Aberrant Vectors: A Cyberpunk Espionage Tale of Eldritch Horror (The Dossiers of Asset 108 Book 3)

by JM Guillen

  28

  Have you been on a dossier with Demetrius before, Michael? Anya’s question felt like a light touch, as if even a notoriously remote Preceptor recognized the emotional friction I felt.

  I engaged optics, as the gentle glow of blue really didn’t illuminate enough to easily find our way back to the door.

  Never. I glanced back at her as a thought suddenly occurred to me. You have though. That’s why you two are so… cuddly.

  We’re—? Cuddly? Her bewilderment came suddenly and almost looked cute.

  You call him by his first name and his links to you felt awfully chummy.

  Demetrius’ personality profile is listed as friendly. Are you saying—? Anya blinked, genuinely confused.

  How many dossiers have you had with the man? I figured that a direct question might help clarify things.

  Four. The availability of an actual, quantitative answer helped Anya find her bearings. Including this one. I’ve been on task monitoring his progress in the Ryuu Tower for twenty days now.

  Four? The idea seemed personally insulting, for reasons I couldn’t quite justify.

  Correct. I have been assigned support protocols with Demetrius on four occasions, beginning in early 1994.

  How come this is the first we’ve heard of him? I knew my frustration was irrational and not in the sense of the Facility vernacular. Anya just felt so much like family, a part of my cadre; hell, I hated the thought of a dossier without her. The idea she had been dallying in other Asset’s dossiers—particularly with this douchebag, as he infiltrated fancy parties or seduced foreign dignitaries—felt dirty.

  Offensive somehow.

  Michael, Anya’s link took on a slightly condescending tone as we reached the door. You know full well that Facility Preceptors have different activity cycles than Assets. Of course I have dossiers that you aren’t aware of.

  Well. No truly logical response came to mind. Yeah. I suppose.

  You didn’t think I just sat around Facility Prime eating bonbons, while you were in torpor, bringing home desperate women from the nightclub, did you?

  Ha! Wyatt’s link echoed only in my Crown.

  I–I never really thought about it. I hadn’t. In my mind, torpor didn’t seem actually real, just a dream.

  But that wasn’t Anya’s situation at all.

  Like you, I take the missions I am given, and like you, I do my best to get extracted alive and with full function. Liaison Stone has saved my life on several occasions, and I his.

  I scrambled to think up something that didn’t sound like a jealous junior high boyfriend.

  Thankfully Gideon saved us all from the conversation.

  It appears you are in place. I am inserting the second cadre on the forty-eighth floor. Sadhana has several high-speed elevators, so I doubt that any operatives will be using the stairwell to approach the hot zone.

  Copy that, Alpha. Wyatt stood at the ready. We will enter the Chasm on your mark.

  I’m inserting here again. Gideon sent a visual over the Crown, showing us a familiar location. Perhaps Sadhana will believe that we only have one means of ingress into their tower, if we use the same one twice.

  Clever enough. I nodded. Before I could say more, a brilliant scarlet light blinked above the door, followed by an urgent, sharp tone.

  That’s the alarm, I sent to the others. When it went off in front of one of the salesmen, he instantly knew there was trouble.

  We are inside, Gideon confirmed. The Titan has engaged the hostiles.

  That’s our cue. Wyatt smirked.

  As we stepped out of the improbable room and back to the landing, I saw that each landing had lights activated, changing the Chasm from a blue-tinged darkness into something brilliant. The Geopulse Pylon still cackled and sparked with errant cobalt electricity, but it didn’t seem as stark without the darkness behind it.

  Looking down, I saw exactly how far thirty-two stories went and, I’d admit my head swam a bit as I clutched the railing tightly.

  I saw that. Wyatt’s private link wasn’t the least bit smug. You think you can hide being afraid of heights, but I know better. I first noticed last spring on that little assignment where they sent us down to Baja.

  I remember. A cartel had been using a couple of Irrats as muscle. I hung over the edge of a fifteen-story balcony while you tried to save Senorita Montigo. Yeah, I might have been nervous.

