Rationality Zero

by Guillen, JM

  She wanted to drag me away and take me to mate. It would take hours, days of coupling in the darkness to fertilize her. Then, and only then, would she sink fang into flesh. She would eat my eyes while I screamed in the dark, making certain I could not escape.

  I would be alive when the eggs hatched inside me…

  “Come on!” I pocketed the dampener for the moment, and reached for one of the broken shards of obsidian. “You've got me here, bitch! Come take what you want!”

  Nothing answered. There was only darkness and wind. I turned again. I knew—

  There!

  She skittered in the shadows, on more legs than I could count. When she opened her mouth to scream, I could see that teeth lined the throat, all the way down.

  The horror of it struck me, like a maul in the face. I scrambled backwards, falling as she rushed forward, her many legs scrabbling against the unyielding stone.

  I was screaming.

  Her maw lunged for me, yellow, wicked teeth seeking my flesh. Her breath was a miasma of despair; was rot, hopelessness, and loss.

  Blindly, wildly, I was swinging with the obsidian shard. I couldn't seem to touch her. It was as if she wasn't truly solid, was some astral predator created only of nightmares and mad visions.

  Yet she was real. Her wicked pincer tail arched up behind her.

  It's what she'll tear into me with. I couldn't say how I knew. I could see the scythe-like tip of it, cutting the wind. She'll tear into my stomach and that’s where her eggs will go. I won't be dead, though, not until they hatch—

  She emanated fear and broken imaginings. It was as if, without words, she was able to tell me exactly what would become of me.

  I swung the shard toward her face. This time, I felt something, some vague connection. It was like stabbing a butter knife at porcelain.

  She lunged again, her scrabbling, twisting legs propelling her forward.

  I screamed in blind panic and terror.

  Has me. She has me, oh—

  I hurled myself backwards, cutting my arms on more of the obsidian. The wind was frigid against my skin, was scouring my flesh.

  I did not notice either of these things. All I could see were her mad, twisted eyes, and the mesmerizing dance of the pincer at the end of her tail.

  She gave a harsh rasp, an inhuman, chittering cry of victory. Stringy mucus drooled from her mouth, brown and thick like old grease. She reared on her back legs, and then lunged at me, all horror and insectine grace.

  I waited. I held until the last possible second, the obsidian shard held tightly in my trembling hand. When she was so close that her stench was practically a living thing, I pushed the button.

  In my pocket, the dampening grenade thundered.

  I felt the world tremble around me as Rationality cascaded into this bent, dark world. The local axioms trembled as they underwent instantaneous adjustment.

  The screaming wind ceased around us. The ground seemed to become softer, and I could suddenly breathe easier. Gravity shifted, and the stars twinkled. The creature itself—

  Light. God, there’s light! I could see an odd, bright crevice behind the abomination. The light filtering through was the thin, antiseptic light of the men's washroom.

  It had been hiding the rift from me, using some fell power. It had dangled its lure through, but the way had been open. I just hadn't been able to see it, not with the mind bending physics of this place. But the dampener—

  I did not waste a breath. Even as the spider-scorpion-bitch reached for me, I rolled to the side and stood. Then, with animal panic and deep, unreasoning fear, I sprinted toward that sliver of light. The viral-mecha in my blood sang, allowing me to push just a touch harder…

  I hoped it would be enough.

  It wasn’t. One of the creature's legs caught me across the back, striking with razor sharpness. I felt a brief sliver of fire and pain.

  It did not matter. That light was the only light in the world.

  I could feel the creature turn, almost sense it chasing me. It was monstrously fast, and I could hear its hard carapace clicking against the stone as it scrabbled after me.

  I hurled myself into that light, and slammed into the tiled floor. My back screamed where the thing had ripped at me.

