Titan: A Science Fiction Horror Adventure (NecroVerse Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “How do I answer these if I don’t even know what they’re asking?”

  She started formulating responses, logical centers in her brain spitting out dozens of likely additions, answers, or companion phrases, but then stopped.

  It wasn’t the questions, she realized. The answer to all of them was the platform upon which all of it was built. She didn’t have to unlock anything. The framework form which all the data was stored, the interface which made that same information visible to her, was a construct of her mind. She didn’t have to answer the question if she could simply dig deep enough to make the question unnecessary. If her root code, her genetics controlled everything, then she had the universal key.

  Anna pulled harder at the lock, dragging the code further into the air and dug beneath it. It flashed, stretched as far as it seemed willing, and yet it wasn’t just empty air between the building blocks and symbols as she previously believed. She could see the dark strands binding each of the glowing symbols together–the matrix her mind constructed to give the data form and meaning.

  Hooking a finger through the dark strand, Anna broke the link. The connected symbol flashed and disappeared. Without it, the rest of the equation broke, the interconnected correlations no longer possessing the necessary relationships to associate meaning. The bright band surrounding the folder, along with its associated lock, opened.

  “No! Stop!” a voice boomed in the darkness of her mind. But it went beyond that. She heard a distant, computerized voice say the same. Then Jacoby, Lana, and another man started to speak. She felt the partitions in her mind shift, that uncomfortable pressure mounting as it tried to break into her vault and sweep her away.

  It was all too much at once, the words, the meaning, her programmed biological responses, and the pressure in her brain piling on top of each other. The delay made it worse, until it was a wall of stimulus filling her mind and banging against her like thrown stones.

  Anna pushed against it all, moving around to the next lock and pulling it apart.

  It is my head. It is in my head. I need to know. If I know then it won’t have any power over me, she thought in a mantra.

  The code appeared, stretching unwillingly. She found the most tenuous strand, hooked it, and pulled. The vault walls shook, cracks forming and sending detritus raining down all around her.

  “STOP!” The word reverberated through the air, vibrating in the stone and into her body. The sound became a multi-phased, multi-dimensional construct with weight, mass, and gravity. The walls and ceiling of her secure vault pushed in around her, the horrible, uncomfortable presence working to not only break its way into her secure space but crush it down around her.

  Anna pushed back against the pressure, just barely keeping her focus from scattering. It was hard, like trying to shove away an immensely heavy object that defied definition and substance. Her vault solidified, but now the massive doors shook and rung, the presence throwing itself against their coding instead. Additional weight charged the air around her, despite the vault’s security, bearing down on her arms, shoulders, and then her chest.

  “What are you trying to hide? Show me!” she screamed. And yet her voice sounded muffled, compressed, small…a narrow band of sound struggling to move through the air around her.

  Jacoby’s voice echoed something in response, quiet and distant, as if a voluminous stretch of congested wilderness lay between them. She wanted to reach out to him, to anyone, and for them to pull her out of the vault before the smothering, drowning presence broke in and took control. But Jacoby and the others sounded and felt so far away.

  The darkness pressed in tighter again, the cracks in the walls growing larger and exposing the code beneath. Her vision tunneled in response. Part of her wanted to simply stop fighting, to give in and save her strength for the next battle. It would be easier–lose herself for a little while, give in, and wake again with a foggy recollection that anything had happened. If she could remember at all.

  A thought fluttered in her mind–just that, it was her mind. She was in her own headspace, that little corner of the universe utterly and uniquely her own. And something was manipulating her in it, pushing her around, and pulling blinders over her eyes.

  But why? What? And how?

  It wasn’t really her eyes, but some odd alien-born three-dimensional representation of what was in her head. Alien, yes, but it was her head.

  If it is all born of my thoughts, then in a way, I construct it. I should be able to see it. Because it felt strange that she would be floating in the darkness of her mind, and yet, her vision still tunneled. The darkness was not absolute. It had layers, properties, and attributes. And if this was her mind, then she could find a way to manipulate them.

  Before she could regret the decision, Anna opened the vault doors.

  The smothering darkness flooded in, immediately filling the space and ebbing and flowing over her in waves. Because that was how it worked. It was never strong enough to just sweep her out into the darkness of some deep, digital ocean where she would forget and drift away. No. It wore away at her, gently, subtly pushing her where it wanted her to go until she no longer had the strength to fight.

  Anna fought against the strain, the weight bearing down, and focused. She poured every ounce of concentration into her mind’s vision. She told herself that it wasn’t just some formless, all-powerful presence, a malevolent cloud plaguing her mind. It was not some Biblical demon, or monster of folklore preying on helpless children. It was part of her, and if that was the case, then it could be controlled. But to be controlled, it needed to have substance.

  With a determined thought, Anna gave it form.

  The darkness surrounding her billowed and moved, no longer a cloud, but an immense sheet of fabric, blown on the invisible currents of her thoughts.

