Rationality Zero

by Guillen, JM

  A chart on the wall caught my eye. It was a series of numbers along one side that spiraled into a symmetrical curve. It seemed as if it were a recording of data analysis.

  “Anya.” My voice was quiet, but I was excited. This was something… something familiar. “Look here.”

  She stepped to me, her eyes distant. As she looked at the chart, I watched as recognition blossomed in her eyes.

  “Fibonacci numbers.”

  “What?” Wyatt was confused.

  “While you were enjoying yourself at the Booby Trap, our Preceptor noticed something in the packet. Whatever Irrat tech was creating the spikes in Irrationality, it did so in waves of Fibonacci numbers.”

  “It was here.” Her voice was soft. “Whatever they were working on, they were doing it here.”

  I scowled. “So, the idea is that whatever Irrationality they were doing reached not only through this topia, but through the one we passed through to get here. Those were the echoes registered by Facility 17.”

  She gave me a look. “I think you're thinking about it wrong, Michael. I don't think this was a separate topia at the time. Does the architecture of place look anything like the inside of the missile silo, the little you saw of it, anyway?”

  My eyes were wide. “Some of it does.” I thought of the thick shag carpets, and the office décor.

  Her voice was quiet. “Look at the blueprints.”

  I pulled up the dossier, and found the schematics we had on the silo.

  Yes. We were in the exact same building. I could see the lab we were in, as well as the hallways and room and s we had passed through.

  “That's impossible.” Wyatt was looking at the same schematics. “So ‘rats just plucked a building out of Rationality and left it here?”

  “Something like that.” I was looking at the data. It matched on every point. “The interior is different than it is on the schematic, but yeah. Architecturally it is identical.”

  “This is axiomatic weaving at an unprecedented level.” Anya picked one of the binders, and was paging through it. “With this technology, the Vyriim could create conduits into any point of Rationality. The desert in Nevada was a test—”

  Two men opened the door on the far side of the room.

  “Told you to leave.” Even though I couldn't see Firenzei's face through the gas mask, I could see his shock of red hair, and recognized his clothing. He had blood stains on his side, and held a sawed off shotgun.

  “I told you we couldn't do that.” I narrowed my eyes at the man..

  “Well, you are now thoroughly,” he grinned, “outside your jurisdiction. I'm afraid you need to come with us.”

  “You should be afraid.” I gave him a tight smile. “If you'd like to go round up some friends, I'll allow it.”

  The smile fell from his face as he swung the shotgun towards me.

  “My friends are already here, Bishop.”

  I engaged the Wraith the moment before he opened fire. Then, Firenzei vanished.

  The man he came in with ran to the side of the room, and flipped up a metal table. He opened fire, the gun barking as Wyatt and Anya hit the ground.

  Firenzei appeared right on top of Wyatt. He swung down with the butt of his gun, and struck Wyatt in the face. Wyatt grunted in pain, stumbling backwards.

  Then Firenzei was gone again.

  “You won't do that twice, you little fuck!” WHUF. WHUF. WHUF.

  Anya, can I get an overlay on his pattern again?

  Acknowledged, Michael. She placed small points of light over my visual input, located in several places throughout the room. He hasn't leapt as much so far this time. These are only probabil—

  “Hello, bitch.” Firenzei brought the gun against Anya's face, hard. I felt her link suddenly cut off. He wrapped an arm around her, and then they both were gone.

  “You did not!” Wyatt was enraged. He fired a spike into the metal table that the other Irrat was using for cover. In less than a second, it was white hot and starting to melt. The man screamed. He hurled himself backwards, but I could see that his mask had melted against his face.

  Firenzei appeared again, behind us. In his left hand, he held a fire extinguisher. He threw it towards Wyatt, and shot it in midair.

  It exploded. White, foamy powder coated everything.

  Including me.

  Shit. Wraith ain't doing you any good now, hoss.

  Acknowledged. I disengaged my gear.

