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

by JM Guillen

  The scent of cooked flesh filled the air.

  I’m… I wobbled just a touch but stood. I think I’m green.

  Good. Her voice held pleased malevolence. This [asshole’s] not.

  The apertures closed, and rebreather man fell to the ground, his body cooked through. Wild lightning coursed around him for a moment, but when he hit the ground, his dead hand released the device.

  Fuck. Delacruz knew how to handle herself.

  “Here’s that little Facility bitch.”

  I didn’t recognize either of the two men slipping up behind me, hadn’t even heard them approach. Each wore a device of their own, although one of them wore a belt instead of an arm bracer.

  “I’m so tired of killing you guys.” My voice sounded genuinely weary even to my own ears.

  “You won’t have to do it again.” That was the one with the belt.

  I hadn’t even begun my next jibe when goon number two, a blond man on the left, disappeared. Blinking in surprise, I almost missed seeing him entirely but caught his movement from the corner of my eye.

  An oddly muted gunshot blast confirmed my suspicions. Delacruz had ported him in for an easy shot.

  I clicked my tongue at his partner, brought my disruptor up, and followed suit. “As I was saying, getting tired—”

  Blackened, razor-edged stars exploded in my mind as something hard struck the back of my head. I stumbled forward, going down to all fours. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

  “I understand being tired of killing the same motherfuckers.” The Padre’s dry tone held no humor. “Trust me on this.” He held a pistol in one hand and something dark in the other as he gazed down at me.

  A dampening grenade.

  “Fuck off.” I crawled forward, trying to push myself up.

  As he pressed the button, Rationality rippled around him, a sweet silver song.

  Between the Padre and me, Delacruz faded into view as the Wraith disengaged. The Gatekeeper augment went dark too and fell from the back of her head.

  She stared up at us, the yellow glow from the symbiont shining on her forehead.

  “There’s my sexy little plaything,” the Padre leered. He stepped forward and hurled a booted kick at Delacruz, catching her squarely in the stomach. “We’re gonna have a lot of fucking fun, you ’n me.”

  She scarcely had time to cry out before he stepped forward again, delivering a quick rabbit-punch to the center of her face.

  Her head snapped back, and she went down, blood spraying from her nose.

  “Fuck.” The Padre looked at the corpse of his rebreather-wearing cohort and then to me. “First Rogers and now Fredrich?” He stepped over to me and delivered a kick to my ribs that crushed the breath from me. “Motherfucker, we aren’t friends. I hope you get that.”

  “Got it.” I grunted the words as I rolled to one side, trying to absorb the kick. I toggled the Adept, but realized that when he hit me, I had apparently dropped my disruptor.

  Fuck. Anya was right. I couldn’t hold onto a weapon for shit.

  I only had one left.

  Adept regeared, I shoved myself up, katana in hand.

  The Padre stood about five steps in front of me, but before I even got to my feet, he had his pistol on me.

  “I didn’t say you could get up.” He fired twice.

  I triggered the Spectre—

  —a moment too late. One of the bullets tore into the meat of my right thigh spraying agony and red warmth across the midnight floor.

  “Fuck!” I collapsed backward, warm blood pulsing from the wound in my thigh. It hurt.

  “Let’s do this right this time.” The Padre stepped closer, gun aimed at my head.

  Got you. Sofia dropped an aperture beneath me, and I fell through.

  The landing was rough, and I hissed in pain from biting my tongue.

  In the twilit darkness to my right, about fifteen steps away, I heard a pistol fire, again and again.

  “Fuck!” the Padre swore, real venom in his voice. “You think I won’t find you?”

  WHUF! The tangler sounded distant, but Wyatt’s link as close as breath. That’s it. It’ll take about two minutes to realign, but that’s the last spike.

  They know it too; look. Sofia stood right next to where I lay, Wraith engaged.

  The Padre had stopped casting about in the darkness for us and stared at the odd stone construct. “What the fuck?” His voice sounded soft against the darkness.

  The spheres swung in entirely new orbits, and the top of the lapis construct pulsed with trickling light.

  From behind him, my Drażeri buddy stepped through the shadows. He apparently made quite the telepathic argument, as he gestured wildly at the construct.

  “Fucking fine.” The Padre peered into the darkness, his eyes seeking us. “It’ll have to do.”

  Behind him, the Drażeri stepped out of sight, gesturing with his rod. There echoed a loud BANG followed by a viridian burst of light.

  A circular hole, wreathed by emerald brilliance, stabbed into the space behind the construct. A horrific wind screamed through that hole, pulling the air from The Spire into it as it wailed loudly.

  “Dhire Lith.” Even through the pain, I recognized the endless city. The streets meandered in a labyrinth beneath an eternally twilight sky.

  The Drażeri leapt upward, caught that horrific wind, and was dragged through the hole, as easily as if he were a leaf borne on the wind of autumn.

  The Padre stood still, peering into the darkness. He wanted us. I could practically feel his fury and frustration radiate off him.

