Psychonautz

by Gentry Race

  Switch grabbed one of his dreadlocks and pulled the end back, revealing a small plug of some sort. He then pushed the plug into a nearby port on the console.

  “Get away from that,” Nathan demanded, aiming his pistol at Switch. “You don’t have clearance.”

  Switch ignored this order, typing more commands on the digital keyboard while he was plugged into the console. Nathan’s anger grew as he stepped toward Switch and batted him across the head with the heel of his gun. Switch fell to the floor, holding in the pain and pointing back toward the screen.

  “Ya see?” Switch said. “They’re making them.”

  “They’re making giant wolves?” Nathan said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “No,” Switch said, looking at him in disgust. “Fucking arachnids, man.”

  Nathan looked closer at the holographic screen. A small logo of a skull inside a space helmet with wings on its back and an explosion behind it headlined the screen. Below that, a ported suit like the one the creature wore spun on an axis. Nathan read the inscription: Psychonaut Program.

  “Were you plugged into that?” Nathan asked. “How did you get into the database?”

  “I’m a trustee. Earned good duty. I worked with the data streams in the Reform Facility. Used to have me all hyped out working the connections. Got these plugs done. They go straight into my cortex,” Switch said, standing up and rubbing his head. “Remember that big blackout across the Cluster Feed a few years back? That was my mom, but she got away and they got me instead.”

  Switch was clearly hyped out, and between his chaotic movements and the ridiculous story he spouted, Nathan could tell he probably had a hole the size of an asteroid in his brain by now. He thought Switch had probably been a user for too long, but those plugs in his hair were off-market upgrade stuff.

  “Your mom?” Nathan said with a chuckle. “That’s a tough break.”

  The Cluster Feed, or what the network of communication streams across the star systems was called, had gone black for a few cycles—three Earth hours, to be exact. The repercussions had been widespread throughout the galaxy, causing a shit-storm across many defense networks. Nathan lowered his gun, impressed with the pudgy dreadlocked criminal’s past but still on guard against his twitchy movements.

  “I remember when that happened. I ran a quick smash-and-grab job ’cause of that,” Nathan said, smiling. “So, what’s been going on in there?”

  Switch reached over, plugged in another dread, and typed a few more commands. A list of attributes side-scrolled slowly along the suit. Nathan was astounded when he read the ability stats and numerous failure rates.

  Forced Experimentation Program

  Ætheria User Reformer Inmates

  Alien Spliced Bioengineered Cortex

  Voxel Nanite Composition Suit

  Psycho Telekinetic Manifestation

  “Jesus,” Nathan said in awe, “that rainbow-haired chick was telling the truth.”

  “Rainbow-haired girl? Does she have a southern accent?” Switch asked, giving Nathan a puzzled look. “You saw this girl alive?”

  Nathan tried to ignore his question, studying the suit closer. The technical intricacies were more fascinating to him than what Switch was asking, but, alas, Switch continued to stare at him with intent until he finally answered.

  “Met her in a bar near here. Loved 20th century shit. Super country gal,” Nathan said. “Didn’t know those accents still existed.”

  “And by ‘super country,’ do you mean super crazy?” Switch asked. “That little firework escaped from the Reform Facility a few months back. Damn. I’m surprised she’d still be hanging around.”

  “Escaped?” Nathan said, surprised. “She said she was ‘phased out.’”

  “Phased out?” Switch said and chuckled to himself. “The girl caused a riot that nearly torched the whole facility. She and her man, Beightol, were chosen for the HOLE and she fucking lost it. Busted out from there. They said no one could do it, but she did. Probably had help from the outside.”

  “What’s the HOLE?” Nathan asked.

  “Humanitarian Oubliette Laboratory Experiments,” Swift said with a long drawl. “The HOLE is where all the black-ops shit goes down, under the Reform Facility.”

  Nathan thought for a moment. He needed to tell Richter about this. These crimes against humanity were damn near genocidal, and if the Alliance got wind of it... He gestured to Switch to keep typing.