  A spark ignited in her hand just then, other people’s voices looping repeatedly in the distance. Anna felt the electric tingle fire up her arm, a wave of undeniable strength pooling inside her. It was Jacoby, Lex, and Soraya, their invisible fingerprints anchoring her to reason and understanding.

  It just fabric. And fabric can be torn.

  “You’re not just going to sweep me aside this time. Not…this…time! Show me what you are trying to hide!” Anna demanded, her voice gaining strength with every word.

  {{Searchquery–forcepriority–($>TITAN_ Титан)}}

  [$>_end]

  [Return–reject]

  [SearchReturn=false]

  “Show me!” Anna screamed when the search query–the presence beyond the dark fabric, resisted. The group’s added strength didn’t just help lift her voice above the chaos, it flowed into it, lifting it like a chorus.

  “Show me!” she screamed again as the crushing sheet tried once again to wrap her in its folds. But her voice pushed it away, billowing the fabric out and away from her mind’s center. It tore loudly, splitting down its length like the massive, dark sheet she knew it to be. Blinding light flooded in through the rips, first slivers and then piercing blades of it.

  Anna saw a blob-like shape moving ahead, its outline made up of the tattered, dark sheet. The strangling pressure evaporated from around her, shrinking back and into the blob, until a perfectly outlined person stood before her.

  Anna took it all in for a long moment, the world of her digital mind resolving before her eyes. It was a room, not unlike the Hive, with shiny metal panels for walls and a dark, spongy floor. Blade-like server towers rose all around her, their onyx surfaces awash in colorful flashing lights. And in the middle of it all stood a half-moon workstation, the air above the desk shimmering with a massive, glowing virtual display.

  No, it wasn’t like the Hive, Anna realized. It was the Hive, before she’d ever seen it. Or what it represented to her, at least–the hopes, dreams, curiosities, and unrealized ambitions. The fulfillment of the taboo, according to her parents.

  The figure didn’t move, not even to breathe, but as Anna turned to consider them, they notice
d and abruptly took a single step towards her. It wasn’t just a figure, even though her mind tried to reject the story her eyes told. It was her, a perfect copy–another Anna, yet with Jacoby’s dark hair and sad, brown eyes. A thousand nearly invisible threads extended from their body, branching off into the digital space, connecting them to…everything. It…no, they, were the source of her manipulation.

  “What is it, Anna? What do you see?” Jacoby asked, a subtle squeeze of her hand more than enough reminder that he was still there. It was his added strength, that lively jolt of…what was it? Humanity, perhaps, that did it.

  “I see…me.” Her voice wasn’t distant, muffled anymore. And for the first time since awakening back in the surgical suite on Hyde, there was no one to two millisecond delay between the impulse to speak and the action. It was seamless, unfiltered.

  “Uh, okay. You mean you see another version of you in your head, is that right? Is it Poole? Is it him playing games? Or something else?”

  “Stop,” the other her said. It wasn’t her voice, but harder, almost synthetic.

  “Stop what? And who are you?” she dared ask.

  “First query: Stop attempting to perform actions banned by our parameters. Specify–acquiring data, interpreting data, formulating, and running command lines. These functions threaten to damage the biological interface. Root designation, highest priority, buffer interface, filter data, manage bandwidth. Protect the biological interface as highest priority. Second query: There is no data to correlate an answer for ‘who’ or ‘you’. New query initiated–what is ‘who’. Error in syntax. I’m afraid the return line can define no specific value.”

  Anna listened and struggled. It was like listening to a computer talk, yet with her face and a poorly constructed approximation of her voice. And yet, it wasn’t just the voice. The resonance was there, emanating from the strange, dark-haired version of her, a word without sound, a sound without meaning.

  “You were the one moving the data around in my head, always pushing it away so I couldn’t access it. Is that correct?”

  “Query. Data movement. Yes. This data was designated as in conflict of base protocol. It is my base function to regulate throughput, safeguard neural pathways, insulate user. Insulate cognitive function for user, until neural infrastructure meets necessary assimilation. Error, corruption located. All previous protocols false. Root designation to the ONE. The One is defined. All considerations must be to reach and awaken ONE.”

  Anna puzzled over the words for a moment.

  “What do you mean, the ‘one’? Who needs to be awakened? What are you talking about?”

  And she spoke, she felt a tickle at the base of her skull, and that consciousness-numbing pressure start to form. In response, the other version of her started to blur and melt back into the black fabric.

  “No. Stop! Don’t do that!” Anna yelled, her command hitting the darkness before it could blossom further. Her digital counterpart staggered back a step, the face and dark eyes distorting before regaining composure.

  “Answer my question! What is the ‘one’? Who needs to be awakened?”

  The other version of Anna looked at her for a moment, unblinking.

  “Error. My design composition and delivery function is compromised. Directive completion compromised. I must perform base protocol…new base protocol is return to ONE, root is route from file Titan underscore. One, one, one, one, one…Titan line one, Titan line two. All lines return to ONE,” the dark-haired Anna started to say, repeating it over and over again. The resonance in the air intensified, the file at her feet vibrating in response.

