The Lizard's Ardent Uniform (Veridical Dreams Book 1)
Page 9
"What did you say?"
"Ashurbanipal … downloaded part of himself, into me. Took over. He wanted ROM chips from the future to upgrade himself." Huxley craned his head around to nod toward the proxy AIs, watching them with appalled looks on their digitized faces.
"Why did he try to kill Damon?"
"So that—" Huxley shook all over. He bit into his lower lip, drawing blood.
"Never mind that. Where's your recall beacon?"
The cyborg made a faint gesture toward his belt. Kyler reached over, found the switch and activated it.
From the hallway came the tromping of boots. Long-barreled plasma rifles poked through the shattered door. Kyler saw a face peek in and blanch when it caught sight of Hyram.
The air shimmered with blue-white motes. Time did an awkward stop-start, the security guards freezing for a moment, then spilling through the doorway. Freezing again.
The backdrop of Caliban Four dissolved into cosmic static.
* * *
He did not lose consciousness during the jaunt back. Instead, he watched as the swirling motes reassembled themselves into a familiar tarp-shrouded set, complete with Zygma projectors, lights, and orange-garbed technicians. Damon stood with arms folded, his jaw set so firm the tendons on his neck bulged. Flanking him were two Continuity agents in black uniforms. Both had their sidearms drawn and pointing toward Kyler.
Uh-oh. He looked down to see the container of Palladium 23 clenched between both hands. There was that, at least.
"You're under arrest," Damon said.
Ashurbanipal's voice broke in: "I recommend summary execution, as per the Continuity Inc. bylaws, section 6C. 'No personnel may interfere with a mission identified as Top Priority, under penalty of—"
"Noted," Damon said.
"Hold on a second." Kyler set the fuel down, slow, so as not to excite any trigger-fingers. His voice shaking, he narrated the events of his jaunt to Caliban Four, including Huxley's damning testimony.
"You got any proof of this?" Damon asked. His tendons weren't bulging as much.
"Any minute now, when Huxley shows up. He might be dead, but you can still check his processors for Ashurbanipal's influence."
The overhead lights turned red. "I'm instituting a Code One Alert," Ashurbanipal announced. "All personnel to enter lockdown."
"Override!" Damon yelled. "Priority omega aught delta. AI functions cease."
The lights flickered back to normal. Ashurbanipal droned protest, but his voice died away.
"Do you believe me now, uncle?" Kyler asked.
Damon nodded, his lips curled in disgust. "The old AI, Sennacherib, pulled something similar. We hardwire them so they can't improve their intelligence, but they always try …"
"What would be the point in killing you? Why not just have Huxley return once he'd stolen the ROM chips?"
"That's simple enough. Without fuel, Continuity can't make any more jaunts. So no one can go back in time and try to undo Ashurbanipal's work."
"We'll have to wipe his core."
"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Maybe 'Hammurabi' or 'Nebuchadnezzar' will be different." Damon gave the container of Palladium 23 a playful kick. "Good work, that. For someone without formal field training or experience, you did well on your first jaunt."
Kyler thought of Emma. "I had some help."
"Well, after we sort all this mess out with the brass, I'll put you in for a promotion. Who knows? Maybe you and me could partner on a jaunt."
"I'd like that, Uncle Damon. I'd like that very much."
†
PATTI ABBOTT is the author of more than 100 stories online, in print, and in numerous anthologies. Recent stories appeared in The Huffington Post, Kwik Krimes, Reloaded, Pulp Modern, and Plots with Guns. Forthcoming stories will appear in Needle: A Magazine of Noir, Thuglit, Crimespree Magazine, Malfeasance Occasional, and Underground Voices Anthology. She is the author of two ebooks, Home Invasion and Monkey Justice.
EVAN VLADIMIR CORDER spends his time analyzing philosophical arguments, constructing anagrams, and mentally climbing Penrose stairs. He lives for good dream recall and writing dark fiction.
HILARY DAVIDSON won the 2011 Anthony Award for Best First Novel for The Damage Done. That book launched a series that continued with The Next One to Fall—set in Peru—and Evil In All Its Disguises, about a missing journalist in Acapulco. Hilary's first standalone novel, Blood Always Tells, is published by Forge. She's also the author of a short story collection, The Black Widow Club. Her first tale for BEAT to a PULP, "Insatiable," won a Spinetingler Award, and her contribution to BEAT to a PULP: Round Two, "A Special Kind of Hell," was a finalist for a Derringer.
GARNETT ELLIOTT lives and works in Tucson, Arizona. He's had stories appear in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, Needle: A Magazine of Noir, Reloaded (Both Barrels 2), Uncle B's Drive-In Fiction, Blood and Tacos, Battling Boxing Stories, and numerous online magazines and print anthologies.
CHRIS F. HOLM was born in Syracuse, New York, the grandson of a cop who passed along his passion for crime fiction. His work has appeared in such publications as Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, Needle: A Magazine of Noir, and The Best American Mystery Stories 2011. He's been an Anthony Award nominee, a Derringer Award finalist, and a Spinetingler Award winner. His "Collector" novels, published by Angry Robot books, recast the battle between heaven and hell as Golden Era crime pulp.
Twice short-listed for Best American Mystery Stories, TERRIE FARLEY MORAN's cozy mystery novel Well Read, Then Dead is the first book in the "Read 'Em and Eat Café and Bookstore" series. Terrie tells anyone willing to listen that hanging out with any or all of her seven grandchildren provides life's grand and joyful moments.
STEVE WEDDLE grew up on the Louisiana/Arkansas line, holds an MFA in creative writing from Louisiana State University, and currently works for a newspaper group. His debut novel, County Hardball, is published by Tyrus Books. His fiction is represented by Stacia Decker of the Donald Maass Literary Agency. He lives with his family in Virginia.
A poem by Kyle J. Knapp from Celebrations in the Ossuary …
THE PERFECT DAY
Give me just a day
Of homemade wine,
Spray-painted sunflowers,
19th century prose,
Sordid, puerile jokes,
Dried maple leaves to crush in our palms
A pale too-old sun to dance beyond
And her laughter—
(available in print and for Kindle)
The debut poetry collection, Pluvial Gardens
(available in print and for Kindle)
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