  It’s more than that. He started down the stairwell. I think it’s been since Dhire Lith. He paused. I think that fall did it.

  Well, we had a crippled craft hurtling out of the fucking stratosphere. If I remember correctly, I gave myself an aneurism to make certain my cadre could escape while I played chicken with the Atlantic Ocean.

  Heh. I felt his grin. That’s true enough. I just wanted you to know, I’m not just razzing you about it. But you’re in denial if you say it’s not an issue. Maybe you should chat with Rachel?

  Nope. The response came habitual, automatic.

  It’s yer call, asshole. Wyatt’s link felt friendly, despite the name-calling. Just don’t get anyone else killed because you’re having an issue with heights, ok?

  I didn’t link back. Why was everyone having a run at me today?

  Despite my apparent rail-clutching terror, I somehow managed to keep up with my cadre as we went down floor after floor. Of course, I didn’t spend much time staring straight down, but my supposed phobia in no way impeded our progress as we descended into the Chasm.

  There. Anya’s abrupt link startled me, as we had walked in silence for what seemed like a mortal age. The elevator.

  Amazingly, I looked over the edge without puking on my boots. There, a solid steel floor greeted my eye. In the center of it was a freight elevator as wide as a city street. Yellow lamps lit its metal railing brightly and shone off the same type of steel-grated flooring as the stairwell.

  It’s about time, Wyatt grumbled.

  My brow creased. Aren’t we a bit early for the bottom? That should be floor seven.

  Correct, Michael. The elevator descends to the Seal on the ground floor.

  So there’s an elevator that only goes up and down seven floors? What kind of lazy Irrats have we got working here?

  Wyatt shrugged. Looks like it’s so they can haul heavy shit up t’ here or down t’ there.

  Maybe. I scanned the level. Huge double doors lurked in the shadows, unmarked by any lamps, unlike all the other floors we’d passed.

  Wyatt shrugged again, then frowned at it. I don’ cotton to that thing being open sided though.

  Maybe lay some spikes in the thing before we engage it? I linked as we neared it. Just in case?

  That’s a reasonable precaution. Anya glanced at me as she linked, and the scarcest whisper of a smile glimmered in her ice-blue eyes. Good call, Michael.

  Hell, for a second I thought she might wink.

  Just like that, I no longer felt uncomfortable with whatever the hell might be between her and Stone. After all, Anya hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing at all.

  The guy just got under my skin, and it turned out he’d been hanging with one of my best friends.

  We’re three floors from the elevator, my burnt-bearded friend linked to Stone but included all of us. We’re descending now.

  Roger that, Guthrie. Stone smiled as he linked. You three have really done a fine job here.

  That’s not condescending at all. I linked to Wyatt, but my friend didn’t respond except for the smallest of smiles.

  The elevator sat perfectly flush with the solid steel floor of the Chasm. A small control system stood off to the side on a podium in front of the elevator. The word DANGER had been printed on the floor in five different languages.

  Would you look at this? Wyatt crouched near where the Geopulse Pylon rooted itself in the steel floor. Control panels crowded all around the device, each with a different series of toggles and tuners labeled Relative Cohesion Index, K-Alpha Emissions, and Light Chain Integrity.

  Why
can’t anyone give sensible names to things? I read the labels, remembering my time in The Spire.

  If things don’t have big names, how can we know how fancy they are? Wyatt snarked. Hey, whaddya think happens if someone’s tangler accidentally melted this thing down to slag?

  Discommendations. Anya’s link came suddenly and sternly. Especially when there’s so much telemetry to sort from such a device.

  I know. Not our mission. Wyatt looked at the control panels with a longing sigh. Sometimes a guy just wants to smash a thing or two, you know?

  I’m sure you’ll get that chance. I turned and walked toward the elevator. It’s been quiet for a while now. I bet things kick up again soon.

  Not the way it works, Hoss, Wyatt chuckled. We aren’t in a Blake Runner movie. Bad guys don’t show up just because the audience gets bored.

