The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  It wasn’t. One of the creature’s legs caught me across the back, striking with razor sharpness. I felt a brief sliver of fire and pain.

  My pain was irrelevant. That light was the only light in this world.

  I could feel the creature turn, almost sense her chasing me. It was monstrously fast, and I could hear her hard carapace clicking against the stone as she scrabbled after me.

  I hurled myself into that light and slammed onto the tiled floor. My back screamed where the thing had ripped at me.

  —twenty-seven minutes. Asset 108. Please respond. You are location-unknown and tech adrift. You have been offline for twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds. Asset 108—

  Anya! I linked her in a panicked scream. The rift is still open! I turned and looked. The aberration had reached the crack. The air that sang through from that other place reeked of death and lost things.

  Michael?

  The spider-creature had three legs through the cleft. As I watched, she lowered her maw to the rift and pulled herself through.

  The creature was fully in Rational space. Between the dampener and the parts of her that were through the rift, she was no longer in her shadowed, shattered world.

  She was in mine. Rational physics applied.

  I still held the obsidian shard I had used to defend myself. I clenched it, my hand trembling.

  She lunged at me.

  I plunged the shard into her gaping, tooth-filled maw. This time, she was not some half-physical astral monstrosity. She was meat and chitin, blood and gristle. She screamed and sprayed gore as the shard tore through the top of her mouth, exploding out the top of her head. Brown, stinking viscera splattered all over me and sullied the white walls of the stall.

  Her screams no longer manifested only in my mind. Now they were rasping, howling wails. As her body convulsed, the creature dragged herself away from me. Her legs twitched madly. I tried to pull the shard free to attack her again, but it was slippery with her gore. Quickly, she retracted into the rift, and it faded from sight.

  With another instant, I could have jammed the Tabula Rasa down her throat. That would have been lovely.

  I sank down the side of the stall, covered in her viscera and my own blood. I smelled like grim death.

  Michael, I need you to respond.

  My system is green, Preceptor. I am wounded but whole.

  You are at Rationality zero, Michael. Your Crown is reading blood loss, fatigue, shock, and several torn muscles. Recommend immediate inoculation of type IV viral mecha.

  I pulled the injector from my shirt pocket.

  Copy that, Preceptor. The device hissed slightly as I injected the mecha into my leg.

  The door to the restroom opened, and I heard someone gag.

  “Are you—?” The voice choked. “Are you alright in there?”

  I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

  8

  Fortunately little time had passed. One thing about slipping into other, sub-rational places, sometimes there was slippage.

  Of course, Anya already had the clean-up crew en route. They would handle the aberration’s gore, as well as the memories of the three people who walked into the restroom before their arrival.

  I patched my Crown’s phaneric recordings to the Designate, who then made it available to Wyatt and Anya.

  That trap was set for us. I was still stinking of filth and gore as I walked through the airport. Only a Facility Preceptor would have found that snare. It’s not a coincidence that it was here, in the airport restroom.

  Unlikely. Anya’s coolness was sometimes maddening. Facility Assets do not typically use citizen transportation. Leaving such a snare here seems inefficient.

  I frowned, knowing she could sense my expression over the link. Except that it did, in fact, catch me, didn’t it? I’m not suggesting that this is the only location, Anya. I think it might have been one of several. I stopped and took a drink at a water fountain, trying to wash the taste of that awful wind from my mouth.

  You believe that the Irrats responsible for our strange telemetry readings summoned not one but several aberrations for surveillance?

  Not exactly. It was a predator and was not immediately on scene when the snare pulled me driftways into its topia. I think it has a web of those snares, likely across the city. The fact that we have triggered one might already be known to our Irrats.

  She was silent for a long moment. When she did link, she was cautious. If what you are saying is true, then the implications are that we are dealing with a higher sophistication level than we are accustomed to.

