Rationality Zero

by Guillen, JM

  Soon, the hallway ended, opening into a slightly larger room. Here, every wall was covered in the clockwork machinery, looking in some instances as if different systems had been patched in over time. Grease dripped into shimmering pools on the floor, and where I looked, I could occasionally find serial models or manufacturer stamps on the equipment. Smoke and steam escaped from various valves, and I could smell burning oil in the air.

  All of it was very mundane, Rational technology brought into an Irrational world.

  I had been here for well over fifteen minutes now. This was the point where Anya and Wyatt realized that something was wrong. I switched my Crown's communication channels, in case they had stepped through. It was like the difference between a cell phone and a walkie-talkie; this channel did not require the Lattice.

  This is a comm check. Are there any assets within my range? I knew the answer even as I linked. There is a very subtle sensation when you connect, and here, there was nothing to connect to.

  Only silence. Only loneliness.

  I spent a moment recording a repeating general-purpose broadcast for any assets who came within range, and then muted the outflow on my end.

  This is Michael Bishop, Asset 108. I am alive. My systems are currently operational. Atmospheric axioms are sub-Rational. Make certain that a Preceptor immediately gives you a reading before you proceed.

  It would have to be enough.

  I turned and walked back the way I had come, ready to explore the other two passages.

  17

  The second tunnel was very similar to the first, it opened up sooner, and had far more machinery in it, but these machines were silent; dead as the grave. It didn't seem as if there were any oil drippings on the ground near these, and the air didn't smell of hot machinery and steam. All the dials were to one side, and none of the gears moved.

  There was another hatch, however. This one was in the center of the machine room. It was slightly smaller than the first, but was constructed in the exact same way. This passageway continued after the machine room, and there were three more of the hatches, hidden in the glowing mist.

  I was searching for a handle, a switch, even a fucking doorbell when the link came.

  Hoss, I assume that you're still vertical since you've got that message runnin'. The message was a touch scratchy, and not as clear as a Lattice-link, but just then it was like a raft to a drowning man.

  I grinned. It always surprises me to be happy to hear from you, Wyatt.

  Had to come. I could feel his grin over the link. Figgered whatever was keepin' ya must be something you wanted to have all to yerself. You have an Irrat hottie somewhere in this hole?

  I started to reply, but Anya cut in. I have ambient data. Several axiomatic strands are far sub-Rational. Clear the line for a moment, and I will send directives for your viral mecha.

  Wyatt and I linked our assent at the same time. Clear/Understood. They seemed to come at the exact same time. Unlike a Lattice link, our secondary comms wouldn't sequence out our links and force them to make sense.

  For a moment, there was only a series of high pitched whines and seemingly random tones in my Crown. I pulled up my mecha interface, and watched the parameters that Anya had set. A few of them weren't that different from my own, but she also had a unit of VM's strengthening my neural pathways.

  Interesting.

  Do any of the local axioms interfere with our gear, Anya? I don't want to find out that the disrupters don't work, and that the Adept actually slows me down here, all at the exact wrong moment.

  Your gear is fine, Michael, but Wyatt will have to recalibrate his baselines for the tangler.

  How far afield are you, stranger? We gonna have to walk an hour to find you?

  My eyes narrowed. How long have I been gone?

  According to our systems, Michael, we last tracked you at two hours forty-eight minutes ago. Anya paused. We would have been dispatched sooner, but the Designate wanted to get secondary protocols in place.

  Wyatt cut in. Easy enough to see why you didn't show. I'm only glad I didn't land on Rosie when I came through.

  Initial diagnostics seems to show no lasting damage to my systems, Anya continued. Although without the Lattice, my readings will be limited. We are without deep telemetry, and data on axiomatic weaving will not be uploaded. She paused. I show your systems are undamaged as well, Michael, although I would like to run a local check.

  I'm not far. If you come forward the passageway will split. I'll meet you there. I turned and headed back to the junction.

  Wyatt gave me a big grin when I walked through the mists. “I was afraid we'd lost you, hoss.”

  I grinned back. “Not yet. Closest thing to kill me here is boredom.”

  It was an unwritten rule that, without the Lattice, we would be speaking more than linking. The second comm took far more energy than our typical Lattice communications, and we had no idea how long we would be here. Of course, the viral mecha could be tasked to create bioenergy, but we didn't want to push things.

  “We've got antiquated machinery and dead ends down those two.” I pointed down the passages. “Also, there are hatches in the floor, but they don't open from this side.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Wyatt grimaced. “If we're lucky, perhaps they are all dead ends and we can be stuck here.”

  Anya's fingers were twitching, and she looked distracted. I noticed that her fingers seemed to move a touch slower without the Lattice. “Dossier specifics would ask me to get readings in those areas you've already been in, Michael.” I always forgot how tiny and delicate her voice was.

  “I time stamped my Crown. If you want, I can patch you that information. Then, we can see if the third passage is different in any way.”

  Her nod came slowly. “I won't be able to get any readings from your patch, but please do send it.”

  I closed my eyes. Without the Lattice, patching data was difficult, and took an onerous seven seconds. When I was finished, it felt as if I had been lifting weights with my grey matter.