  —twenty-seven minutes. Asset 108. Please respond. You are location-unknown and tech adrift. You have been offline for twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds. Asset 108—

  Anya! I linked her a panicked scream. The rift is still open! I turned and looked, and the aberration was pulling herself through the crack. The air that sang through from that other place was dead, and smelled of lost things.

  Michael?

  I paid Anya no heed. The spider-creature had three legs through the cleft. As I watched, she lowered her maw to the rift, and began to pull herself through.

  The creature was fully in Rational space. Between the dampener and the parts of her that were through the rift, she was no longer in her shadowed, shattered world.

  She was in mine. Rational physics applied.

  I still held the obsidian shard I had used to defend myself in my hand. I clenched at it, my hand trembling.

  She lunged at me.

  I plunged the shard into her gaping, tooth-filled maw. This time, she was not some half-physical astral monstrosity. She was meat and bone, blood and gristle. She screamed and sprayed gore as the shard tore through the top of her mouth, exploding out the top of her head. Brown stinking viscera splattered all over me and the white walls of the stall.

  Her screams were no longer only in my mind. Now they were rasping, howling wails. As her body convulsed, the creature dragged herself back away from me. Her legs twitched madly. I tried to pull the shard free, so I could attack her again, but it was slippery and covered in her gore. Quickly, she retracted into the rift, and it faded from sight.

  Another instant and I could have jammed the Tabula Rasa down her throat. That would have been lovely.

  I sank down the side of the stall, covered in viscera and my own blood. It smelled like grim death.

  Michael, I need you to respond.

  We are at Rationality zero, Preceptor. I am wounded, but whole.

  Your Crown is reading blood loss, fatigue, shock, and several torn muscles. Recommend immediate inoculation of type IV viral mecha.

  I pulled the injector from my shirt pocket.

  Copy that, Preceptor. The device hissed slightly as I injected the mecha into my leg.

  The door to the restroom opened, and I heard someone exclaim, and then gag.

  “Are you—” The voice choked. “Are you alright in there?”

  I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

  8

  The fortunate thing was, not too much time had passed. That was one of the things about slipping into other, sub-rational places. Sometimes, there was slippage.

  Of course, Anya already had the clean-up crew en route. There was the matter of the mess that the aberration’s gore had left, as well as the three people who walked into the restroom before I made it up and out. There were authorities to be delegated and memories to be modified. I had patched my Crown's phaneric recordings to the Designate, who then made it available to Wyatt and Anya.

  It was left for us. I was still stinking of filth and gore as I walked through the airport. Only a Facility Preceptor would have found that snare. It's not a coincidence that it was here, in the airport restroom.

  Unlikely. Anya’s coolness was sometimes maddening. Facility assets do not typically use citizen transportation. Leaving such a snare here seems inefficient.

  I frowned, knowing she could “feel” my frown over the link. Except that it did, in fact, catch me, didn't it? I'm not suggesting that this is the only location, Anya. I think it might have been one of several. I stopped and took a drink at a water fountain, trying to wash the taste of that awful wind from my mouth.

  You believe that the Irrats responsible for our strange telemetry readings summoned an aberration for surve
illance?

  I do. It was a predator, and was not immediately on scene when the snare pulled me driftways into its topia. I think it has a web of those snares, likely across the city. That fact that we have triggered one might already be known to our Irrats.

  She was silent for a long moment. When she did link, it was cautious. If what you are saying is true, then the implications are that we are dealing with a higher sophistication level than we are accustomed to.

  I nodded, even though anyone around me would see me nodding at no one in particular. Correct. If true, it means that our Irrats know of the existence of the Facility, and understand well enough how we work to be able to lay a trap.

  I will bring this consideration to the Designate, and patch the details of our conversation to Wyatt's Crown. She paused. Do you have anything you would like to add to the packet?

  Only that I need a wash.

  That seems unrelated. We can stop and get you clean clothing if you require.

  I do require. Also about a gallon of cologne. I headed down the steps, ignoring the stares and disgust of the people I passed.