  One of the orbiting spheres burst into light and whining song. As it did, the gateway behind the Padre wavered.

  “God damn it.” His words were a hate-filled whisper. “Not over. Not by a fucking long shot.” Then he strode toward the gaping green hole, his every stride incensed.

  Less than five steps away, he had a hard time resisting that terrible wind. His eyes swept the darkness one last time.

  Then he jumped.

  That strange wind from another world caught him and bore the Padre away.

  62

  For a moment, we both stared at the emptiness where the man had just been. Then, Sofia took a deep breath, and looked to me.

  “You ready to get outta here, Mike?” Sofia had her augment in place again and fiddled, calibrating its synch.

  “You said you’d call me Michael if we got home.” I gave her a weary grin that was punctuated with a wince.

  “I was probably lying.” She chuckled.

  “You also said we’d get drinks.”

  “You said you’d kill that shithead.”

  “I wasn’t lying.” I grunted. “I will.”

  She hesitated, giving me a long look. “Let’s get home.” She shook her head, amused. “You can tell me stories about how you got that thing off my arm.”

  “Will you pretend to be amazed?” I managed a sickly grin.

  “I will.” She met my gaze with hers, her dark eyes serious. It seemed as if, for just a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

  “Thanks for coming to get me, Michael.”

  I could do nothing but nod. For once, neither of us had a quip.

  Then, Sofia Delacruz ignited the aperture. It warbled with red fire, singing a soft and eldritch song.

  At long last, she took me home.

  63

  The night wind was wild and exotic, blowing in off the Pacific Ocean. It felt like the kind of evening where San Francisco came alive, and the pulse of the people was the beat of a frantic, almost erotic dance.

  I pulled up outside Aretto’s right on time. Honestly, I had wanted to be early, but traffic had just been horrible.

  “It’s fine.” I mumbled as the valet took my car. “This way, you don’t seem too eager.” I chuckled as I walked through the doors.

  But I had to admit it, I was eager. I hadn’t seen my best friend in months, and now, suddenly, he was back in town with no word or warning. True
to form, he had booked an evening at the classiest, most upscale place in town and sent me an invite out of the blue.

  Typical.

  “Michael.” I hadn’t taken five steps into the place before I heard his deep rumble at a table to the left of the fountains.

  I turned, my grin splitting my face from ear to ear. “You son of a bitch.” I stepped over to him and clasped his hand with both of mine. “How the hell are you?”

  “I’m well,” Demetrius chuckled, his voice a low purr. “Very well. Shall we sit?”

  We walked over to the table he had selected, an out of the way niche with a clear shot to the bar.

  I appreciated the choice as there was hardly anyone around.

  I scarcely had my ass in my seat before I was rambling. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I held my hands up, questioning. “Hell, I could have thrown together a night out myself.”

  “I had no idea.” He leaned forward, chuckling. “I’m here on business, unexpected business.”

  “How’s Japan?” Demetrius had been overseas for a while, dealing with some tough clients from what he’d said on the phone earlier.

  “Japan is a pain in my ass.” He grinned, catching the attention of our server and lifting two fingers.

  The young, red-haired woman nodded.

  “No business talk tonight. I’m fed up with Japanese corporations and the assholes they hire.”

  In no time, the server brought over two drinks, setting one in front of Demetrius and one in front of me.

  He pointed at my drink.

  “Bourbon?” I glanced down at the golden liquid and then up to Demetrius.

  “Best in the house.” He reached for his own drink, and took a sip.

  I was about to tell him that there was no way he was going to get out of talking about his exotic adventures when I was jostled from behind. I heard a pretty little gasp, and then the shattering of glass.

  Startled, I turned to look. A blonde-haired woman stood there, staring in horror at the glass she had just dropped. She was frozen in place, her pale blue eyes wide.

  “I apologize profusely.” Her voice was soft, almost unnaturally so.

  Demetrius’s voice was baritone thunder. “My dear, you must do me the service of allowing my friend and I to help you clean that up.”

  “Yes.” I nodded as I stood.

  It was a wonderful idea. This poor woman seemed stricken with embarrassment. Obviously, the right thing to do would be to help her out and maybe invite her to our table for a drink.

  “Thank you, Mi–mi—” She stammered for a moment, her blue eyes seeming uncertain. “My hands are just so clumsy sometimes.”

  “It’s no worry at all.” I smiled as I bent down to pick up a piece of glass. “Hell, you should see some of my cock-ups, the stories I could—OW!”

  Stupidly, I had been looking at the woman’s pretty face instead of the glass I had been picking up. Somehow, it had slipped and sliced into the meat of my hand, right at the base of my thumb.

  “Fuck, that’s deep.” I hissed through my teeth as I applied pressure to the wound, trying to get it to stop bleeding.

  “Michael?” Demetrius stepped closer to me, concern woven into his deep voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.” I grabbed one of the napkins from the table and pressed it to the wound. I intended to say, “I think I need to step into the men’s room.”

  Instead I noted the shape that the blood made on the napkin.

  Oh.

