The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  Panic spun me toward it, and I raised my disruptor pistols. I fired and fired and fired and fired, squeezing of bolts of kinetic force that rippled through the air. The Vyriim—if that was actually what they were—responded as a fish might to a strong current, sliding upward or sideways, riding the force.

  They simply slipped around my shots with no apparent effect.

  I turned and ran for the car. The trunk was still open, and I dodged one of the tentacles grasping for me as I reached inside.

  For my katanas.

  Wyatt—! Anya’s link said many things, all at once, but the overwhelming message was one of haste.

  Yes, ma’am. Wyatt stepped to the front of the car. Bishop, I need to place my next spike a few meters behind you. He sent a small patch, highlighting the intended location of the spike.

  Copy. I swung at one of the rubbery tentacles, and struck true, severing it from the rest. As I did, I heard and felt a scream of inarticulate rage, fury that seemed to burn into my mind. Then, the sensation was replaced by Anya.

  Bishop?

  Yes. Sorry. There were two of the host creatures between Wyatt and the spike location. I held a disruptor in one hand and a blade in the other. I fired the disruptor three times, driving them back and away from Wyatt’s spot.

  Bishop, I think—! One of the creatures slammed back into the car, cutting Anya’s link short. The brute moved the entire vehicle, spinning the car and knocking Wyatt backward.

  Its fist went through the window, so Anya stabbed it with one of the injectables. No matter which viral mecha she used, their safety protocols remain the same—they are not intended for use by anyone without a Soloman’s Crown. As a precaution, they tend to come equipped with all kinds of nasty safety protocols included.

  Moments after she injected the behemoth, the viral mecha came online. Without a Crown to synch with, they initiated their defense variables. Distracted as the tentacles swarmed around me again, I heard the unfortunate creature scream as the viral mecha heated to two-hundred-fifty degrees centigrade.

  The smell was atrocious, like seared, rotten meat, but I scarcely noticed it.

  Another of the great creatures lumbered toward me, and the knot of tentacle horror swam through the air around me, just waiting for the moment when I and my sword could be caught unaware.

  Apparently the thing learned quickly. It wasn’t going to tempt my blade again.

  Being cooked from within, the second Vyriim burst from the corpse, showering Anya and the car with gore.

  Shit. I shot at it as Wyatt moved forward. He ran past the two behemoths I had just hit and set the next spike right where he needed it. The moment I heard it WHUF, I felt a ripple of warmth across my body.

  Oh. Oh no. Wyatt’s eyes went wide.

  His calculations hadn’t taken my emitter into account. Moments before, only the sparse crimson and black fluids spattered upon me were visible. Though the Vyriim had seemed to have some idea of my location, their hulking hosts hadn’t had a clue.

  Now the brutes advanced on me.

  Fall back, Bishop! In line with me! Wyatt was scrambling, trying to get to me.

  Suddenly, we were standing there, side by side, surrounded by aberrations. There was a moment of silence.

  I was completely visible.

  Shit. Wyatt’s link was full of regret.

  I turned the pistol on one of the creatures and fired.

  I shot two as Wyatt set another spike. With a muted WHUF he changed the direction of gravity beneath one of the creatures just for a few moments. It flew fifteen meters straight into the air and then crashed back down.

  With barely a touch to my wrist, I spun and leapt back from the seeking tendrils of the second Vyriim, which was trying to wrap around my arm. One swipe from my blade, and I felt that otherworldly scream again as I sliced a tendril in two.

  I turned toward another of the behemoths just in time for one of its sledge-like fists to crash into my chest. Pain exploded in my body.

  Michael! Anya’s link was filled with dread.

  I landed almost seven meters away, gasping. I couldn’t breathe, and the world seemed to spin. The madly flickering sky did little to help me focus. I was nauseated, and my stomach felt like I had been hit by a truck.

  My back hurt. Had I done something to my back?

  I could hear some of the creatures screaming amidst a flurry of muted WHUFs. It all seemed very far away, almost unreal.