  I am pulling around to the south terminal now.

  I skipped the luggage terminal, as I had none with me. Once to the door, I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit up.

  The viral mecha in your bloodstream only have you at 88% efficiency, Michael. You might consider waiting before smok-

  I don't care, Anya. I took a long, satisfying drag. Pick me up. Let's get Guthrie and get this done.

  Her tone was cold. Anya hated it when her advice was ignored. Affirmative, Asset.

  9

  Anya was driving a black sedan, no doubt one of the many Facility vehicles with odd axiomatic upgrades that were unknown to the world at large. As she pulled up, I put out my cigarette and hopped in shotgun.

  She said nothing, but gave the slightest crinkle of her nose. She shook her head, as if to clear the scent from her sinuses, and her straight blonde hair bounced partially over her face. She pushed it back, and looked at me with winter-blue eyes.

  For my ice princess, this spoke volumes.

  Anya was a Preceptor, a class of Asset with permanent enhancements. Unlike Wyatt and myself, she never got to “take off” her life with the Facility. For Anya, this was a full time gig.

  I would say I felt sorry for her, but I genuinely didn’t know if she could suffer. Emotions weren’t her strong suit.

  The Preceptors were living diagnostic operatives, capable of coordinating a team and keeping them apprised at all times of their statuses. Anya was particularly skilled, capable of watching my vitality statistics even as she read ambient Rationality levels and worked to sustain them. She was a marvel to have in a tight spot.

  But.

  Wyatt and I had noticed several things in common regarding the Preceptors. For one thing, they were all hyper intelligent, and wonderfully fit in all the correct ways. They were all Russian— and they were all women. Stunningly beautiful women, to be exact.

  “It’s Facility 8,” Wyatt grinned. We had been chatting about it while waiting to be debriefed, once. “I know it’s somewhere in Moscow, I just don’t know where. That must be where the Preceptors are geared up.”

  “Why all women?” I had furrowed my brow, trying to sort it out.

  “Why are they all gorgeous?” Wyatt chuckled. “I wager they have to be genetically perfect to accept the neural architecture. Whatever the reason, I’ve never seen an ugly Preceptor.”

  “I’ve never seen an ‘average’ looking Preceptor.” I smiled at him, and he nodded.

  So yes. Anya was a wonderful person— but there were some ways that she wasn’t quite a person at all. She practically never got any of my wonderful and quite funny jokes, and she was so beautiful as to almost seem unreal.

  “Stop at a gas station or something, and I'll wash.” My jacket was ruined, I was certain. I held it on my lap, and used one of the cleaner parts to wipe my face.

  I'm certain we will be fine until we get to Asset Guthrie's location. She cracked her window.

  I will not. I gave her an ingratiating smile. If we don’t stop, I’ll be sitting in this filth far too long.

  Understood. She seemed exasperated. There is a small convenience store .23 kilometers ahead.

  Yes. That one. As soon as possible. I shifted a channel open to include Wyatt. We're en route, Wyatt.

  Wyatt Guthrie is currently unavailable. Anya's head twitched, just the slightest amount, as the link came in.

  I rolled my eyes and linked to her. Seriously?

  Asset Guthrie's behavioral quirks are well documented. She pushed stray strand of blonde hair from her face. Even though he is link-offline, his beacon remains active.

  “That's quite responsible actually.” I gave her a glance. “For Wyatt, anyway.”

  I can contact the Designate if you feel that your link to Asset Guthrie is an emergency. I am certain she would allow me to override his Crown settings.

  I sighed. “No, that's fine. I'm certain Wyatt considers it the height of courtesy that he even let us know where he is.”

  Asset Guthrie is currently located approximately fifteen kilometers west of town, in a small restaurant named 'the Booby Trap.'

  I snorted. “I doubt that it’s a restaurant.”

  Anya didn't even blink. It is possible that my intel needs updating. Regardless, it will take us approximately twenty-three minutes to arrive at the Booby Trap.