  “Prompt up a messaging link to Sergeant Richter Collins on ROAS,” Nathan ordered. “He’s my brother. He’ll help us.”

  Switch plugged in another dreadlock tendril with a different attachment and typed some more, but to no avail. The screen went dark after summoning the request.

  “Looks like the ‘eye in the sky’ has gone dark,” Switch said.

  “What about inside the Reform Facility? Try Sasha Hastings.”

  Switch circumnavigated a few more menus while stopping at a red-haired female’s pic. Next to it was her bio-readout flashing brightly as she headed down into a restricted area.

  “Found her,” Switch said with a smile, but then quickly changed expressions when he realized where she was going, “Oh shit. She’s in the HOLE.”

  A red alert flashed across the screen, followed by orders and a countdown Nathan immediately recognized.

  “What the hell is that?” Switch asked.

  Nathan looked closer at the prompt, reading the standard military clean-up protocol. His stomach sank, and he knew that whatever he was going to do, he’d better get it done within four hours.

  “Well, what is it?” Switch asked.

  “They’re going to nuke the surface in four hours,” Nathan said, looking back at the snowy tundra and out to the Reform Facility. “Standard clean-up protocol when a sketchy project runs amuck. Fucking cowards.”

  “Well, uh,” Switch said, trying to reason with the news. “This bunker can handle that type of thing, right?”

  “Probably not.”

  Nathan thought for a moment. He needed to save Hastings, but what chance did he have in the Reform Facility? When it came to navigating the inner workings of the prison, he’d need a guide.

  “Switch,” Nathan said, raising the gun toward him, “I’m gonna need you to take me in there.”

  Switch’s eyes widened and he backed off, shaking his head. “No way, man. I don’t even know how to get to the ODL. They’re like a fucking myth in there. I was just a data streamer. Heard stories of them, though.”

  “If you can’t be there, then get me far enough to go on my own,” Nathan said, pushing the gun into Switch’s chest. “I mean, you’re an escapee. No one would care if I put a hot one in your chest.”

  “It’s not gonna matter in a few hours,” Switch said.

  “Die now or later,” Nathan said.

  “Okay, man,” Switch agreed. “I’ll get you as far as I know, but after that, you’re on your own. Then it's back to this bunker for me.”

  Nathan nodded.

  “So, what’s your plan for getting into the HOLE?” Switch asked. “That place is locked down tighter than a dolphin’s asshole.”

  Nathan looked back at the arctic tundra in the direction of the bar his brother had taken him to the night before. “Let’s hope our southern Rainbow Brite is still there.”

  5

  The air felt even more frigid on Oyria’s icy surface when Richter opened the cockpit. Perhaps it was just the weather, or maybe what Richter felt was dread about the coming event. He climbed out of the pod and hit the soft, slushy, chemical snow, drawing his gun and scanning the horizon for any escaped Reformers.

  He followed the horizon around, making sure the coast was clear, and stopped at the last place he’d seen his brother—Post 400A.

  “TRUDI, you still with me?” Richter called out.

  Her lustful voice scratched in his ear and then came in with full clarity. “Oh yes, sir. I could never leave you.”

  “Good,” Richter said with a smi
le, touching his neck and nanoprinting a one-piece glass over his right eye. “Now, I need full scans on the horizon at all times. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “Roger, sir,” TRUDI said with an exaggerated exhale. “What are first dates for?”

  Richter rolled his eyes. He swore to himself that when he found Nathan he’d have TRUDI’s sexuality dialed down. It had been fun back in his bunker, but at times like this it was kind of ridiculous.

  Trekking through the thick ammonia-filled slush, Richter turned the corner to see the door of Post 400A wide open and an article of clothing just outside. Upon inspection, the room was normal. Stats on terraforming were on par with the last reading taken twelve hours earlier.

  “Well, he ain’t here,” Richter said, walking out the front and looking back at the Reform Facility. “I hope he hasn’t gone to get her.”

