Baen Books Free Stories 2017

by Baen Books

  "What? Are you saying it was deliberate?"

  "Based on timing, it happened no more than a couple of minutes after that black thing first showed up, and only affected cameras and their storage. So yeah, deliberate."

  She frowned. "So this Princess Holy Aura—or, possibly, an ally of hers—is capable of delicate manipulation of metawave forces? Was there a metawave spike linked to that event?"

  "Good guess, Agent. A small one, would've been impossible to pull out of the noise if we didn't have good timing data to work from. Maybe two, three hundred."

  "That's not all that small, Gilbert," Hughes said.

  "Well, no, not for our normal stuff, but compared to the rock-worm, our magical princess, or that monster, it's way down in the noise."

  "Interesting. Can you show me a profile of all the spikes?"

  "Here, let's take a look at them on your terminal." He brought up the graphs. "As you can see—"

  Her phone buzzed; her hand yanked it out automatically. "Kisaragi."

  "Agent Kisaragi," came John Covenant's cultured, even tones, and she straightened to ramrod stiffness, eyes widening. He's calling me direct? What the hell?

  "Yes, sir?"

  "We have a . . . situation."

  "A . . . situation, sir?"

  "Yes. At the time you experienced your latest incident, multiple of our secure lockdowns simultaneously attempted containment breach. That is why we have not had time to respond to your queries."

  Lord. That can't be coincidence. "Understood, sir."

  "However, that's a minor issue."

  "Multiple simultaneous breach attempts are a minor issue?" She was so stunned by this that she omitted the usually-reflexive "sir" at the end.

  "In this case . . . yes." Covenant's voice was grim. "He wishes to speak with you."

  It felt as though a vise of spiked ice had just enclosed her chest. "Him? You mean—"

  "Subject 10-2197."

  She swallowed. She was vaguely aware that both Gilbert and Hughes were staring at her with concern. "I . . . no, Sir John, I will not."

  John Covenant did not reply for a moment. It was possible, she thought, that it had been literally years since anyone had so bluntly refused an obvious request.

  When he did speak, his voice was sympathetic . . . but edged in iron. "Agent Kisaragi, I understand your reluctance. I, myself, would prefer not to have any contact with 2197, nor allow anyone else to do so. But he insists that it is vital. And he will speak with no one else."

  "Did you ask to whom it was vital, sir?"

  "I'm afraid we did, yes. His response was 'oh, to her, of course. And perhaps a few billion others.'"

  She swallowed. "It will take me—"

  "We're authorizing special transport. You'll be here at Central within the hour."

  As she lowered the phone, Gilbert touched her shoulder. "Agent? Dana, you look terrible. Are you all right?"

  "Central's sending special transport," she whispered. "For me."

  "What? Oh, crap, they can't be blaming you for—"

  "Blaming?" She stared at them, and suddenly realized what they were thinking. "Oh, no, I'm not in trouble. No. Or . . . well, I am, but not like that." She took a breath, then picked up the cup of coffee and drained it. "I'm just suddenly in much more demand."

  Hughes' glasses glinted again, the eyes narrowed, and he suddenly nodded. "Something happened at Central. Something you're cleared for and we aren't."

  "Got it in one."

  "Son of a . . ." Gilbert grimaced. "So we proceed without you?"

  "And hope I come back. This might not be safe." It won't be. It never is.

  "You'll come back. This group of misfits would never work for anyone else," Gilbert said; she could see the worry in the fine lines between his brows.

  "I'll try. Look, just keep up the investigation. No matter what happens at Central, we still need answers. See if anyone saw Holy Aura depart, see if we can trace her. I'm a little more convinced she's on the side of the angels, but that doesn't change the mission. She's an unknown and we need info."

  "Count on us, Agent."

  "Now I'd better go down and get ready. Special transport doesn't wait."

  Chapter 6.

  "This is far as we come with you, Agent," Captain Eneru of Special Containment Force 6 said.