  I had nothing to say to that.

  We stopped at the small convenience store, only to find the restroom was closed. After some loud discussion, the attendant agreed to let me wash up at one of the sinks, his nose crinkled the entire time. When I was finished, I had the gore off of me, but some of the scent remained.

  I wasn’t even finished when Anya linked me. Michael, I had hoped I could show you some analysis I did on the dossier while you were on the plane. I compiled some data that I believe you will find fascinating.

  I’ll be right there. I truly preferred to actually speak when I had the chance. I finished up and stepped outside.

  I left my suit jacket in the trash.

  “It sounds like you got more done than I did.” I gave her a smile as I slid into the seat. “Send the patch, and I'll review.”

  Patch 12.7A is not as large as the dossier. I've configured it to load to your memory, for simplicity.

  “Thanks for the warning.” I had scarcely finished the sentence when I felt the odd jolt on the left side of my Crown. It was uncomfortable, as much as it was jarring.

  I disliked the sensation.

  It's easy to take for granted the simplicity of our Crown’s communication systems. When Anya sent me her patch, or when I sent the records of what happened in the airport, the data could be config'd for memory, if the patch was small enough. That made it different from the dossier. The dossier was something that had to be perused, studied. There was just too much data to upload it all to memory at once. Smaller patches, however, or bits of the dossier, could be directly config'd for memory.

  That meant that the instant you received them, you knew. You knew the data as if it were something that you had always known, as if it had happened when you were a child.

  “Patch received Anya.” I blinked as the data meshed with what I already knew. “That is interesting.”

  Anya had caught something I never would have in the series of Irrational spikes. When I looked at how far above Rationality zero those spikes had occurred, I saw a pattern materialize.

  “Are these Fibonacci numbers?” I didn’t actually need to ask. The mathematical pattern was obvious; each number was the equal of the two before it. I had noticed that they were intense, exact bursts, but this was more than this exactness. This was computer perfect precision.

  Indeed. It is possible that the Fibonacci sequence is natural in its occurrence. I knew she was feeling the shape of my thoughts before I linked. It is a pattern that occurs often enough in nature.

  “Of
course. I know that it occurs in nature. This just seems too coincidental.”

  If you look at time frame 13:05, you will notice that the spike comes close to overwhelming the localized axioms, and creating alterations to reality. At 13:23, the spike only reaches the next Fibonacci level down. Because of the previous spike, Rationality is weaker at this location. Still, this spike is as strong as it can possibly be, without quite creating a rift in the local veil.

  “The next is the same.” It was an odd realization. “The first weakened ambient Rationality, almost to the tearing point. The second struck again, almost to the tearing point, but was much smaller, and much faster.”

  They were picoseconds long, in some cases.

  I nodded. “The odd thing is that it seems as if our Irrats could have created a rift, if they had chosen to. A large one. It seems as if they could have, and chose not to.”

  It is confusing. They create spikes so massive that we cannot help but see, but at the same time, seem careful not to damage the veil.

  Was it a warning? A challenge?

  “They obviously know about the Facility, if my theory about the snare in the airport holds true. Do you think they are just toying with us? Showing some teeth?”

  There simply isn't enough information, Michael. I watched her fingers twitch in the odd way they sometimes did when she was compiling data. Once I get my readings, we may be able to draw a conclusion.

  I hoped so.

  In my line of work, few things were as dangerous as mysteries.

  10

  I paid careful attention to Anya as we pulled into the parking lot of the Booby Trap. It seemed as if she took no particular note of the buxom woman in neon and thought nothing amiss of the large number of pickup trucks and motorcycles.

  When she stopped the car, she made to get out and come in with me.

  “Anya, I wondered if you would take another look at the data while I corralled Wyatt?” I gave a hopeful look. “I’m really impressed at the patterns you found. I found nothing of real import on my entire trip.”