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

by JM Guillen

  It is imperative that you are restored to functionality! Anya’s link, for all of its grammatical exactness flooded with panic.

  “What?” I tried to push myself up but failed. The parts of me that were covered with skin hurt.

  The parts of me that should have been hurt more.

  “I’m bleeding!” Panic gripped me as I checked myself frantically. I’d been scraped pretty badly all along my right arm and leg and had a hell of a stone shard in my calf. Scarlet warmth pooled around it.

  Yes, Michael. In another reality, I heard gunfire and screaming as if from leagues away. But we need to move.

  The blood ran like ambrosia and smelled of sweet communion. I stared at it, my eyes widening as I felt the blade-edged mist seep into my mind.

  It seeped into the world around me, where it would take form…

  Shit! Shit! Shit! I needed to focus. You don’t understand! Frantically I scratched at my chest, at the sudden itch covering me like ants.

  I opened the menu within my Crown that tasked my viral mecha. I flipped through the dialogues, only partially certain of what I needed.

  Oxygen levels… Testosterone production… Axial stabilization… I stared at the Preceptor as I linked, Anya, I need all my viral mecha to control this blood loss.

  Michael, I—

  In the Mojave, you helped me and Wyatt modulate our mecha. I need help with it now.

  I followed exacting Designate parameters in the Mojave. I was tasked to very specific operations that involved the Lattice and system commands.

  You know how to do this! I grabbed her, frantic. You’ve done it for yourself!

  My system is entirely different than yours, Michael. You know that. Her link felt small. You’re frightening me. The whites all around her pale blue eyes were visible. And I do understand. The enti—

  Behind us, an explosion shook the ground.

  Someone who might have been Wyatt cursed.

  “Dammit.” I tore through my menus, searching everything involving blood and its alteration. I could increase the rate of white blood cell production, encourage bile to be purged from the blood, alter blood pressure…

  But I had no idea about the long-term effects of any of that. What if I congealed all of my blood? At once?

  Anya watched me, her eyes wide.

  Mike? Delacruz, previously shrouded beneath the Wraith, materialized a few steps to my left. What’s our play here? Behind her, I saw Stone trigger the Façade, as if that would keep him safe.

  The ridiculousness of the situation almost made me laugh.

  It figured. We fought for our lives here, and the Liaison stepped out. I hoped he didn’t get killed trying to hide just because he—

  Wait.

  That thought was a sharp one, and it hit me as soon as I had it.

  Wasn’t that what I doing, hiding from the four-armed monstrosity? Hadn’t I avoided the damn thing, fought against it, worried about it ever since I’d seen it on the stairwell all the way back at the Geopulse Pylon?

  Hiding wasn’t going to get us out of this.

  “Fuck all y’all!” Wyatt whirled around on one of the Sadhana agents, a man who had been slipping up behind him. The tangler cried WHUF, and the man began to scream as he fell to the ground and convulsed.

  The Artisan bled freely from his scalp, and his shirt had been partially torn off. He limped on a leg that had been partially shredded by the weeping dead, but he didn’t let any of that stop him.

  Nothing ever stopped him. Never.

  The edge of my mouth quirked up.

  Bishop? Delacruz sounded legitimately nervous, an odd sensation coming from her.

  I groaned and pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the itching at my scalp, on my back, everywhere. I’ll tell you what we’re doing. I turned to Delacruz as I unsheathed the katana from my back and drew my disruptor. We’re punching through.

  Wyatt placed a line of spikes directly behind himself. I sprinted toward him as Delacruz reengaged the Wraith.

  Hey there. I fired my disruptor at a thug as I closed on Wyatt. The shot missed, but the guy lunged left anyway, diving behind someone’s smoking hulk of an FAV.

  ’Bout time.

  I need status on all available Assets. I paused.

  I’m green. Stone’s link felt like smooth jazz in my mind. William Holsen, Sadhana Security Specialist, is in play. There are six Sadhana operatives. We regrouped around the next bend, waiting.

  I’m green but beneath the Wraith.

