by JM Guillen
You do what you need to, princess. Wyatt leaned against an outcropping. My dogs are barkin’. I don’t mind sitting a spell.
Locale One was at the base of a mesa. We were around the other side of it. Briefly, I looked over the topographics in my Crown while Anya worked. Her sudden link startled me.
I have a single male on my readings. He is patrolling the edge of the mesa at north 38 degrees, fourteen tack 537, by west 88 degrees, eighteen tack 372. He is moving in our direction.
I drew the kinetic disruptors, keeping my gaze sharp. I’d like a marker on the Irrat, rather than Locale One, Anya. She said nothing, but the red marker faded, and a smaller green one appeared.
She was right. He was moving toward us.
Do we have an ID on the ’Rat? The tangler hummed as Wyatt geared up.
Live satellite feed has provided a clear profile. I will send the data to Facility— She cut off. I lost him.
She was right. The green marker had vanished from my visual. Of course, the marker had only approximated Anya’s mark on the man. Without that we had nothing.
He is unmarked, both on my telemetry and on the satellite feed.
A long, tense moment passed. Then, as quickly as he had vanished, he appeared again.
I have him. Updating your Crowns. The updated location was well over a thousand meters south of where he had been.
I gave Wyatt a long look. Temporal displacement?
He shrugged. Mebbe. He started making adjustments to the tangler and input a series of numbers on his crescent-shaped keyboard.
As if toying with us, the marker vanished again. Anya didn’t say anything, but her irritation came over the link clearly.
Then we saw the man.
He was lean but quite tall. He had unruly, fiery hair, and he wore thick, dark canvas pants. His shirt hung open, revealing a well-muscled physique and a holster on his chest. Another hung around his waist.
The man spit on the ground as he walked toward us. If he thought anything odd about our presence or appearance, he didn’t show it.
I had seen him before. Where?
“Yer not welcome here.” His grin was almost lurid. “Private property an’ all.”
“We’re here on official business.” I nodded toward him. “As I think you well know.”
“Official business,” the man muttered. He spat again. “We’re a little outside your jurisdiction here, I think. It’ll prolly be better if you just stepped along. Maybe there’s a psychic on the telly you can go harass or some poor kid you can take from his fam.”
The man’s words hit me like a bulldozer. Little Bill Iverson flashed through my mind. I focused, trying to remember where I knew him from.
Anya’s words were crisp, succinct. “Officially, you are not outside our jurisdiction. According to Facility sanctions and guidelines, you are officially within Rational space, performing actions of disruption and malfeasance. We have—”
“Oh, Christ, won’t you shut up?” The man gave us a condescending glower. “Yer trespassin’. Leave.”
“You!” Wyatt practically bellowed the word. “You little shit-eater! What are you doing out here?”
That was when I realized it was the man Wyatt had scrapped with in the bar.
“My own business,” the man grinned at Wyatt. “I wouldn’t go thinking that our past encounter has any merit here, cowboy. I didn’t try too awful hard earlier; I was just checking out the competition.”
My heart-beat shifted into high gear. How had he known where to find Wyatt? Then, my mind took the next step, and the icy fingers of fear trickled down my back. What if this man was one of them, one of the body-stealing Vyriim? Wyatt wouldn’t have known who he was… Could my friend have been infected? I remembered a certain woman, intimately in contact with him…
“Now,” the man took another step forward. “It’s time to leave.”
“Not happening.” My eyes were steel. I had my disruptors drawn, and his guns were still holstered. “I suggest you stand down and relinquish your weapons. The Facility shows leniency—”
“No.” The man enunciated the word as if I were simple. “The Facility does no such thing. I know it. You know it. Leave. Now.”
The tangler hummed louder and at a higher pitch.
I glanced at Wyatt and Anya. After all, there were three of us and one of him. My voice was a thin whisper. “You know we can’t do that. Stand down, or I’m afraid—”
The man was nonplussed. “You should be afraid.” That grin again. “If you’d like to go round up some friends, I’ll allow it.”