  She stared up at the huge black metal door. It was composed of an alloy that only OSC knew how to manufacture, and was emblazoned with a series of warning symbols that, if she hadn't known what lay beyond the door, would have looked like someone had simply thrown every possible hazard up at random, from the radiation trefoil to the eye-in-triangle that indicated metawave-mediated telepathic threats.

  Then the words penetrated. "What? But no one's allowed inside containment alone—"

  "Sir John's orders, Agent." Eneru's long face seemed to lengthen with disapproval under his visor. "I protested, ma'am, but he refused to change the directives. We're to stand guard outside and be ready to act if something untoward occurs."

  Meaning that if I come out and they have the slightest doubt about me in any way, they'll gun me down with everything they have. She noted with trepidation that SCF-6 wasn't armed solely with conventional or even super-advanced weaponry; one of them, Sergeant Collins if she remembered right, was holding the unmistakable silvery blowdryer-crossed-with bazooka shape of OSC-SE-231, a squat handled globe with cooling ports on the side and a massive barrel. SE-231 was the most powerful hand-carried weapon OSC had ever recovered and put back into service; she had no real idea where it came from, but she did know she'd seen a practice firing of it a few years ago. She wasn't even sure the isolation barrier she was facing would stand up to it.

  Oddly, the sight of it was a tiny bit more reassuring than it was terrifying. They're taking this seriously.

  But still . . . "Sir John?" she spoke to empty air. "Are you certain about this?"

  John Covenant's voice answered immediately from the grille near the isolation barrier; the associated small screen showed his image clearly. "Agent Kisaragi, I sincerely wish I was not. However, 2197 has initiated contact only three times previously, as you know, and the one time his request was refused we lost Installation Seventeen—with no survivors. I understand we cannot trust anything he says or does—"

  "No, you're right," she said, feeling her mouth going dry even as she said it. "You're right."

  "He said he must speak to you alone. No witnesses. No recordings of any kind by OSC. He permits you to bring your phone in and did not forbid you from making a record of your visit." The lean, dark face was tense, and she thought he somehow looked older than he had even two months ago, when this had all started. "I will not order you to do so. I will leave that to your discretion. Just remember what you are facing."

  "I have never forgotten that, sir. I don't think I ever will."

  His eyes met hers, and for a moment she felt a true shock of understanding in that gaze. "No, Agent; we never do." He nodded. "Carry on, Agent."

  She nodded, and turned.

  There was a hum and a rumbling clank as the door seals disengaged. The immense doors slid open with the heavy deliberation of armor plate, leaving a space just wide enough for her to walk through. She entered, passing the two-meter thickness of the doors, into the five-foot wide gap between the inner and outer isolation doors. Only when the outer doors had completely shut and the massive lock had re-engaged did the inner seal release and allow the inner isolation door—fully as thick as the outer—to open.

  Even now, she hesitated. With that door open, she could sense something ahead of her, a presence that was already alert to her own.

  "Please, Miss Kisaragi, come in. You have nothing to fear," a calm, low voice said from the dimness beyond. "I'm so glad you've come."

  Hearing that voice again sent a chill down her entire body. She remembered the scene again . . . the distorted, half-destroyed bodies, the warped beams and floor, the sulfurous, metallic tang in the air…

  Wi
th a tremendous effort, Dana Kisaragi took hold of her fear and controlled it, stepping briskly through the inner portal, halting a few feet past to allow it, too, to seal. It would not open now until she directed it to in the appropriate fashion.

  He was seated in a massive chair, almost a throne, behind the triple-layered isolation crystal. His voice could not pass directly through those layers; it was transmitted through a series of microphones and speakers, with multiple types of filters—regular and metawave-based—between the source and the output. The isolation crystal had defenses built into it as well. Within the enclosure, which was a full hundred feet across inside, were various amenities from a high-end bathroom to a well-stocked kitchen . . . all with completely transparent walls.