  I laughed with him, but as we stepped onto the elevator, I felt my pulse kick up. Not because of any supposed heights, of course. No, I couldn’t help but think about what Stone had linked:

  The Seal is the barrier between the main structure and the floors beneath. When an individual wishes access to the laboratories, they must bypass Sadhana’s most intricate security.

  We had already dealt with several handfuls of Sadhana operatives, including an Irrational flamethrower. We had faced down a Greater Aberration, a blood-drinking astral monstrosity, and, worst of all, telemarketers of the damned.

  What could possibly be beneath the Seal? We knew how Sadhana protected this side of the complex…

  What would possibly lie beneath?

  Just no more stunts like jigging the Spectre. Wyatt glared at me sternly through his blue oculus. His fire-ravaged beard gave him a wild, untamed look. Stuff like that is going to get us all killed.

  “Maybe.” I had to fight not to burst out laughing as I prepared my best Blake Runner impersonation. I glanced slowly from Wyatt to Anya, who had engaged the elevator, and growled, “Or maybe I’m the only thing that’s going to get us out of here alive.” My expression remained gravely serious as I turned back to Wyatt.

  What the fuck? He looked from me to Anya, as if he couldn’t quite decide if I were serious.

  The elevator lurched into motion, and I laughed as we descended into darkness.

  I mean it. What the actual fuck, Hoss?

  29

  The freight elevator ground its gears as it slowly lowered us down. The floor we sank through had been almost three meters thick, but once we passed, the shaft opened up in a continuation of the Chasm, far wider than the elevator.

  Still with the Pylon. I linked the moment that the blue flicker washed over us. I wonder how deep it goes?

  Demetrius’ intel does not give us an ultimate depth to this device. Anya had gone back to taking telemetry, using any opportunity she could to gather information on the axiomatic snarls.

  As we descended, I made a point of peeking over the edge for Wyatt’s piece of mind. But, damn, it looked like another seven stories to the bottom.

  Hey. Wyatt peered over as well. Toggle the magnification on your optics. Looks like Sadhana is a little light on reception at their big bad-ass Seal.

  Yeah? I did as he indicated and peered below.

  The Seal looked much as we had seen on Stone’s display, a gray wall of intricately detailed mechanisms. I imagined that it was designed to accept the passcode requirements—DNA, iris scan, and so on. In the center of the Seal stood a featureless door without handle or knob.

  A single figure floated in front of the door, her clothing wafting around her, as if on a capricious wind

  One Irrat? I linked to both of them. Unless it’s another Greater Aberration, I think we may have this one in hand.

  It’s not. Anya stepped over to where we stood, her brow furrowed. I watched as she made the same motion three times in a row, as if she drew a stylized letter “C” by her right hip.

  Not an Irrat? Wyatt felt a little confused, and he brought his hand to the oculus. That’s not my reading.

  I think she meant it’s not a Greater Aberration. I adjusted my optics, trying to get a better view.

  Does she look blindfolded to you, Hoss?

  The creature is neither an Irrational human nor a Greater Aberration. Pause. She is also not a creature of the astral tides.

  I’ve got super-Rational readings here. Wyatt glanced at Anya. I know my oculus isn’t nearly what your gear is, Anya, but this little lady ain’t no typical chick.

  No. Anya turned away from the woman back to us. My readings indicate this creature is a Construct.

  Reeeeally? I had to admit that piqued my interest. The idea of an Irrational Construct working for Sadhana brought up a lot of odd questions, questions that might have answers we didn’t like.

  I might have seen four Constructs in my entire career. To meet one here seemed unlikely at best. Constructs weren’t real, of course, not in the way one typically thought. Many of them were remnants from mankind’s past. Hundreds of generations told their stories, worshipping and shaping the Irrational creatures and forces that once dwelt on the Earth. Every culture created different versions: wily trickster spirits or perhaps anthropomorphic representations of the seasons. Rare things, almost unheard of today.

  For most of them, their time had passed.

  Some of them, however, could still be interesting. Interesting in that ‘The Facility wants to speak with you’ kind of way.

  Occasionally we found one that had somehow clung to life, feeding on mankind’s basest desires and fears. Some of them had even changed their shape entirely as the years and centuries passed.