I decided.
Quicker than breath, I drew down on the man. The Adept packet guided my every move. I was like quicksilver, faster than thought. Before he was even done speaking, I was moving, bringing both disruptors to bear on the man’s face.
He was gone.
When Anya linked again, I felt the barest trace of satisfaction in her words. ID confirmed. Patching to you.
My Crown made an electrical twitch as the patch came in.
Suddenly, I knew the man.
I knew he had fought in conflicts on three continents, that he was renowned both as a decorated Soviet sniper and an Iraqi intelligence agent. I had data on his service record, both official and classified Facility data. He was a mercenary, an assassin.
He was Rudolfo Firenzei— Irrational 2187.
I knew everything about him. My Crown stored the data in my memory as if I had hunted the man my entire life. I had dozens of pictures and sub-dossiers at my fingertips. It was as if I had witnessed every conflict the man had ever been in, every contract he had been known to take.
Rudolfo Firenzei was deadly.
I switched on the Wraith packet and felt the diaphanic emitter hum to life. I rolled to the side, kneeling at the same moment.
WHUF. Wyatt was already placing spikes.
Stasis fields. Wyatt’s link had a hint of warning to it. I’ll patch you both their location and radius. They’re dangerous. They won’t last long, but they should stop him cold if he hits one. Might be our best chance.
What’s the trigger, Wyatt? I kept peering across the horizon. Nothing was there. Yet. As Wyatt patched the location of his first spike, it blossomed as a yellow field on my visual.
More than one pound of matter that doesn’t currently exist in the field, or matter traveling faster than 500 feet per second. That should handle it.
I grinned. That won’t stop my disruptors. Good thinking.
I’m not tracking him. Anya seemed distant. The moment I have him, I will patch you—
A crack like thunder. Anya cried out and fell.
I whirled in the direction of the shots and fired twice from each weapon. Nothing. I was literally firing into the desert’s emptiness and darkness.
I am still operational; however my left arm has been damaged. My Crown and bioware are intact.
Despite that, I could feel echoes of her pain through the link.
Stay low. I peered across the horizon, looking for the tiniest clue, for any indication at all.
Nothing. Only the desert wastes and the haunted wind.
WHUF. WHUF. WHUF. Wyatt was laying spikes all around us, which burst into yellow blossoms in the visual of my Crown. He kept as low as possible, but cover was hard to track when you didn’t know what direction your assailant was coming from.
Then, three more gunshots sounded behind us. I swung the pistols around and fired, but there was nothing there. As I did, I saw one of Wyatt’s fields brighten to a brilliant silver. This was actual color, not just in the visual field of my Crown.
That’s a hit.
He was right. Wyatt’s field had triggered the moment the bullets came within range, trapping them like amber. The field was partially reflective now, due to light and energy not being able to enter.
How long will it last? Being an Asset meant that you had an education in physics. The moment that field fell, the bullets would carry on. Conservation of energy, and all that.<
br />
Fifteen minutes or so. I’ll lay another behind it, just in case.
WHUF.
Ten separate spikes surrounded us in a rough circle. We were covered on all sides.
I have him. Anya returned the marker to my Crown. He’s approximately two-hundred-fifty meters away and stationary.
I grinned. He knows he should have hit us. The man is an expert. He can see the field he triggered, and he’s planning. Still, that’s out of range for the disruptors.
If he’s patient, he has us. Wyatt stopped and adjusted his settings. I can only keep so many spikes going at once, and temporal stasis is nasty business. I can’t keep the emitter on forever. If he just waits us out, he wins.
He won’t. I shook my head. The profile Anya had ported us said that much. Firenzei is impatient and cocky. He’ll test our boundaries, and when he can’t get through, he’ll force things.
Let’s hope. Wyatt peered into the darkness. Anya, I’m placing a spike that augments the capability of the viral mecha for your injuries.