  I nodded, even though anyone around me would see me nodding at no one in particular. Correct. If true, it means that our Irrats know of the existence of the Facility and understand our protocols enough to lay a trap.

  I will bring this consideration to the Designate and patch the details of our conversation to Wyatt’s Crown. She paused. Do you have anything you would like to add to the packet?

  Only that I need a wash.

  That seems unrelated. We can stop and get you clean clothing if you require.

  I do require. Also about a gallon of cologne. I headed down the steps, ignoring the stares and disgust of the people I passed.

  I am pulling around to the south terminal now.

  I skipped the luggage terminal, as I had none with me. Once to the door, I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit up.

  The viral mecha in your bloodstream report you are at 88% efficiency, Michael. You might consider waiting before smok—

  I don’t care, Anya. I took a long, satisfying drag. Pick me up. Let’s get Guthrie and get this done.

  Affirmative, Asset. Her normally cool tone went frigid.

  Anya hated it when her advice was ignored.

  9

  Anya was driving a black sedan, no doubt one of the many Facility vehicles with odd axiomatic upgrades that were unknown to the world at large. As she pulled up, I put out my cigarette and hopped in shotgun.

  She said nothing but crinkled her nose ever so slightly. She shook her head, as if to clear the scent from her sinuses, and her straight, blonde hair bounced partially over her face. She pushed it back and looked at me with winter-blue eyes.

  For my ice princess, this spoke volumes.

  As a Preceptor, Anya had permanent Asset enhancements. Unlike Wyatt and myself, she never got to “take off” her life with the Facility. For Anya, this was a full time gig.

  I would say I felt sorry for her, but I genuinely didn’t know if she could suffer. Emotions weren’t her strong suit.

  The Preceptors were living diagnostic operatives, capable of coordinating a team and keeping them apprised at all times of their statuses. Anya was particularly skilled, capable of watching my vitality statistics even as she read ambient Rationality levels and worked to sustain them. She was a marvel in a tight spot.

  But…

  Wyatt and I had noticed commonalities amongst the Preceptors. For one, they were all hyper-intelligent. They were wonderfully fit in all the most enticing ways. They were all Russian, and they were all women. Stunningly beautiful women, to be exact.

  “It’s Facility 8,” Wyatt had observed with a grin. We had been chatting about the Preceptors while waiting to be debriefed. “I know it’s somewhere in Moscow; I just don’t know where. That must be where the Preceptors are geared up.”

  “Why all women?” I had furrowed my brow, trying to sort it out.

  “Why are they all gorgeous?” Wyatt chuckled. “I wager they have to be genetically perfect to accept the neural architecture. Whatever the reason, I’ve never seen an ugly Preceptor.”

  “I’ve never seen an average looking Preceptor.” I smiled at him, and he nodded.

  So yes. Anya was a wonderful person, but she wasn’t quite a person at all in some ways. She practically never got even my wittiest jokes, and she was so beautiful as to seem unreal.

  I told her, “Stop at a gas station or something, and I’ll wash.”
My jacket was ruined, I was certain. I held it on my lap and used one of the cleaner parts to wipe my face.

  We will be fine until we get to Asset Guthrie’s location. She cracked her window.

  I will not. I gave her an ingratiating smile. If we don’t stop, I’ll be sitting in this filth far too long.

  Understood. She seemed exasperated. There is a small convenience store .23 kilometers ahead.

  Yes. That one. As soon as possible. I opened a channel to include Wyatt. We’re en route, Wyatt.

  Wyatt Guthrie is currently unavailable. Anya’s head twitched, just the slightest amount as the link came in.

  I rolled my eyes and linked to her. Seriously?

  Asset Guthrie’s behavioral quirks are well documented. She pushed a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. Even though he is offline, his beacon remains active.

  “That’s quite responsible actually.” I gave her a glance. “For Wyatt, anyway.”

  I can contact the Designate if you feel that your link to Asset Guthrie is an emergency. I am certain she would allow me to override his Crown settings.