  We gotta get out of here. I ran across the room to where the burnt man was wailing. I could see that most of his skin had melted away. Still, he held his weapon, swinging it towards me.

  I struck him once, squarely behind the ear. He dropped like a stone.

  Wyatt was on the move as well, his fingers madly scrambling on the keys.

  Recalibrating. These three spikes were to be stasis fields, but if we're moving on... There was a burst of intense heat. We'll just mimic the last spike we set and move on.

  I threw the door open as the room caught fire. She's got to be close. Surely he couldn't risk taking her far.

  “We're not done.” Firenzei was at the end of the hallway. He raised his shotgun.

  WHUF. Wyatt’s spike came at the exact same time as the thunder from the gun. Instantly, his stasis field turned silver in front of us.

  I glanced to the left. Side door. I sent the link and opened the metallic door. It was dark within.

  Michael, Wyatt. Anya's link was weak. Firenzei is a distraction. There is another axiomatic snare in the hallway ahead, as well as one just inside that side door.

  Wyatt chimed in. What are the parameters of the snare, Princess?

  We can't exactly go back, Anya. Wyatt started a fire.

  Then, Firenzei, appeared behind Wyatt. He was two steps to my left, and raising his gun towards my friend.

  He had made the Wraith useless, that was true. But being covered in fire retardant had no effect on the Adept.

  In the space of a breath, quicker than I fully realized, I was turning. I moved like a serpent strikes, like a storm in winter. I raised my blade, the Adept pronouncing judgment before I fully consciously realized what was happening.

  Firenzei screamed. A scarlet blossom of blood spattered against the wall.

  The gun hit the wall and fell.

  Part of his hand fell to the floor.

  For a moment, all I could see were his eyes. They burned through me, afire with shock and malice and hate.

  Then he was gone.

  He had me. Wyatt looked at me, shaken. He was too stunned to speak aloud, and so linked over the secondary comm. I was focusing on Anya's link, and trying to get a location on her.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. We have to go.

  We are within one hundred feet of each other, although of course all I have is signal strength, not direction. Anya sounded apologetic.

  I could sense pain through the link.

  Anya? Are you injured?

  She paused, just the tiniest bit. It was telling. I am operational, but will need assistance. She paused again. Hold one moment while I patch Wyatt the Axiomatic specs he will need to pass the snares.

  Understood. I was worried about her. I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't being completely honest.

  Wyatt twitched from the size of the patch. Immediately, he disengaged the static field. The bullet caught within tore through the air and buried itself in office wall.

  “There's not too much to this.” He smiled at me but it was still shaky. “If we alter the Axioms around the snares, then they don't have their prerequisites to go off.”

  WHUF. He placed one in the center of the hallway, and then walked over to the side door I had opened. WHUF.

  I sent a link to Anya. He set the spikes. Are we clear here? I paid very close attention, trying to determine how badly she was hurt.

  She took just a moment to respond. Readings are ambient Rationality zero, Michael.

  I peered into the room.

  It seemed little m
ore than storage. I stepped inside, brushing some of the white powder from my body as I did.

  It was dim inside. Shadowy.

  Seems clear in here. There is another door on the far side.

  Wyatt linked back. Understood. I've got yer six.

  I slipped to the next door, listening at it carefully.

  Nothing. I cracked it open, peeking through the crack. Beyond, I saw ragged green carpet. A light flickered overhead, as if it were about to go out, and—

  Anya.

  She was crouched on the floor, in a small pool of blood. In the dim light, her fair hair seemed almost angelic. When she looked up at me, I could see pain in her eyes.

  “Anya?” I stepped closer. There was blood on her leg.

  It was her knee. She had torn her shirtsleeve and was using it as a makeshift bandage, but there was a lot of blood.

  The asshole had brought her here, shot her kneecap, and then came back to deal with us.

  I won’t be able to walk. Her voice was completely matter of fact. I’ll have to lean on you, but all my gear is still operational.