  Even those weren’t the strangest however.

  Sometimes, a Construct began its life as a human, typically someone seeking legendary power or some sort of ancient relic. Often in those cases, the power of the relic overshadowed the human, and the person would slowly transform into something far beyond what they had been.

  Hell, some Irrats wanted that.

  Any way of figuring out her capabilities? Wyatt went to run his fingers through his beard and tried to not look like an idiot when he realized he had far less beard to stroke.

  I’m searching Facility databases for Constructs and folklore, specifying Japanese culture.

  I can’t tell if she’s Japanese or not. Wyatt looked back down at the woman.

  Seconds later, once her Lattice query came back, Anya continued, The Itako are traditional shamans of the Japanese people. Anya gazed at us as she linked. They are always female and, traditionally, they are blind.

  Maybe. She’s definitely wearing a blindfold. I looked from Wyatt to Anya.

  No other actual data. Anya pursed her lips. We are in the dark until we make actual contact.

  Now, that’s not necessarily true. Wyatt’s grin looked sharp, devilish. I mean, we know she’s here. And we know she’s stationed in front of Sadhana’s big ol’ vault.

  Okay. I raised one hand, turned palm up. So?

  Well… His eyes twinkled. Sadhana thinks their problem is upstairs, so most of their operatives should be there, trying to nail down a Titan. The way I see it, our little Construct is somethin’ special, else she wouldn’t be here.

  That follows. Anya’s link held just a trace of impatience.

  So we know two things. Wyatt began to tap at his crescent keyboard. We know she won’t be friendly. He turned his attention briefly to his oculus, then gazed at us excitedly. And we know that we’ve got the high ground. The tangler began to whine.

  Fuck yeah, we do. About seven stories of high ground to be exact. The freight elevator wasn’t exactly fast, and while weapons like the kinetic disruptor or a standard gun’s accuracy might fade over distance, a tangler’s spike would be effective as long as Wyatt remained in range.

  Which we were. I hit the large red button on the control panel, and we lurched to a halt.

  Between the tangler and the purloined Calico Anya still had strung over her shoulder, I thought we’d do fine. Drifty McFloaty-lady couldn’t even
reach us.

  Wyatt only took a moment to aim over the side, far less than he might have had he been wielding a gun. He’d told me in the past that the tangler had the capability to precisely hit specific coordinates, and as he aimed, I saw glowing equations flit across his oculus.

  WHUF.

  I couldn’t help a manic grin. Stone had been all-fire certain that this would be some big ordeal, but we’d just solve it before the Construct could even make contact.

  Win/win.

  Wyatt obviously intended the spike to embed itself within the Construct. Yet, even if he missed, he could dial up any number of effects.

  Already Wyatt’s fingers madly input Facility equations as we watched the spike sail toward the serenely floating woman.

  “It’s gonna hit.” In my excitement, I didn’t link. “Damn, Wyatt, you hit her from h—!”

  No. At the last moment, she moved, drifting to one side as if moved by a gentle breeze. She continued her motion as a dizzying burst of brilliant flame erupted in a tight diameter around the spike.

  The flames just missed her.

  What!? Wyatt’s irritation blended sharp anger and sour disgust. I fucking had her! He began the frantic dance of his fingers again and shifted the position of the tangler slightly.

  Rationality shifting. Anya’s warning came low, quietly intense in my mind. One point negative. She paused. Now two.

  Cool liquid filled my mind, the consistency of heavy cream. My ears buzzed, and my skull ached as if my sinuses were about to burst.

  I staggered beneath a great weight.

  [Children of] Kanayago-kami. [Interesting.] The Japanese thoughts that bubbled within the liquid of my mind felt a touch nonsensical, like the notes of a flute blowing through a willow tree. [Few of your kind dare venture to Nippon, I think.]

  “More than you might imagine,” Wyatt said, but only with great difficulty.

  I could well understand. The weight of her in my mind lay heavy and dark.

  [The years have been long. I would have expected you to come with more than fury and wrath. Would you not discuss our present situation? Must we resolve this only by blood?]