  And I’m right here. Anya stepped over to me, holding one of the Calicos. At your side. She gave me a small smile.

  FAVs?

  One, Wyatt growled.

  Not enough. Do we have the distance to the Breach?

  Complicated. Delacruz’s link came quickly, as if she had been expecting the question. I’ve been monitoring spatial vectors as we got closer, but as we progress, I’m losing track of them.

  Hyper-Rationality. Anya stepped sideways and fired a few rounds at the FAV where the operative still hid. As we approach the Breach, we are encountering an axiomatic averaging of values.

  Heh. Averaging this place with Hyper-Rationality? Wyatt turned back to me. We’re probably closer to Rationality here than we are anywhere else in this hellhole.

  Now that was something.

  Anya? Before she could answer, I linked again. Delacruz? Are the emanations from The Spire stabilizing Rationality in our current location?

  Anya immediately put her fingers to work, reading telemetry.

  Hoss, we should move. Wyatt jerked his raggedy chin back toward the bridge. Didn’t kill everyone behind us.

  We are at Rationality .7883. Anya’s eyes went wide with surprise. I’m reading zero aberrant vectors.

  I raised an eyebrow. That was stunningly close to rationality zero.

  That’s affirmative. Sofia’s link held traces of wild relief. Vectors stable.

  My neck itched. Badly. I ignored it and thought frantically.

  Then, they pinned us beneath a hail of bullet fire from the direction of the bridge.

  Fuck! Wyatt dropped like a boulder and blood sprayed. “Fine! I’m—”

  Our position is getting ready to charge the moment you move this way. Stone felt a bit frantic.

  No. More. Bullets. From his position on the ground, Wyatt angrily typed on his augment, and stasis fields sprang up behind us, sheltering us from the storm of metal projectiles.

  We were trapped between the plucky survivors behind us and Stone’s “allies” in front.

  Anya peered around the edge of Wyatt’s field to provide cover fire, but—

  They would overrun us, it was just a matter of time.

  Sofia. I turned, my disruptor out.

  The guy behind the sandrail made his move. This time, I caught him square, throwing him ten meters back with a wide blast to the chest.

  That felt good. Perhaps I couldn’t keep up with automatic weaponry, but the disruptor belonged in my hand.

  What’s up, Mike?

  I heard one of her apertures open, just as two gorilla-necked thugs ran around a stasis field.

  They fell into the singing red vortex, and I didn’t know where they came out.

  We need to get behind Stone’s position. You’re gonna have to get us there.

  That’s… dangerous.

  We had this talk before. Did ‘dangerous’ stop me?

  No, but…

  You’re the fucking best with that thing, and you know it. Vectors are stable. You have the Wraith. We have to move!

  A long moment. Then, Will comply.

  I can place a spike here for extra stabilization. Wyatt’s words were followed by a WHUF.

  This is the next move then. We drop behind Stone’s guys and take them by surprise. From there, if Delacruz could give us another aperture, maybe two…

  The Breach couldn’t be that far, right?

  Wyatt staggered, then stood.

  It had been a bloody shot. The remnants of his shirt
dripped with crimson, and I wondered how he kept on his feet.

  I stared.

  The blood cried my name, sanguine and bittersweet. My heart pounded…

  Michael? Anya had been reading telemetry but now concern ran in furrows across her forehead. Please report status.

  I’m—

  Patterns of scarlet truth ran in rivulets of desire and pain, all down the garment. The places where it dripped formed stark and forsaken constellations on the broken ground.

  You good? I sent the link to Wyatt alone.

  In all honesty, my eyes didn’t meet his. I felt my pulse in my ears, and my skin crawled.

  The blood wailed to the far ends of the world, a harmony that rhymed and reasoned.

  My everything itched.

  Hoss? Wyatt’s link came just to me. It echoed in the back corners of my mind, where the deepest shadows dwelt.