  That wasn’t what mattered to me. I was just happy she was alive.

  “Come on. Let’s get you up.” I linked to Wyatt as I helped her stand. She’s injured. Asshole shot her kneecap.

  I could feel Wyatt’s anger. I’m glad you took his hand off. I’m glad.

  “My right leg is fine, if you can support me on the left one, then we can move.” She smiled briefly, and that pained me most of all. It was truly awful that Anya needed to have her kneecap shot before I could see so much of her smile.

  It was beautiful.

  “I have you.” I put an arm around her. I started to say something else, but was startled by the sound that suddenly rumbled through the room.

  It was ominous. It was a machine, like a giant engine. I gave her a look.

  “That’s the second time.” She nodded across the room at a wooden door. “It was a little louder last time.”

  Wyatt, I’m moving ahead here.

  Copy that.

  I’m leaving Anya here. She’s not walking without help.

  He said nothing, but I could feel his fury with Firenze over the link.

  Slowly, I limped Anya towards the door. When we got there, I leaned her against the wall. I was alarmed at how pale she looked.

  “I’m going in first. Wyatt is running backpoint. He’ll be along in a moment.”

  She only nodded. Her pale face looked so tired.

  I opened the door. The system time showed we had been down here too long already. Twenty-seven minutes remained.

  The sound rolled over me the moment I opened the door, along with the smell of burning oil and hot metal. Steam and smoke were everywhere. Moving frantically among the machines were several men, wearing white coats, rubber aprons and gloves. As soon as one saw me, he yelled something unintelligible. Russian again? Maybe.

  They all panicked.

  Three of them ran for a door on the other side of the room. Two stayed behind, one of those cursing at the men who ran. The one who was cursing was working at a gigantic gear. It seemed stuck, but then, he got it to move, just a few inches. It whirred, somewhere deep within.

  The world trembled.

  The fuck? Wyatt was succinct as ever.

  A large spike in Irrationality. We just stepped to neg 23 and back, all in a matter of a few milliseconds.

  Right then.

  I sprinted across the room, drawing my weapons as I did. I must have looked like a madman.

  I had been shot in the shoulder, and was covered in blood, my own and Firenzei’s. Further, I still had white fire extinguisher powder in my hair and clothing. I charged across the room, screaming, and holding two swords over my head.

  So, yeah.

  Neither of the men decided they had what it took to take on a screaming maniac. They followed their fellows, only to find that their friends had somehow sealed the metal door from the other side.

  “Vot blin zasranec!” One of them yelled. The other turned on me, his fists clenching. Behind his antiquated gas mask, I could see nothing of his face.

  Then, wasps.

  Another small spike. What is your status, Michael?

  Not good!

  There was a small cloud of wasps angrily buzzing around me. They weren't your garden variety wasp either; they seemed longer than my finger. I waved my arms wildly, stumbling backwards in an attempt to not be stung.

  WASPS! It was all I had time to link. I tripped over a small table and flailed onto my back, trying to keep my face covered.

  I'm incoming. Wyatt's link was gruff. Hold on, hoss.

  I didn't even see Wyatt come in. I was focused on keeping my face covered, and trying not to get stung. I didn't even know that he was close until I heard the WHUF.

  Somewhere, a man screamed. The gigantic wasps vanished.

  Here. Wyatt stood over me, holding a hand out. Some kind of hallucination. I couldn't even see what you were flailing at.

  I pulled myself to my feet, and looked around. Wyatt had shot one of the men through the foot, spiking him to the floor. The other one was nowhere in sight.

  There was another one. Wyatt raised one eyebrow. He just stepped through that door like it was nothing.

  You got any effects on that spike?

  Nothing yet. It's just holding him there. I can dial something up if we need to.

  I picked my katana up off of the ground where I had dropped them, and sheathed them on my back. Then, I turned to the Irrat that Wyatt had caught. The man was in obvious agony from the spike through his foot, and had pissed his pants.