  She did not look directly at him; she didn't need to to know what she would see. Subject 10-2197 was humanoid—very humanoid—but not human, standing well over seven feet tall, built like a superlative swimmer—deep chest, strong arms, straight, lean contours—with a semi-tamed mane of white hair partially covering a crest or crown of red-striped white horns with seven points; his skin was smooth, shiny, and deeply tanned with a faint gray or purplish undertone, and from direct experience she knew was slightly warmer than human . . . and despite its apparent softness and flexibility could shrug off high-caliber rifle rounds without damage.

  2197 rose with the precision of a machine as she approached, and gave a bow. "Welcome to my home, Miss Kisaragi," he said. There was the slightest of shifts in the way he said the word home, and she shuddered. In that minuscule delay and emphasis she could sense a rage and hostility that might have matched the malevolence of the black thing at the mall. "How kind of you to answer my summons so quickly."

  "Sir John arranged it, not me."

  "Yes, he's been wise thus far. Only one serious mistake, and it cost him a mere two hundred fifty-seven lives, plus a few hundred disposables."

  "Disposables?"

  His head tilted, and he smiled. The smile was not comforting; it was the sort of smile you might expect on a robot that had seen the expression but had no idea of what it was supposed to convey. "Ah. So little you know of your own allies, Miss Kisaragi. And yet you chose them over me, though you knew at least as much about me."

  She shook her head; that voice was in her head again, even with the filters. She concentrated and let the nonsense mantras flow through her head; the pressure slowly ebbed. "What I knew about you was enough. Stop trying to mess with me or I'm walking out no matter what you say."

  This smile wasn't robotic, but it was no more comforting. "How quickly you have learned, Miss Kisaragi. Though that puerile method of mental protection would do you little good against any opponent of substance."

  "I have others. And I am Agent Kisaragi, 2197."

  "Tsk, tsk. You insist on a specific form of address and give me a number?"

  "I'm not saying your name."

  "No." He was somber for a moment. "No, you would not do that. You are no fool. More's the pity."

  "What did you want me for?"

  A glint of actual humor. "Oh, dear, Dana, that could be taken so amiss."

  "If I'd wanted that I could have had it," she said, deciding to throw caution to the wind. She was sick of this fencing, and sick of being afraid of this . . . thing.

  He gave a laugh, a quick barking sound that ended almost as it began. "Ha! Yes, you could. But instead you proved more than I had expected. Do you realize how fortunate the OSC was that day, Miss . . . Agent Kisaragi? How few people could have done what you did? I suspect Sir John does. That's why you've never been promoted, after all."

  "What? That makes no sense."

  "It makes all the sense in the world, Agent. Oh, all the sense in the world. You are necessary for him. To hold me." He extended his hand, and the inner barrier trembled. "Oh, you are not quite what you were, but not quite not what you were. Letting you become an Agent was a terrible risk for dear John, but he had little choice. He's running out of time."

  What the hell is he . . . She shoved the question out of her mind with difficulty. This was how 2197 worked. That damnable voice—and if he was out, something much worse—wormed into your head, made you question everything around you, listen to him more, and pretty soon black was white and night was day. "Back on topic. Last warning. You said this was vital."

  "Ahh." He sighed then sank back into his chair and steepled his fingers. "Business, then. About eighteen or nineteen of your hours ago, I sensed . . . something. There was a manifestation of considerable power, yes?"

  She considered, but if she didn't go along to some extent her visit was wasted. "Yes. Considerable."

  "And what was this manifestation?"

  "I think you already know," she said. "Or why demand I come?"

  He considered that. "Fair enough as a guess, Agent Kisaragi. Not quite to the mark, but fair. I have an idea of . . . shall we say, the type, or nature, of this manifestation but I know, at least now, nothing of the specifics and I need some sort of objective point to start with. Have you any data—any at all—you could share with me that might allow me to recognize this manifestation?"

  She glanced at him. "All right." With a few touches on her phone, she accessed the presentation screen. "Here."

  The screen lit up and played the stored clip of the monstrosity in the mall.