  “Get who, sir?” TRUDI asked, now slightly envious.

  “Sasha Hastings, his old fling,” said Richter, poking around the clothing he saw on the ground. “Reformers were here. There was a shootout.”

  “Well, excuse me as I enact my jealousy mode,” TRUDI said.

  TRUDI suddenly lit up the horizon with a red wireframe mesh, contouring the tundra and the Reform Facility wall in the distance. A blip signaled just left of the building on the scan, alerting Richter’s attention.

  “There’s something out there,” TRUDI said. “Two human forms in the distance, one naked. Neither female, thank god.”

  Richter began to jog out toward the closest body lying there, lifelessly. He could feel his flight suit getting heavier as he ran, showing his exhaustion. ROAS’s artificial gravity had been making him soft. He needed to up his PT sessions.

  Just ten feet away now, TRUDI did a full scan on the body, wrapping a wire frame around what looked like a “he” and centering it in Richter’s glass frame. There was a large gash in the body’s stomach, and the blood was nothing more than black ice.

  “Reform inmate,” TRUDI said. “Cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds.”

  “He’s gone,” Richter said, kneeling to inspect the body. “Do a scan on the naked one in the distance.”

  TRUDI fluttered for a second. “Cause of death: exsanguination from a large gash.”

  Richter looked at the Post, scanning the trail of clothing leading to it.

  “He was being chased,” Richter said.

  “Just how I like it, sir,” TRUDI said, sounding another alert and highlighting two sets of footprints leading off into the distance. "Looks like he might be with her already.”

  Richter inspected the boot sizes—two males and said aloud, “One was Nathan, for sure. The other… flat-footed, possibly overweight.”

  He looked in the direction of the footprints and realized where they were headed. Of course, at a time like this Nathan would want a drink. He’d probably gotten wind of the planet’s fate and figured he’d spend his remaining time piss-ass drunk; hell, Richter might have made that decision as well.

  Sasha Hastings dropped the fire extinguisher, and the loud clank on the metal grating at her feet startled her. She looked at General Graham, holding what was left of his arm. His breath was rapid, but he was still alive. Hastings took off her white coat and ripped the sleeve from it, tying it around the general’s arm and twisting it down into a makeshift tourniquet. Graham grimaced in pain.

  “This is gonna slow down the bleeding,” Hastings said.

  “Until what?” General Graham sputtered. “You’re prolonging the inevitable. Get out of here and get some damn help.”

  Hastings tried to calm her thoughts, knowing she needed to get help. She ran over to a red and yellow phone attached to the wall next to the door and heard nothing when she picked it up. Having been with Rockheed for a while now, she remembered the quarantine operations that would ensue if there ever were an emergency, which included ROAS going dark.

  What the hell was going on? She’d never seen the Voxel suits act like this before. The manifestation of arachnids was insane, but not impossible. The fuel source for the unlimited printing in the Voxel suit was based on Æther received from the seed. If there’d somehow been a disruption in that process, there could be mutations that would spawn into unfavorable results. She had to see it for herself, but for now she needed to save Graham.

  Hastings ran to the balcony where they’d displayed Beightol earlier and saw that the pit was empty. She couldn’t make out any movement behind the tinted windows and wondered if the guards had been called out or, even worse, killed. She was just two floors above the HOLE where the developmental exosuits were.

  Reform inmate Beightol was the last to wear one. Perhaps the nanites were still engaged in the pit below. If she could get into a suit, she would have a chance of saving Graham. The nanophiles in the sleeve could repair his severed arm, alleviating the bleeding.

  She had the training. For months she’d been able to make it as a full-fledged Level Two user. Despite now being able to form complex weapons with moving parts, she had an affinity for something a bit more spectacular, something with more boom.

  Rockets.

  Hastings mounted the rail, lowered herself, and dropped into the pit. The air was colder than above. The vents that had swarmed Beightol and covered him in her pioneering masterpiece were still open. She checked the vents but saw no evidence of the bots. She needed to engage the bonding synthesis.