  “You're on the wrong side of this one.” I made my eyes hard. “Maybe we can have a talk and this doesn't have to end poorly.”

  “Maybe I no talk you.” The man's voice was muffled from the mask. “Maybe I tell fuck yourself. Maybe you die here.”

  I sighed. “That's not the kind of talk I meant.” I reached for him, and pulled his mask away from his face.

  The man's eyes went wide with horror.

  He was middle aged, with a shock of white hair. Tiny scars ran down one side of his face.

  “No. Please, you don't.” He wrung his hands together in supplication. “Please, you don't.”

  “Fine.” I let the mask snap back onto his face. “But you're coming with us.”

  That was a problem. I didn't have any axiomatic binders or even plain old zip-cuffs. Taking him along was going to be a problem.

  This machinery is binding and weaving local axiomatic strands. Anya had hopped into the room, and was leaning against the wall. Her face was pained, but her fingers twitched as she worked. Whatever this device is, it might be what created the axioms that split this topia from ours.

  I linked back to her. We have an Irrat here who was part of the crew running this thing. If we can take him along, the Designate might be able to get answers. I have no binders though.

  That is a problem. I’m already concerned about the speed of our progress.

  This door is a steel composite. I can melt our way through when you give the go-on. Wyatt spat on the floor. Time's a tickin'. He gave me a glance.

  Wyatt was right. There was only so much time we had, exposed to the strange axioms of this place. Eventually, our viral mecha would stop producing oxygen. We were already slowed up by Anya's injury, and here I was taking an Irrat prisoner.

  “Present for ya, pal.” I stepped up to the Irrat.

  “What you do?” He was horrified.

  “No time, friend.” I drew back and then punched him in the face. The man doubled over, and lay unconscious.

  “Classy.” Wyatt gave me a grin. But practical.

  Should just end him. I glared at the unconscious Irrat, irritated. Protocols stated that known Irrational targets were to be taken for reconditioning, or killed.

  But then, protocols didn’t really cover much about this operation. I was more interested in getting home alive, and for the moment, the man was remove
d from play.

  If Wyatt judged my action, he didn’t give any sign of it.

  “We need to move along.” Wyatt was adjusting his gear. The spike through the man's foot hissed as Wyatt altered its makeup. It simply seemed to vanish as the metal became oxygen and water.

  I held an arm out for Anya, who leaned on me again. I could tell she hated feeling so powerless.

  You well enough? I looked at her as I linked. I thought she might prefer the privacy.

  I am in considerable pain, but handling it with my mecha. She gave a short nod.

  We stepped forward as Wyatt reduced the door to slag. Let's move along. We need to find our way to an extraction.

  She didn't say anything, but I could still feel her emotions through the link.

  Despair.

  Anya didn't think there would be an extraction for us.

  20

  The hallway beyond the gear room was long, with thick red shag carpet. The lights overhead flickered, and more than a few were out. Wyatt was pulling point, keeping the tangler at ready. I had no doubt that he had some nastiness keyed up in case we made contact.

  We didn't, however. We crept down the passage, coming to another series of the wide round vault doors, all along the left side.

  “‘Second Circle, Ǣtern,’” Wyatt squinted as he read the small brass plate next to the first door. Then he glanced at the second. “‘Din D'lorr.’ The fuck?”

  They went on and on. Some of the names were simply nonsensical, such as “Modriin” or “Lucimiir.” Others were more descriptive such as “The Last City of Man” and “The Labyrinth of Isowyr." One was even listed as “The Starsailed City of Mür,” which I found intriguing.

  Then, Wyatt stopped in his tracks. He was staring at one of the small plates.

  “I… ” He peered closer, as if trying to make certain. “I prefer the sound of this one.” He tapped third brass plate. “Manhattan, New York.”

  “You’re shitting me!” I felt hope rise in my chest. “No way, there is no way…”

  Wyatt gave me an unbelieving grin. “Surely not. Too simple, right?”