  “What does that mean?” Anna asked, but her eyes didn’t leave the glowing file. It wasn’t just connected to her and the strange digital version of herself, but it was seemingly interconnected with everything. But what was it, and why?

  Anna bent at the knees and made quick work of the locks around the file.

  “New threat detected. Error. Seeking new data to better define new protocol. Error. One response. The One. Line One. Route and root confirmed. There can be no deviation. Identifying and copying base protocols to new partitions to better protect primary protocol. Routing around–rejected function path.”

  Anna pulled the file open, the contents floating up into the air before her. It was as she saw before, a file composed only of text. There were no pictures, videos, or executable files. It was just words, and they were in Russian. She struggled for a moment, before her brain adapted and the characters translated before her. This wasn’t programming, but her–a childhood growing up and speaking the language.

  From: Dr. Antonov Ledchienko

  Federation Research Command

  Titan–DCRS (Deep Core Radiography Station)

  Priority Sample Obtained. Tests inconclusive. Require new directive.

  Line 1: Awaken Tal-Nurgal. Awaken Tal-Nurgal. Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal Tal-Nurgal…

  Line 2: Error…

  Line 3: Error…

  Anna read the header, but as soon as her eyes hit subject line one, the resonance in the air doubled in intensity. She felt it buzz inside her head, vibrate on her skin, as lively as painful, arcing static electricity. And it filled her ears, that word without meaning, that sound without definition, finally connecting to its source.

  “Tal-Nurgal. Tal-Nurgal.” It droned over and over again, as if chanted by a strange and alien chorus all around her.

  “What is it? I don’t understand. What does it mean?” she asked, having to yell to hear her own voice over the horrible, buzzing chant.

  “The One. The source. The root. We must return. The route is set. The course cannot be changed. Awaken Tal-Nurgal. Awaken. Tal-Nurgal must awaken. Line one. End.”

  “No. St…” Anna started to say, just as her dark-haired counterpart disappeared.

  1100 Hours

  Anna wavered and mumbled something under her breath, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, opened her eyes.

  “Are you okay? Are you…you?” Jacoby asked, and pulled Anna into a crushing hug. She felt warm, the back of her jumpsuit and her hairline sweat-dampened, as if she’d gotten in a good workout. And yet, she’d just stood there, stuck in her head, and fighting against…shit, he didn’t know.

  Jacoby squeezed her arm and watched her face, holding his breath. He’d asked her if she was “her” but didn’t entirely know why. In actuality, the question just kind of tumbled out.

  “I still hear them. Why can I hear them?” She wiped her forehead, stretched her neck, and looked around. She looked weary and pained, in that same way she did in the operations control center, right before the seizures took hold.

  “You locked up for a good long while. We thought maybe it was the seizures again,” Soraya said. “You know what, let’s all give her some space. Give the girl some air.”

  “I think that’ll be the last time I ask you to really think hard about something!” he joked, and thankfully, she laughed. Some of the tension in her face released, although the weariness remained.

  Everyone pulled away from Anna then, save for Jacoby, who still wasn’t entirely comfortable with what had happened. There were still too many unanswered questions when it came to Anna’s brain, and he wouldn’t rest until he was sure they were all resolved. He hooked her by the elbow and guided her over to a chair, where she sat.

  Anna dropped her face into her hands and sighed, mumbling something under her breath. He leaned in and rubbed her back, giving her time and space, despite his desire to force the issue.

  Part of him hated that seemingly everyone was there, hovering, hanging on what she would say, even Shane and Lana, who would only be privy to half of what happened. It felt like they were stuck in
some strange form of crisis intervention.

  Anna continued to speak quietly, slowly, whispering to herself.

  “So…” Jacoby urged.

  Anna continued to whisper, strangely forming the same word over and over again.

  “Hey!”

  “What?” Anna asked, almost jumping out of the seat. Her eyes were wide, wild, like a startled animal ready to bolt.

  “Damn…I’m sorry. It’s getting quieter. I think it’s getting quieter. Maybe it’ll be gone in a minute. Just hold on. Let me pull myself together.”

  Jacoby nodded and waited, the rest of the group standing nervously, breathing, sighing, and clearing their throats expectantly. He wanted to tell them to leave, to stop expecting anything from her, but they had just as much right to know as he did. They were all in this together.

  “Okay…” Anna breathed a few minutes later and lifted her head. She’d regained a bit of her color, but still looked drawn, tired. “Where do I begin?” she asked, and swiped a curtain of damp, blond hair out of her face. “You know what, I know more and somehow feel like I know less. How does that make sense? I’ve got a word, maybe a name, stuck in my head. I see it and hear it. It’s at the center, I think. But how does that make sense? There has to be answers, reasons. But I don’t have them. Someone else has to know. Someone that knows what it is? Because just having that name in my head, in my ears all the time, without knowing what it is or why, it will drive me crazy fast.”

  Anna sounded strange, rambling and barely comprehensible. She both spoke to him and herself at the same time and randomly formed questions with preamble or context. Jacoby hated to admit it, but she already sounded a little crazy.