WHUF.
She moved within its range, staying low. Appreciated, Asset Guthrie.
I would do something about your pain process, but I know that Casper there is already a bit doped up. We can’t risk a field effect that he stumbles into.
The pain is nominal. My mecha have stopped the bleeding, and I am well within functional parame—
Three more shots, then a second set of three. The first set was due north, and the second slightly southwest. Almost instantly, two of Wyatt’s fields burst silver.
Shit. Wyatt stepped closer and reset one of the spikes. Mere seconds after he did, it and another flared as shots came from different directions.
He’s pinning us in with the fields. Wyatt spat. I can either drop them, or we can sit behind a circular wall and wait for them to go down.
We could probably get down and then release them. I’m certain he was aiming for middle mass. I reached out and touched one of the triggered temporal fields. It was cold and about as twice as tall as I was. Is this thing safe for me to climb up?
If you can. Wyatt’s link was wry. It’ll give you a good view, but it’s frictionless.
He was right. I struggled for a moment, but I couldn’t pull myself over the smooth dome.
Anya suddenly linked in. I have a pattern on Fiernzei’s leaps. It’s not perfect, but I’m sending you a patch.
It was a large one, full of numerical analysis. My head twitched the slightest amount as it came in.
She was right.
It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed that Firenzei’s teleportation did follow a pattern of geometrical alignment. I couldn’t believe that was something he had planned. More likely, his particular Irrationality made it simpler to leap to certain locations, depending upon where he was. He was far out now, so the shape of his leaps was particularly large. But if we fought him in close quarters, and if he held true to form...
That was a lot of ifs.
Another shot triggered another of Wyatt’s fields. We were now surrounded on several sides by active temporal fields with only a few paths out.
Anya, have you done any analysis on the predictability—
Firenzei appeared, standing on one of Wyatt’s fields. He wasn’t quite on top however; he was partially on one of the sloped sides. His guns were out in front of him, and the look on his face when he realized that he was sliding down the side was stunning. He fell and fired wildly.
At the same moment, Anya ported a small packet to my Crown showing the place he would jump to, if his pattern held. I knew it like I knew my mother’s name. The geometric form was small, leaving no room for error…
I turned and fired and fired and fired.
When he appeared, three steps to the left of Wyatt, one of my kinetic blasts struck him square in his pinched, shit-eating, little face.
Duck, Hoss! Get the fuck down!
Without thought, I dropped when I heard Wyatt’s link. Anya was already down, and I saw Wyatt hit the deck, his fingers flying on his keypad.
Every field released at once.
I saw the look on Fiernzei’s face as one of his own bullets caught him in the side. He was absolutely stunned. He caught my gaze for the tiniest moment and then was gone.
Blood stained the ground where he had stood.
15
We waited in the emptiness of the desert to see if Firenzei would reappear. Just in case, Wyatt laid a few more spikes, but as twilight gave way to dusk gave way to darkness, we were alone.
I think it’s time to move. I had long ago let the Wraith go inactive and just lay low.
Anya was still distracted with her readings. 2187 is nowhere on my telemetry. His range would seem to indicate that we would have him on telemetry before he could target us. His displacement is proven to be trackable.
I’m up. Let’s get in, get out, and go home. Wyatt grinned at me.
I feel as if you neglected something. Anya’s link was a touch distant. That Irrational seemed to know you, Wyatt.
He was in The Booby Trap. I thought he was just some jackass. Wyatt spat into the dust. We got into a bit of a scrap; he didn’t pull anything Irrational though. Asshole must have just been scoping me out.
But, I hated even bring this up, how did he know where you were? Or who?
I don’t know, Hoss. I could feel Wyatt’s confusion over the link. I truly don’t.
In the darkness, the old silo building was truly a dilapidated piece of work. The single-story building had been abandoned long ago. So long ago that the windows were out and the front door hung askew.