  I sighed. “No, that’s fine. I’m certain Wyatt considers it the height of courtesy that he even let us know where he is.”

  Asset Guthrie is currently located approximately fifteen kilometers west of town, in a small restaurant named The Booby Trap.

  I snorted. “I doubt that it’s a restaurant.”

  Anya didn’t even blink. It is possible that my intel needs updating. Regardless, it will take us approximately twenty-three minutes to arrive at The Booby Trap.

  I had nothing to say to that.

  We stopped at the small convenience store, only to find the restroom closed. After some loud discussion, the attendant agreed to let me wash up at one of the sinks, his nose covered by his shirt the entire time.

  I had the gore off, but some of the scent remained when Anya linked to me.

  Michael, I had hoped I could show you some analysis I did on the dossier while you were on the plane. I compiled some data that I believe you will find fascinating.

  I’ll be right there. I truly preferred to actually speak when I had the chance. I finished up and stepped outside.

  I left my suit jacket in the trash.

  “It sounds like you got more done than I did.” I gave her a smile as I slid into the seat. “Send the patch, and I’ll review it.”

  Patch 12.7A is not as large as the dossier. I’ve configured it to load to your memory for simplicity.

  “Thanks for the warning.” I had scarcely finished the sentence when I felt the odd jolt on the left side of my Crown. Uncomfortable and jarring, I disliked the sensation.

  It was easy to take for granted the simplicity of our Crown’s communication systems. When Anya sent me her patch or when I sent the records of what happened in the airport, the data could be automatically config’d for memory if the patch was small enough, unlike the dossier where direct-to-memory was one of several input options. For me, the dossier was something that should be perused, studied; it held too much data to upload into memory all at once.

  Her patch immediately became something that I had always known, as if it had happened when I was a child.

  “Patch received Anya.” I blinked as the data meshed with my knowledge of the dossier. “That is interesting.”

  Anya had caught something I never would have in the series of Irrational spikes. When I looked at how far above Rationality zero those spikes had occurred, I saw a pattern materialize.

  “Are these Fibonacci numbers?” I didn’t actually need to ask. The mathematical pattern was obvious; each number equaled the two before it. I had noticed that they were intense, exact bursts, but this was more than exactness. This was the perfect precision of computerized automation.

  Indeed. The Fibonacci sequence may have occurred naturally. She responded to my thoughts. It is a pattern that occurs often enough in nature.

  “Of course. I know that it occurs in nature. This just seems too coincidental.”

  If you look at frame 13:05, you will notice that the spike comes close to overwhelming the localized axioms and creating alterations to reality. At 13:23, the spike only reaches the next Fibonacci level down. Because the previous spike weakened Rationality at this location, this spike is as strong as it can possibly be without creating a rift in the local veil.

  “The next is the same.” It was an odd realization. “The first weakened ambient Rationality, almost to the tearing point. The second struck again, almost to the tearing point, but was much smaller and much faster.”

  They were picoseconds long in some cases.

  I nodded. “Hmm. Our Irrats could have created a rift if they had chosen to. A large one. It seems as if they chose not to.”

  It is confusing. They create spikes so massive that we cannot help but see, but at the same time seem careful not to damage the veil.

  Was it a warning? A challenge?

  “They know about the Facility, if my theory about the snare in the airport holds true. Do you think they are just toying with us? Showing some teeth?”

  I need more information to answer that, Michael. I watched her fingers twitch in the odd way they sometimes did when she was compiling data. Once I get further readings, we may be able to draw a conclusion.

  I hoped so.

  In my line of work, few things were as dangerous as mysteries.

  10

  I paid careful attention to Anya as we pulled into the parking lot of The Booby Trap. It seemed as if she took no particular note of the buxom woman in neon and thought nothing amiss about the large number of pickup trucks and motorcycles.

  When she stopped the car, she made to get out and come in with me.