  “Let's move along.” Wyatt calibrated his keys as he started to walk. “Sooner begun, sooner done.”

  We walked slowly through the mists, with Wyatt and me on either side of Anya as she took her readings. It was slow going, and made our speed from earlier in the desert seem positively fast-paced.

  It wasn't long before we found the first of the machines.

  “Are they all like this?” Wyatt ran his finger along one of the greasy gears. “Last century, I mean?”

  I nodded. “All dials and gears. I haven't seen a computer screen or a keyboard anywhere.”

  “It might be indicative of axiomatic shifts.” Anya arched an eyebrow. “Like your katana, Michael. You might encounter a topia where your disrupters don't function, but a sharp piece of metal is dangerous almost anywhere.”

  I nodded slowly. “So you think that they might commonly shift axioms in these rooms, and when they do, computer equipment might not be viable.”

  Anya shrugged distractedly, as her fingers plucked at the air. “It's possible. There's no way to really say.”

  “This one of yer hatches?” Wyatt was slightly ahead of us, wreathed in glowing mist. As I stepped forward, I saw he was tracing a finger around its edge.

  “It is.” I crossed my arms and gave him a wry smile. “And I'm betting you won't find a latch on it, either. It wasn't designed to be opened from this side.”

  He chuckled. “Good thing I don't care much about design. Step back.” He began calibrating the tangler, and it sang a lower pitch than I was accustomed to hearing.

  “Unless you wanna go back to the tunnels my boy here found, I'm saying we go forward.” He looked at Anya.

  “From the data he provided, these tunnels seem quite similar. I imagine it is unlikely that we find significant axiomatic differences. I doubt the trip is required.”

  Wyatt grinned. “Good.” He pulled the trigger.

  WHUF.

  “I'd step back. Dunn
o how this one will react to the Crown, or some of yer gear.” He spat.

  In front of us, the hatch was crumbling to dust. I stepped back quickly, even though I expected that I was out of range of his spike.

  “I targeted the steel.” He struck a few keys. “Altered the way that electromagnetic force binds the iron and carbon.”

  “That's brilliant.”

  “It'll only be active for five minutes or so. Hopefully, that's enough. If not, I'll do it again.”

  Five minutes was more than enough. The hatch crumbled downwards. Even though the brass fittings and bolts were unaffected by his spike, there was nothing for them to attach to. Long before the spike was inactive, the door had collapsed in.

  “I'm killing it.” Wyatt struck a few of his keys. “Ok. We are clear.”

  “Ambient axioms have returned to their previous levels.” Anya nodded at him.

  I stepped forward. “I can scout ahead.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No separating, not here.”

  Anya had a puzzled look on her face. Her fingers moved more quickly, and then her eyes widened. “It's another topia.” She crouched down next to the hatch, and peered over the edge.

  “The fuck you say.” Wyatt crouched down and looked in as well. He blinked, and looked away. “Vertigo.”

  I looked in, and immediately understood what he meant.

  Wherever this hatch came out at, it was not “down.” In this other topia, the hatch had been installed in a wall. Where the dust from the door had fallen in, it had all gathered to one ‘side,’ which in that place was the floor.

  I looked at Anya. “Readings?”

  She nodded slowly, her fingers twitching. “It's vastly different than this topia. We will have to be very careful in our mecha calibrations.” Her fingers stopped for a moment, and then started again. “There are easily a dozen small axiomatic conflicts. Folic acid will break down, serotonin seems to become an unbonding molecule, and there will be endocrine system issues.” She gave us both a look. “I'm not reading nearly enough oxygen. We can't stay inside longer than four hours, even with mecha calibrations.”

  “Understood.” I drew my disruptors.

  As Wyatt shouldered the tangler. “Will our gear function, Anya?”

  Her brow was furrowed. “I don't know about Michael's disruptors. They rely on null-point energy to create kinetic force.” She looked at me. “Some of the very basic forces are different in there.” She turned to Wyatt. “I also cannot say you will experience the level of field control you are accustomed to, for similar reasons.”

  We both nodded slowly.

  “Understood.” I looked at Wyatt. “You ready?”

  The large man grinned. “Born to raise hell.”

  Together, we stepped into a world that was sideways to everything we knew.

  18

  The carpet was green, and belonged somewhere in 1973. Next to the hatch, it was covered in grey particulates and brass fittings; all that remained of the door.

  The carpet caught my eye, as did the paneling. Just like the silo, the décor seemed to be caught a couple of decades in the past.

  “We all clear?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to attract attention. Wyatt nodded.

  “Incoming mecha specs.” Anya's blue eyes were unfocused. As it had earlier, my Crown filled with the odd whines and clicks that calibrated the viral mecha.

  It was an annoying sound. I much preferred the Crown’s workings when we had the Lattice.

  When it was over, Anya bit her lip. “It's not enough. Not really. The mecha were built to supplement and augment your existing bodily processes. They will create your required oxygen, but they weren't designed to keep your endocrine system functioning. They cannot alter axiomatic processes to such a vast degree for the time we would require.”

  I nodded at her. “We'll do the best we can. Worst case scenario, we'll fall back.”