To look at it, the ruined building appeared small.
We, however, had the schematics.
The building actually extended back into the mesa and had several small laboratories as well as three launch tubes. Officially, it hadn’t seen active use in over twenty years, but we had evidence to the contrary.
Unofficially.
Anya’s link had a level of confusion that I had never felt from her. I’m not reading anything. She looked at me, her eyes wide. For once, she lacked the odd, vacant expression associated with Preceptors. It’s as if there’s nothing here.
Wyatt spat and peered around. So Locale One is at Rationality zero?
She shook her head. That’s not it at all. I’m not reading any Rationality levels, neither ambient nor artificial. No telemetry. No readings on the axiomatic weave. The fingers on her left hand were twitching, almost spastic, as if reaching for something that wasn’t there. There aren’t any readings here at all.
Wyatt and I exchanged a glance. As much as we enjoyed teasing Anya, her data was invaluable. Every cadre of Assets always had a Preceptor for a reason. Without her, we were all but blind.
Wyatt began to calibrate the tangler.
Right. I glanced at her. I’ll engage the Wraith and scout ahead. Do you want me to patch my visual to one of you?
Negative. Wyatt spat. I’m going to set us a perimeter here, and Anya can keep trying to calibrate.
If nothing changes, I will contact the Designate. Her link felt less shaky. Dossier specifications may change if I cannot take readings.
I nodded in agreement and then engaged the Wraith. It was like a cool breeze tickling my skin. Obviously, I won’t be gone longer than fifteen minutes. I’ll be back before I have to disengage my tech.
Copy that. I heard the high-pitched whine of the tangler.
I walked inside.
The interior of the building was as broken down as I had expected. At one point in time, the front room had been a waiting area, complete with ’70s style chairs and a spot behind a window for security personnel. Today, I noted broken glass, an old couch someone had dragged in, and a fine layer of dust covering everything. One of the walls featured a mural of spray-painted graffiti, and someone had tried to cover the art with flat whitewash. Over time, however, the graffiti had bled through.
The only way forward was a dark, empty hallway next to the security window. Se
veral old magazines lay scattered on the floor, but then the hall simply faded into blackness.
I’m switching to optics. It gets dark pretty quickly.
Copy that, Bishop. Anya’s voice seemed distant.
Our enhanced optics weren’t actually night-vision or infrared but an odd combination of both. The Crown had the capability of reading visual data, and it used both technologies to create an accurate picture of the world around an Asset. Then, it used its connections to my visual cortex to provide the full picture, in the same way that it added location markers or interface controls.
It also tended to give me a headache after a while. Like the Wraith, I couldn’t keep it on for long.
Once my optics were active, the passageway wasn’t nearly as foreboding. It was, however, still a mess. I crept forward with both disruptors drawn. The floor was littered with broken bottles, folders of scattered papers, and stuffing from unfashionable cushions.
I came to a doorway on one side and peered in.
The abandoned office had remnants of a bookshelf and an old, broken down desk but nothing that seemed threatening.
Still, I kept my guard up. Without Anya’s readings, an Irrat could be anywhere. Firenzei could jaunt in and have a bullet in my head before I could sense him.
This place seemed like an odd setup for an Irrat headquarters. Why leave all the debris? To make it seem abandoned? If so, they had done a perfect job. The air smelled stale, and everything was covered in dust.
I stepped into the small office, peering about. Surely, if someone had been here, there would be a footprint in the dust covering the shag carpet, a clean patch on the desk, or some other indicator.
No. It was simply a mess. A mess no one had touched in years. I glanced around and nudged a pile of papers with my foot. It looked to be a series of inspection records, all faded ink and yellowed paper. I took another step inside, peering about for anything; even the smallest thing out of place might matter.
You need to come back, Hoss. We have something.
You got me beat then. I kicked over the papers. There’s nothing here. Everything’s covered in dust, and it looks as if no one has been around in a while.