  “Anya, I wondered if you would take another look at the data while I corralled Wyatt?” I gave a hopeful look. “I’m really impressed at the patterns you found. I found nothing of real import on my entire trip.”

  If you think that’s best, Michael. I was interested in running some area background checks as well. Perhaps other Assets have documented data that could help us.

  “That sounds great. I’ll step inside. If we are going to be a moment, I’ll let you know.”

  Affirmative.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped from the car.

  The Booby Trap was exactly what I expected on the inside. I had no pre-formed ideas of gentlemen’s clubs, but I knew Wyatt. So no, I wasn’t surprised at the haze of cigarette smoke or the men sitting at the bar. I expected half-clad girls to meet me at the door, and two did.

  I ignored the way that the blonde wrinkled her nose.

  “You look like you’ve had an interesting day.” The shorter one, a pretty brunette, smiled through my stench.

  “Sadly, I’m looking for a friend and don’t have the time to relax.” I sent a quick link, even as I said it.

  Wyatt Guthrie is currently unavailable.

  “We can be friends.” She wore her dark hair in a ponytail. I appreciated that she was fresh-faced, in the way so few dancers actually were.

  I gave her my best smile. “My friend is hairy and has a loud mouth.” I put my hand on her waist. “I’ll tell you what. Let me get settled in, and I promise that I’ll give you some attention.”

  Her blonde friend smiled. “We’re supposed to give you the attention.” She bit her lip.

  “Maybe you’ll get that chance. For now, can you bring me some bourbon?”

  She nodded, and I walked into the club.

  The girl on stage was dancing to “Friends in Low Places,” which I found eminently amusing. Like the two who had met me at the door, she didn’t appear broken or worn. She swayed her hips and mouthed the words as she danced. The men at the stage sang with her, yelling the last word.

  “I’m not big on social graces—

  Think I’ll slip on down to the OASIS!”

  “Seven dollars.”

  The blonde girl had slipped up beside me.

  I looked at her, taken a
back by the price.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.” She gave me a winsome smile.

  “Seriously.” I handed her my card. Moments later, she was back, and I was sipping the best watered-down bourbon the county had to offer.

  As pretty as the girl on stage was, I wasn’t here for her dancing or her creamy skin. I peered through the crowd, looking for the hairiest man I could find.

  There.

  Wyatt Guthrie sat in one of the large, plush chairs in the back. A young Asian woman writhed on his lap, rubbing herself all over him.

  I took a table nearby, hoping he would notice without me having to actually walk over and interrupt them.

  No. He was paying her for the next song as well, a large grin on his goofy face.

  Wyatt Guthrie is currently unavailable.

  Damn it.

  Anya, I have decided to take you up on your offer. Can you get the Designate to let you override his Crown settings?

  Of course, Michael. There was a pause. Then, I felt a momentary whirring in my Crown and heard a click. His channel is open. You should be aware that his current blood alcohol level is .027%. I would suggest the use of—

  Type III viral mecha. Yes, Anya, Thank you. I cut the link.

  I grinned and turned so I could see the look on his face the moment I linked him.

  Hey there, buddy.

  His dismay was priceless, truly a work of art. Right in the middle of a truly perfect moment, where the dancer was rubbing his hairy face onto her chest, I heard him exclaim, “Oh, God dammit.”

  He looked at me, and I raised my glass to him.

  You could let a man finish up. His irritation was plain.

  You do what you have to. Just remember, this entire incident is being recorded on my Crown. The Designates will see my phaneric record.

  Bishop, you are a piece of work. He spoke to the dancer and pointed at me. I raised my glass to her as well. I clearly saw when he muttered the word “asshole.”

  Wyatt Guthrie walked over to my table. A bear of a man, he stood almost a head taller than me. He was broad shouldered as well and always dressed as a good ol’ country boy. Today was jeans, a beat-up Stetson, and wide sunglasses that looked like they were ten years old.