  That was death too, but I didn't say so. There was no other way out of those corridors, except for these hatches. It was as if it were built as a go-between, or a foyer of some kind.

  Wait.

  That was an interesting idea. As I had the thought, I froze in place, my eyes wide.

  Was it possible that every hatch had led to a different topia? That the whole construction was some kind of way station? The concept was mind boggling. Typically, the creation of different topias was seen as incredibly complex. Yet today, I had been inside more than a handful.

  “Wyatt,” I looked at him slowly. “I had a thought.”

  “Have another. You can rub them together and see if they’ll make a spark.” He gave me a wide grin, which fell when he saw the look on my face.

  “I know Anya patched you the phaneric record of our mission, even though you were drunk at the time.”

  “Yes,” he nodded affably. “Although I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Your blood alcohol levels were 0.27%, Wyatt.” Anya seemed almost confused. “I would most assuredly say you were—”

  “Whatcher point, Hoss?”

  “I had a thought,” I was already accessing the data in my crown, although it came a bit slow without the Lattice, “that the Irrationality spikes might not have been targeting our topia. As in, may not have been trying to break through our veil.”

  “What would be the purpose…” Anya let her question trail as I held up a hand.

  “They could have rent the veil, it’s obvious.” I was looking at the visual of Anya’s Fibonacci numbers. “But they didn’t. Also, strangely, there were no after echoes of Irrationality.” I gave them a grave look. “What if that’s because those were the after echoes? What if all we picked up were the echoes of some gargantuan event that didn’t take place in the Rational world at all?”

  “That’s,” Wyatt paused. I watched him juggling numbers as he looked at the data in his crown. “An odd idea. What would be the point?”

  I glanced upward, indicating the topia we had just dropped from.

  “What if it wasn’t a change being created in Rationality, but was something else? Say several topias being connected together, like some kind of—”

  “Like a goddamned dimensional train station?” Wyatt was both surprised at the idea and somehow offended, as if he found the thought personally insulting. “Hoss, that’s just…” his voice trailed off as he contemplated the thought.

  “The theory does answer some questions regarding the lack of Irrational echoes.” Anya’s tone was oddly musing. “There are known instances of large Irrational events creating harmonic reflections in nearby Rational space.”

  “I’m not the numbers man,” I glanced at Wyatt, and then to Anya. “But I wager there’s math that shows what would happen if a topia, say this one, was forced to make an incursion on another. And if each of those hatches has a different topia behind them…”

  “Each of them?” Wyatt ran his fingers through his hair, an oddly familiar gesture of his frustration. “Fuckall, Bishop, that’s just monstrous. Why would any ‘rats have any cause for such a thing?”

  “The Vyriim are a hyper-intelligent species that is constantly seeking to create new colonies for themselves.” Anya quoted the Designate back to us, meeting each of our eyes briefly. “Everything we know about them indicates that their primary goals involve invasively spreading as far through the myriad topias as possible.” She gave the tiniest of shrugs. “This could fit that goal.”

  There was nothing to say to that. We looked at each other for a moment, all pretending that we weren’t avoiding the topic of genius-level aberrations invading Rationality.

  “Not for us to make that call.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “If we don’t get out of here, no one else will be able to either.”

  “Agreed,” I nodded. “I’ll take point.”

  “No slipping off too far.” Wyatt looked at Anya. “Can he use the Wraith in here without it melting his eyeballs, or making his tongue explode?”

  Her gaze drifted off, and Anya calculated. She nodded slowly. “M
y readings indicate that neither of those things would happen.”

  I thought Wyatt’s head was going to explode, right there.

  “I’m initiating Wraith. Keep a good bead on my systems, please, Anya.”

  “Understood, Michael.”

  Coolness washed over my skin as I vanished from their sight. Carefully, I crept from the small room, and then down the hallway, soft green carpet beneath my feet.

  The carpet wasn't the only thing from the era of funk. The hallway was lined with wood paneling, and the lights overhead seemed to be halogens. After approximately four yards, there was a door on the left. It had a small window set in it, and a brass plate on its front.

  Mister Oglemeyer

  Associate Director

  As I looked at the nameplate, a man walked into view through the window. He came from another door; if this had been anywhere else, I might have assumed it was a small washroom. He wore khaki pants, and a suit jacket that might have been at home in my closet.

  He also wore a gas mask.

  It was old, perhaps from the Second World War. He had a small tank hanging on his side, and I could see various tubes running from the tank into the mask. He sat at his desk, and began to go through a folder of papers.

  It was positively surreal.

  I stood, almost entranced, watching the man. He could have been in any office building in any large city in the world. He could have been an insurance adjustor, or an accountant.

  Except that he had to wear a gas mask just so he could breathe. Apparently, he had been in here a long time. Whatever this operation was, they had adapted to the local axioms well enough.

  I have visual contact. Anya and since Wyatt were still behind me. This seemed worth using the link.

  Armed? Irrat? I could feel Wyatt's eagerness. I knew it wasn't exactly that he was spoiling for a fight, Wyatt was just tired of feeling powerless, and ready for something he could control, could make decisions over.