  Breath hissed from 2197, a sibilant sound of tension and revelation.

  "Sounds like you know something."

  "A shoggoth," he said finally. "That was a shoggoth."

  "What? But—"

  "Oh, yes, 'a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming,' as Lovecraft once said?" The mouth sneered, revealing sharp fangs. "Human minds touching upon the terror-filled Infinite, brushing the edges of horrors so alien to their world that their very presence can deform and twist nature to their needs, and you think they could even grasp the words necessary to describe this? That is the reality of a shoggoth, the living darkness that watches and hungers, the reason all life that has ever reached sapience throughout your plenum fears the shadows."

  His head came up. "But you survived this sight. You were there, Agent. Something stopped the Night-hunger. Something . . . unexpected, yes? A girl-child, not even of an age for a profession or wedding, yes?"

  How . . . ?

  Her expression must have given it away. He nodded. "Oh, my, my, my. I was right. Agent, you are in grave danger. As is everyone else on this world."

  "Except you?"

  He chuckled. "Oh, no, no. I assure you, just because I am something you think of as an adversary, do not make the mistake of thinking that means that all adversaries are my friends. Or that those which might be your allies or enemies would be either to me."

  He leaned forward in his thronelike chair. "Agent Kisaragi, you must be exceedingly careful. Far more careful than you have been, more than you imagine. The wrong move—in either direction—could spell the literal end."

  She was taken aback, a twist of her gut sending acid nausea through her. I think he means it. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that your OSC itself can be a terrible factor in your own world's destruction. It has a mission, and one that it views as good. Perhaps, even, it is good, in some ways, though your judgments of good and evil would rather differ from mine." He smiled again briefly, a true if cynical expression. "But if you simply proceed as their ideal Agent, Miss Kisaragi, you will risk not just you, not just me, not just your team or the OSC, but the entirety of this world."

  "Why should I believe you, of all people? You don't even care about this world!"

  "Oh, not true, not true. I care a great deal about this world, for reasons you do not yet comprehend—and I have at the moment no need to reveal them to you. But more importantly, I care about myself quite a bit, thank you. Your OSC has, I absolutely confess, managed a superlative job with this little containment facility. It suppresses me rather effectively. Which, if you can fol
low, means that it makes me defenseless against any threat that is of any significance."

  "You mean, if this . . . force you're worried about shows up, even if it broke the OSC, you might not recover fast enough to save yourself."

  "Precisely, Agent." He leaned forward, and while his voice was intense and earnest, she—to her surprise—heard none of the usual semi-hypnotic undertones. He was simply speaking to her, with no attempt to influence. "Miss Kisaragi, you are . . . not unique in the world, but possibly so in the OSC. You are the right person in the right position, but you know so little of what you face, or could face. You will be forced to decide how to deal with these forces, and what you do may tip the balance . . . and the obvious actions, or those that come Agency-recommended, may not be the right ones."

  "What the hell am I dealing with?"

  He closed his eyes and gave a faint smile. "Agent, I have my own agenda here, and of course I can be served by your own actions as well. So there are things I simply won't tell you. But I assure you that what I have said is literally true, and that if you turn this over to other Agents—if you let dear Sir John out there assign someone with more, shall we say, seniority over you? There is not the slightest chance that your world will survive."

  Dana Kisaragi met that eerie glowing gaze momentarily, and the chill through her body intensified. He was using none of his powers, overt or subtle; he was talking to her, not playing, and that meant . . . "You really mean it. The whole world. We're dealing with a Class Ten threat."

  The head came up, and he looked down at her as though she were a child. "You are dealing with magic, Agent. Let us dispense with the voodoo comfort of your 'metawave' terminology, your belief that since you have found a way to measure it, and to a minuscule extent contain it, you understand it. You understand nothing. This is magic, ancient and powerful beyond your knowledge, and there is Something coming for your world. The girl-child and her adversaries are only the beginning."

  "For people who understand nothing we've done well enough securing and countering you."