  Michael! It was a woman. She seemed insistent about something.

  Then, a monstrosity filled my vision.

  The creature was hanging in the air, as if it lightly swayed in the breeze. The mass of black and violet tentacles produced a gaping maw at one end. Its appendages writhed almost hypnotic, soothing.

  My disruptors. Where—?

  There.

  I saw one, six feet away, glinting forlornly. I had lost it when I was hit.

  I rolled and flipped up, not nearly as quickly as I should have with the Adept. I scrambled for the pistol as I heard another WHUF somewhere in the distance.

  I turned. The creature reached for me, its monstrous tentacles grasping. Some distant, logical part of my mind noted its truly awful scent.

  It had me. I could taste sour adrenaline and feel my heart fighting the confines of my ribs.

  I fired.

  Simultaneously, the creature grasped for me, wrapping one wet appendage around my arm. I discharged my disruptor, set on high, into its center mass. We were both knocked backward. It hissed, and I could feel fury radiating from it.

  WHUF.

  I landed on my ass, sitting in desert dust and Nevada sandstone. Frantically, I looked around as the sky trembled and sang with flickers of insanity.

  What—?

  I heard one last WHUF, and the desert around me stopped wavering into the other world.

  Rationality negative six. Negative three. I could feel the smile in Anya’s link. Rationality zero, gentlemen. All is well.

  Her grin was almost smug.

  Bet yer ass all is well. Wyatt stepped over to me, offering me a hand up. You broken, Bishop?

  I gave him a friendly scowl. It’ll take a lot more than one of your colossal fuck-ups to put me down. I took his hand, and he pulled me up.

  He scoffed. Like I ever make mistakes with Rosie. It’s not my fault that place was all bent out of shape. How could I have known?

  If you had cleared your spikes with the Designate, the Facility systems would have double-checked your algorithms, Wyatt.

  He rolled his eyes. Not exactly possible while in another topia with Tino the Troll chasing you around the car—

  Realization washed through us both.

  The car!

  Anya climbed out of the shattered vehicle, her face a blank mask. We all realized the truth at the exact same moment.

  Yes, we were back in the Rational world. No, we were no longer plagued by otherworldly, tainted aberrations. However, we were in a desert with no transportation, no water, and no shade.

  Time. The moment Wyatt sent the link, I checked the system time.

  We had to be gone longer than 16 seconds. I looked at Anya. I know there is usually some dilation, but—

  Dilation confirmed. She leveled a look at each of us. This is not our largest difficulty at present, Michael.

  She was right, of course.

  No conduit.

  No extraction.

  For a long moment, we looked at each other in silence as dread and despair settled into our bones.

  Oh, Fuck. Wyatt’s link was weary.

  Then, we began the long walk.

  13

  Wyatt, of course, had the heaviest load. The heat was oppressive, and he was being true to form.

  I’m just saying those fancy swords don’t look as heavy as the tangler.

  Sixty-five kilos isn’t that much. I gave him a sideways grin. Doesn’t the Artisan packet give you the strength to carry that thing?

  It’s thirty-eight Celsius in the shad
e. Wyatt spat.

  Forty. Anya looked at him. If you are having difficulty, Wyatt, I have the appropriate injectables—

  Yes, Wyatt. I smiled. Let her shoot you up, and then you might be strong enough to carry your equipment.

  You can go to hell.

  We had been on the move for over an hour. After we had hit the snare, we decided it was best to stay away from marked roads. Between the event at the airport and the one along the road, it was obvious they knew we were coming.

  Anya was fascinated by the thought. Topiatic disturbances at this level have never been recorded in the Facility systems. These are precision events that must have taken an interestingly long time to prepare.

  It was a thought I had as well. It’s more interesting for me to question how a cell of Irrats would know about us in the first place. The amount of planning here seems staggering.

  Wyatt shifted the tangler on his back. I’ve never encountered ’Rats that expected I was coming.