  Hastings ran to the nearest door. The handle was cold to the touch and didn’t budge when she placed the weight of her hand on it, which left her only one option. She ran to the seat that was mounted in the center pit, grabbed the back, and flung her weight against it. The chair ripped from its lower post. Hastings picked it up and threw it against the tinted glass with all her strength. After the immediate fallout, she peered over the jagged glass that jutted from the windowsill, recognizing the large, red button that engaged the nanite process. Since her body was already cataloged in the system, she wouldn’t need to perform any of the arduous scanning processes otherwise involved.

  She jumped up just enough to reach the button and slammed her fist down, hard. A red hue filled the room all around her as black swarms of nanites built around the vents in the corner, just like before. The process was starting. Hastings stood in the center of the room over the broken chair post with both arms flung out like the Vitruvian Man drawing.

  SMASH!

  Hastings' eyes widened at the sound from above. More were coming, and she had to hurry. She closed her eyes and thought of the one thing that made her calm—her family. The black nanites swarmed around her, building into a liquid mass up to her chin. Another minute passed and she could feel the amorphous liquid hardening to the familiar crystalline paneling of her porthole suit.

  “Aaaaahhh!” General Graham screamed from above.

  They were attacking him. She looked up and felt her chest portholes burning hot. She was activating the voxelization process. Two long, double-sided blades voxelized from each of her forearm portholes, gleaming an iridescent purple in the crimson light.

  "Level One,” Hastings said as an encapsulating helmet voxelized over her head from her thick-suited neck. Movement from above was confirmed in her HUD display, signaling trackers to target the creature—a terrifying arachnid, but this time larger, with white, bushy hairs. Shivers went down her spine as she imagined the eight beady eyes that accompanied such a beast, but it was too late to do anything other than react as the large, hairy creature lunged for her.

  Hastings dove out of the way as two large fangs fell towards her, sinking into the ground where she’d just been standing. She spun on her right knee and severed one of the arachnid's legs with her long forearm blade. It hit the floor and immediately shriveled away.

  The creature had fixed its position and was snarling face-forward at her. Hastings conjured her previously ingrained thoughts, trying to use her training to focus on the moment. Her body, she told herself, was just a vessel holding the real power—her psyche.

&n
bsp; “Time for Level Two,” Hastings said.

  She moved to all fours, tuning up the ports on her back to a bright, fiery yellow. Rods, panels, and complex mechanisms voxelized into each other just above her latissimus dorsi muscle. What looked like individual sections were now forming together into a single cohesive weapon with eight tubular holes—a back-mounted missile battery.

  She felt the weight and knew it was the launcher she’d been training to manifest.

  “One rocket for each eye, you nasty motherfucker,” Hastings growled.

  From within each tube she tried to grow incendiary rockets but to no avail. She wanted to send the whole array of missiles at the ugly creature but held back. Too many strikes could damage the load-bearing beams and crush her as well. The suit would withstand it, but she wasn’t sure she could ever dig herself out.

  She closed her eyes and nodded her head within her helmet, wincing as she realized her fate.

  “Sasha?” a voice echoed from above.

  Hastings looked up, and her visor HUD outlined a man holding an assault rifle with a large grenade-launcher below it. Next to him were six more men. The arachnid lunged at her. Hastings hit the ground, disassembling the missile battery on her back and forming a hard-paneled cocoon instead.

  “Shoot it!” Hastings yelled.

  The arachnid was on top of her now, trying to dig its large fangs into the Voxel-paneled suit.

  “Shoot what?” one soldier yelled.

  “I see dirt moving around her,” another soldier called out. “She’s protected now. Shoot!”

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Hastings felt the intense heat trying to make its way into the suit. She tucked her legs hard into a cradled position until the motion above her was over and the son-of-a-bitch thing was dead. The weight lifted, and Hastings disengaged the defense cocoon.