  Incoming! Anya stepped to the left, and the Calico barked as several of Sadhana’s men leapt around the edge of a stasis field. Two held guns of their own, but a third wielded a long, curved blade, and…

  …and a gauntlet on his arm that held a tiny speck of furious, azure light. He smiled wickedly as he pressed that button. With an audible CLICK he faded from sight, like mist before the sun.

  Then the scent of death bloomed around us, feral and savage and lost. It was darkened thunder in my mind, like being savaged, taken as easily as a lamb.

  A four-armed abomination of the astral tides growled in my mind, a creature of darkness and mist. It smelled of blood, of rot. Its voice was an animal snarl as it burbled from my throat.

  “Blood is the final truth.” The words burst from my mouth, all gurgle and sharpness. “It is the gate, the path, and the final key.”

  “H–Hoss?” Wyatt stammered, just a touch.

  It is as before. Anya took one step back as well, linking all of us. Her blue eyes shone with terror. The exact same entity.

  I didn’t even need to look behind me. I felt it, my hackles rising with nervous electricity. The aberration growled, a low, dangerous sound that made my pulse race and my breath catch.

  Michael, we need you green. We must advance.

  Listen to the lady, Hoss.

  I could not comprehend their words. With the blood of ancient predators howling in my mind, I turned, hunger flaring within me as I looked at the men lunging toward us.

  Variance is higher than previous occurrences. The woman stepped closer. Michael, ambient rationality has shifted—

  I screamed, fury and desire cascading from me like the hunger of ten-thousand frigid winters. I turned toward the men advancing upon us and saw the first whisper of fear fall across their faces.

  They were the foe. They threatened my pack. I fell upon them. I became Death.

  My prey scattered before me.

  58

  Conscious thought and rational logic fled as scarlet rage fell across my mind in a primal haze. Every sensation became sharp enough to cut. My heartbeat thrummed like distant drums, pounding out the tempo of primitive, ravenous rapture.

  My closest foe, a dark-skinned man with a round, flat cap, frantically thrust his weapon toward me, as if he instinctually understood who we were: predator and prey. We stood in an arena, snared by forces more fundamental than gravity, more inescapable than death.

  And he was slow. His eyes caught in mine.

  My blade in the air as I leapt, my reflexes faster than any mere human’s. Before I landed, before he could fire, my blade blurred into his neck and scarlet beauty ran from him in rivulets.

  Bullets sliced the air around me, wild shots, fired not with skill but with panic and terror.

  I turned, the weapon in my other hand at the ready, and fired precise, deadly shots, feeling where my foes would be before they were there. My shots burst with perfection. Only wildness danced behind my eyes, a fury that most men never knew.

  Another slain.

  Another.

  A man with dark eyes and a scar above his eye.

  A woman, crimson running across porcelain skin.

  A man who ran, who did not know his place.

  Even as Michael Bishop slaughtered them, a gaunt darkness crept behind the world, slipping through sideways shadows. It growled, low and fierce. It lapped their blood with two long and slender tongues. Their blood was exotic spices infused in honey. I could taste it, could taste each of them, and knew their deepest secrets, secrets that never saw the light of day.

  It was a feast, and they were lambs for the slaughter. Their vitality suffused my limbs, warm and sweet.

  “Michael!”

  It was that woman’s voice, a voice only accustomed to quiet, precise words.

  Now, it contained terror.

  I did not turn. A cry came from my pack, but I knew they would be safe.

  Because of me.

  WHUF. WHUF. WHUF. I had no context for the sound, except that it was not a threat.

  I was cut yet felt no pain. Two men flanked me, but no fear trembled in my veins.

  I grinned like a madman. I laughed. I screamed and danced among their corpses, and my blade taught them truths that no mouth could speak.

  Out. We’re clear. Another woman spoke in my mind, odd, random words that didn’t string together into sense. We have 99.99% temporal stability, so we need to proceed.

  There was only the thunder of my heart, the song of my breath, and the sweetness of blood. Only—

  Stabbing pain blossomed in my side.

  I roared with fury, spinning and spitting as I lurched away from that fire.

  I was wounded. My own blood ran hot and angry. I glared around, looking for who—

  I saw nothing. But, there was something…

  A scent.