  This is more than expectation. I ground my teeth. There’s something out here, something well hidden. Whoever is responsible has generated a minefield of small topias in our pathway, pocket dimensions intended to trap us. I gave Anya a look. Has our updated report been received by Facility 17?

  The packet was marked received twenty-seven minutes ago. It is still in process.

  Figures. Wyatt was transitioning from faux-surly to actually surly. System time shows we’ve been walking for almost forty-five minutes. I’m glad we aren’t under fire. Or, you know, baking alive in the closest thing to hell that Earth has to offer.

  At current rate of travel, we will be on-site in less than an hour. Anya patched us a small red marker overlaying our sight. If required, we can use viral mecha to assist in hydration and stamina augmentation.

  I’ll tell you what I requir—! Wyatt’s link was cut off mid-transmission.

  Good afternoon, Assets. The cool sensation that always came with the Designate washed soothingly through our minds. I would like to apprise you on alterations to the dossier, given the intelligence that you have gathered.

  Wyatt gave me a pointed look and mouthed, “About time.”

  I grinned wryly.

  Preceptor Petrova is correct in the assertion that these are, in fact, topiatic disturbances. It would seem that a trigger of unknown composition specifically targets Facility neuralware and viral mecha. Currently, we are analyzing all available data to determine if there is a method of detecting the triggers.

  Wyatt’s link was more than a touch sarcastic. Which means, in the meantime, we’re completely in the wind on this. He kicked at a stone as we walked.

  Correct. The best method for combating this particular phenomenon is as of yet unknown to us. Therefore, it is best to remain as mentally prepared as possible. I will send a schedule of required viral mecha injections, based upon what Bishop and Anya have on hand, to your Crowns. You will be over-augmented yet prepared, which is deemed preferable to being caught unawares again.

  That seems reasonable, Designate. I was cutting in before Wyatt got the chance to mouth off again. Given that we know so little, what are the current recommended protocols? I kicked the same stone Wyatt had, as now we had caught up to it. I put it square in his path and raised my eyebrows at him.

  In both cases, Anya detected the triggers. The Designate paused. In the airport, she thought it was reading as an unknown type of aberration. On the highway, the changes came so quickly that the readings were unclear. Attempting to read the axiomatic changes at the speed of a moving car painfully overloaded part of the axial base of her Crown.

  I had not known it had hurt her. That must have been why she screamed.

  Recommended protocol is for Preceptor Petrova to axiomatically scan as you advance. While this will slow your advance by approximately thirty percent, it will guarantee that if you encounter another of these phenomena, you will have as much warning as possible.

  My eyebrows rose at that. So did Wyatt’s. Standard procedure did not allow Anya to axiomatically scan for longer than a ten minute burst, as processing that much data would be wearing on her Crown.

  Wyatt had a different concern however. If we’re slowed, then we cannot arrive at Locale One until dark. He kicked the stone back toward me. That is after the dossier protocols.

  Correct. This is why you will immediately take the course of viral mecha patched to your Crown.

  Designate, Anya’s link felt a touch confused in my Crown. Have I been patched mecha specifications for my cadre? I do not typically modulate mecha.

  Asset Gardener, who has geared a Caduceus packet is monitoring and assisting in mecha specifications. However, due to sudden topiatic shifts, you are being given emergency protocols for these Assets. All settings are included within that patch.

  I assume we have enough? I glanced to Anya. Having a Preceptor modulate mecha was unheard of.

  Between what Asset Bishop and Preceptor Petrova have stowed, it will be more than enough for all of you to remain augmented through the rigors of the desert. These alterations will also allow the extraction effort more time.

  My heart leapt. So there is an extraction plan? I had doubted seriously that we would be abandoned, but the lack of a conduit made things a touch dicey.

  Affirmative. I am personally seeing to the options. If a conduit should prove impossible, we will rely on more mundane means. Rest assured, however, extraction options are on the table.

  Anya linked in. If I am axiomatically scanning as we advance, how am I to store and correlate that amount of data?