  It was a slender curve of elegance, a susurrus of scarlet, sanguine purity. It was a kabalistic rune, truth given mystery given form.

  My heart pounded in my chest. When had it gotten so dark? Absentmindedly, I scratched at the back of my neck with my other hand.

  “Michael?” Demetrius’s voice felt solid somehow, like the earth beneath my feet.

  The entire world had grown still. I felt wrapped in twilight shadows, rapt in my own warm life, beating to the drama of eternity in my hand.

  I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his. He simply stood looking at me, expectantly.

  I blinked.

  “I think I need my pills.” My voice sounded mechanical, even to my ear. I looked to the woman, almost in apology. “I’ll help you in a moment…” I fumbled my other hand into my jacket pocket, pulling out the small plastic container my doctor had prescribed.

  “I didn’t know you were on medication.” Demetrius looked at me, curiously.

  “Allergies. Not a big deal.” I popped open the top, pulled out one of the capsules and then tossed it in my mouth. “I had forgotten about it is all.”

  Though it seemed just the slightest bit odd that this situation reminded me to take it, I felt better almost instantly.

  “What of your hand?” The blonde woman seemed concerned. I noticed that she herself clenched and twitched her fingers in sympathy for my pain.

  “It’s nothing.” I looked down at my hand and realized that it was nothing. “I thought it was a lot worse than it is.”

  “Let me see it.” Stone stepped closer and took my hand in his. “Why, you’re right, Michael.” He hesitated. “But I think you should step to the lavatory and wash it clean.” He studied my face intently. “That is, if you are feeling well?”

  “I feel fine. Great even.” I smiled at him and then at the blonde woman, hoping that my grin didn’t look wolfish. “I’ll be right back.”

  “That sounds perfect.” He nodded at the blonde woman, and out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw her head bob in response.

  I wove my way to the lavatory though my hand had almost entirely stopped bleeding. I felt a bit foolish for making a scene, but apparently Demetri hadn’t really thought anything of it.

  That was good. I had looked forward to seeing my best friend for a long time, and now that he was here, it just felt as if things were going to be different.

  We were going to have a lot of fun together.

  ###

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  Have You Seen On the Matter of the Red Hand?

  An irrational tale with a long shadow.

  In a world savaged by madness and dire darkness, one ray of hope remains.

  Teredon, the last home of man.

  Yet even Teredon has its shadows, and its guardians. One of those is a lone lawman, a man of many flaws who doesn’t understand the path before him.

  Before all is done, the fate of every world may rest on his shoulders.

  What are people saying about

  “On the Matter of the Red Hand”?

  The story is fantastic and the characters are absolutely brilliant. The banter between the Judicars cracks me up even now in retrospect! Guillen has created a truly fascinating world. The characters are exceptionally unique and fully developed.

  The world and its characters hit just the right notes, to a melody that has familiar themes but is unlike any other. A bit of fantasy, a pinch of steampunk-ish-ness, a knob of police-procedural.

  I would second everything positive that the reviewers have written about the virtues of this book. The hero, the secondary characters, the noir atmosphere, the plot, the fantasy elements. I would emphasize the quality of the writing - it's evocative and compelling and energetic when it needs to be and moody when that's what called for, but never once was I jarred by a false note of overreaching or excess.

  On the Matter of the Red Hand

  The Sequel to On the Matter of the Red Hand is Coming Soon!

  Be on the Watch for

  OF THE DA
RK AND DESOLATE SEA,

  Book two in the Judicar’s Oath series!

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at

  Chapter One.

  Trouble with a Sovereign T

  Year 607 of the Forsaken Age, Month of Reapingtide

  Ripened Week, Cyphering

  Third Bell, Morningtide

  “Finally.” I sighed, a contented half-smile curling the edge of my mouth. I opened the book, and kicked up my feet.

  Perfect.

  Nowhere in sight did mysterious thugs lurk, eager to dust my face with a set of knucks, nor did I see dirkmen eager to slit my throat skulking in the shadows.

  Instead, I had a tumble of sweetcider in hand and another two already singing in my stomach. My feet were propped up on the table, and the newest book I owned lay open on my lap. The autumn breeze came in through my window and ruffled the pages of The Cantos Astrilae as I turned them.

  The bounds stood yet, and all sat well in the world.

  She came the night the stars bled, the night that the world trembled and time itself burned. She came on a steed of moonlight and blue fire, and the people trembled before her terrible beauty.

  She shone in the distance, a brilliant blue star among a multitude, shining against the vast darkness. She came swiftly and without caution, falling from the heavens like a wounded bird.

  Of course, the storytellers began their duty before she even came to ground. One of the sacred Guar’itz had come to the world, they said, arriving from the shining lands to bless the following year. Others named it a dire omen, proclaiming that it could only be the blue, burning heart of some daemonic abomination, ripped forth in combat and cast into the world below. Those who believed this knew of the blight that one single drop of blood from such a creature could cause, and fearful whispers spread among the people, who thought they might have to leave their valley.