe. I knelt before a small refrigerator and was perusing a small collection of hypodermic devices when the voice spoke inside my mind:
Michael, it’s time to proceed.
“Okay.” I looked up at the ceiling, as if I would see a speaker there.
We need to initialize packet calibration.
“Copy that.” I knew right where to go: to the device in the far side of the room.
I stood and walked across the room, a bounce in my step. The grin on my face felt a touch oafish, but I couldn’t help it.
I was just so happy.
At the far end of the room was a large device pushed up against the wall. Upon initial inspection, it looked to be a simple stainless-steel table standing up on one end.
“No.” I reached out to grip the handholds. The table swiveled at my touch. It wasn’t a table. It was…
The Cradle. I had no idea how I knew that was what it was called, but I did. My grin faded, just a bit.
For some reason, I did not care for this device.
Around the Cradle was a circle of white metal and engraved on the surface were several fine grooves. They were used by the metallic swing arm, allowing it to move almost freely. Offsetting the white was a polished chrome plate with dark markings on the surface.
Your packets are preselected, Michael. Please engage the Cradle.
I walked over to it, moving the swing arm around. At the end of the arm was a silver and blue rod, sleek, about the size of a ballpoint pen. It moved easily.
SNICK.
I jumped at the sensation, as if something behind my left ear had clicked unexpectedly into place.
Warily, I leaned against the table holding on to the side grips.
“Oh!” I caught my breath as the table shifted beneath me, leaning backward. The arm moved of its own accord, darting around me with a slight whir.
I hate cold boots. The thought was alien, yet somehow comforting.
I considered it for a moment, thinking how there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with my boots.
The swing arm darted like an insect, positioning the rod around my head, pausing, and then darting around to another location.
Bishop, Michael. Asset 108. With each word, the end of the rod pulsed a brilliant cobalt blue. Packet selection is already confirmed. Designate selection is: SPECTRE, ADEPT.
“Spectre?” That seemed odd. Irritatingly so. Wyatt wouldn’t have to deal with unfamiliar equipment.
Out of nowhere, I had the vague desire for a cigarette.
Michael, we need to bring you up to speed, but do not have time for your Crown to fully initiate and process a dossier. The voice echoed slightly in my mind.
“Understood.” The table leaned forward again and I released the handles. I took a couple of steps forward and then opened a small wall cabinet to my right.
Inside were several small, round devices, each with a glaring, scarlet button on the top. They looked molded to fit my hand.
I placed a few inside the many pouches on my vest. As I grabbed the l
ast, I paused for a moment and stared at the device.
It was like remembering an old dream, one I’d had in another life.
“Dampening grenade.” That was right. That was exactly what this was.
You are to be dispatched to a Facility location that has been classified as a Status II hot zone. Unknown Irrational targets have successfully completed several incursions at multiple coordinates. Several Assets are presumed lost.
“Understood.” The giddy happiness faded and my brow furrowed as I processed the information.
Asset Guthrie’s system was initiated prior to yours, and he has the full dossier within his Crown. You will be dropped into the hot zone via conduit and will clear the area to await his arrival.
“And he’ll advise me from there.” I nodded, understanding dawning in my mind.
Correct. Initiating conduit now. The doorway back to my bedroom closed silently on unseen hinges. Then it clicked loudly and the seam of the door pulsed a brilliant orange.
That glaring orange light was an assault on the mind, nearly impossible to look at. I glanced away, but the light died almost as quickly as it had begun.
The doorway began to hum and I stepped away to the wall of weaponry.
I took two bulky, long-barreled pistols and popped the injectors off the hilts. Moments later, I had injected myself and strapped on the holsters.
Bishop, Michael, Asset 108. Do you wish to initiate weapon synchronization?
“I do.” I spoke distractedly, thinking that I needed something else: weaponry for close quarters. “Please synchronize both for item possession and neural link.”
Synchronization initiated. My Crown whirred in my head. I looked around, as if this was the most natural thing on Earth.
Location achieved, Asset. The crawling, droning hum slowed and quieted. I stepped toward the doorway, casually picking up two katanas from where they hung on the wall.
As always, Michael… The words seemed tinny in my mind as I stepped toward the door. As it opened, I grinned and mouthed the words along with the woman in my mind.