  I am going to keep my Designate access link open with you, Preceptor. Skip deep telemetry and axiomatic weave analysis. Preceptor Stoyavich is online at Facility 17 and will handle the correlations. Simply patch the data as you receive it through my link and focus on getting readings.

  Understood. Anya’s brow furrowed. Am I to infer that all scan and patch activities are to continue, even if we encounter Irrational targets?

  Correct. If you find another trigger, then we particularly need accurate scans. If experience holds true, the topias involved will involve violent and dangerous aberrations. Assets Bishop and Guthrie will handle those targets; your objective is obtaining the data.

  Wyatt looked at me and rolled his eyes. He mouthed the words “Oh, good.” I kicked the stone toward him and kept walking.

  I felt the click in my Crown as the Designate patched us the list of required injector stims. Just perusing it showed that she would have me use everything I had.

  As a final notation, I would like to inform you that Preceptor Petrova’s spot analysis was correct. Those were indeed aberrant phage you were facing, of a subtype known as Vyriim. They are considered a level six threat, and you will all need to be retroscanned once the dossier is complete to make certain you are not infected.

  That was something I hadn’t considered. One of those creatures could be in any of us, biding its time—

  Because of the nature of these creatures, the Designate continued, use extreme caution when meeting hostiles. Any of them could be an aberrant phage.

  Wait. I actually stopped in place. I assumed that the Vyriim were just Irrational wildlife set in our path, like my incident at the airport.

  Negative, Asset. I could feel the serious, almost stern, concern of the Designate in my mind. The Vyriim are a hyper-intelligent species that is constantly seeking to create new colonies. An encounter with them is never considered to be by chance, as they are a highly invasive species. She paused just a moment. You should know that we are tracking a 92% likelihood that they are directly limed to the Irrational events you are investigating.

  To what purpose, Designate? Anya was reading telemetry even as she linked, her fingers twitching. Do we have any more data regarding the spikes?

  No, Preceptor. It’s simply a precaution based upon past encounters with the species. If there is anything new to report, you will be apprised. She paused. Do you have any other questions, Assets, Preceptor?


  We didn’t. It all seemed cut and dry. Make Locale One, collecting data the entire way. Avoid invisible snares or, failing that, destroy monstrous abominations while protecting the Preceptor. Oh, and by the way, anyone we meet could be a tentacled monster from beyond reality.

  Don’t die.

  As the Designate pulled her link from my Crown, I felt the fading of the cool, soothing sensation.

  As always, Asset, we wish you well in the days ahead.

  14

  Dark neared, and we were still miles from anywhere, walking. Wyatt was burdened with his gear. Anya was all but crawling along so that she could get her data. Fortunately, I was practically high on viral mecha.

  In fact, we were all feelin’ fine.

  Between Anya and me, we had enough injectors for each of us to get four stims. We each had different requirements, of course. Wyatt had received mecha that would augment the oxygen in his bloodstream as well as repair worn muscles from our long hike. I had some of that myself, as well as a host of pain-killing VM and another injector to assist in knitting up the damage previously done to my back. By the time we reached Locale One, I should be almost whole physically.

  Anya’s injectors were vastly different.

  The Preceptor-class viral mecha weren’t as physical as ours were. Most involved upgrading her capability to process data in her Crown or added extra memory capabilities through the mecha themselves. Whatever her cocktail was today, Anya was even more detached than typical, her blue eyes and head twitching as she processed what had to be a huge amount of axiomatic data. As we walked along, she held her hands out, sometimes in front of her, sometimes to the side. Her fingers plucked at nothingness, as if the world was constructed of some great string instrument or perhaps a loom that only she could see.

  I had probably learned more about viral mecha on this dossier than on all others combined. Typically, I didn’t know much about them, aside from ‘inject this thing in your leg.’

  We need to decrease speed twenty-seven percent. Her link felt clipped, robotic. Locale One is less than one-hundred meters away, and the area is not quite Rationality zero. I need to do some quick analysis.