  I smelled sweat and cedar, and below that, fear. Close by, the sour stink of adrenaline.

  I heard a step and leapt back with all the grace of a wild thing.

  A foot scuffed from misstep, off balance from my unexpected leap. I heard it as clearly as the cry of a hawk.

  I swung my blade, my body reacting to what my eye could not see. Agony sang in my side as I pulled those muscles taut.

  My blade sliced through wet, visceral nothingness, cutting to the quick.

  A death cry came from an unseen throat, and blood painted its patina on the ground.

  The man’s body slipped into my vision, ghostlike. On his arm a bracer, and within it burned a spark of cobalt fire gathered from some distant and unnamed star.

  “Michael!” That same familiar voice came again, closer.

  I turned, protective instinct flaring in me like a bonfire in my breast.

  We have to go. Now. She felt soft in my mind and looked soft to my eye. “Please, Michael.”

  Clad in white and grey, a halo of gold at her brow. Her body held curves that whispered forgotten things.

  I smiled at her. It was a shadowed smile, a smile that held secrets that no tongue could speak. I wanted to write savage poetry with our flesh.

  “Michael?” She extended a hand to me. “There’s not a lot—”

  My pack was gone, all except for her. My gaze darted left, then right, trying to see where they had gone.

  An orange and yellow flower of heat and exultant fury exploded into being. It came from ahead of us, around a curve in the valley wall, and brought a hot and terrible wind.

  The woman stumbled from its force, but I did not.

  I peered ahead.

  They were gone. All of my pack except her. What had happened?

  Hoss? The voice was like a whisper within my mind. We need you, buddy. Fucking crazy or not, get your ass up here.

  I felt his need, the emotion sharp in my mind. I knew him then, knew him like I knew the sound of my own name. We had hunted together, this one and me, through forsaken darkness and beneath strange and shifting stars. He was my brother and more than my brother.

  I reached for the woman.

  She took my hand.

  Uncertainty and worry shone in her e
yes. She gazed at me as if she had never seen my face before.

  The aperture. She held my hand and pulled me along. Delacruz was able to place it further than we expected. We had time to withdraw while you held ground.

  I should have known what those things meant, but a distant part of my mind slept. All that was real was the warmth of her flesh and the softness in her voice.

  This woman was mine.

  I knew that. I could smell the truth on her skin. I would do anything for her, stand against any creature just to keep her safe.

  “Come, Michael.” She pulled me with her, certainty in her step.

  A gateway of scarlet flame and warbling song burst into existence before us, and I hesitated in wonder. It felt as if I should understand what happened, what she wanted.

  Her eyes, filled with an eternity of summer skies, were all I could see. Then she stepped through.

  Beyond was the chaos and carnage of battle.

  Glad you could join us, Hoss. The man felt harried, driven back.

  Another man, who smelled like my own but wore the skin of my foe, stood at his side, his weapon blazing.

  More of the enemy waited.

  Many, many more. They stood in great metal towers and fired at us from above. They rode on mechanical monstrosities and swooped toward us like hunting hawks. They had all manner of weapons and brought their wrath to bear.

  One of the men, wearing another odd bracer which held a mote of brilliant golden light, hurled spheres of lightning savagery with his bare hands. He aimed at one of mine, a woman with raven hair and a sharpened tongue.

  She called a gateway, which swallowed the crackling sphere.

  It hurtled from another scarlet fissure and struck one of the great metal watchtowers.

  That horrific light sent the shadows of my foes scrambling.

  The entire scene played out in cataclysmical beauty, a symphony of flame and death. Beyond it all, nestled into one of the great mesas, was a crack in the stone, a crack filled with sable shadows and stark midnight.

  Michael? The woman’s head-whisper felt a bit frantic. She was worried. There were so many.

  I did not respond. Instead, I leapt into the fray.

  The young man with wild black hair driving nearby did not expect me to leap toward him. He had bore down upon me, the engine of his abomination roared with a harsh cry of brutal dominance.