Aberrant Vectors: A Cyberpunk Espionage Tale of Eldritch Horror (The Dossiers of Asset 108 Book 3) Read online

  I gaped at the sheer volume of the wet, dripping mass.

  “Someone had a really shitty day.”

  The last vestiges of my good mood vanished. I moved forward, my expectations grim as I stepped through the conduit.

  Cool air carrying an unfamiliar scent of rot rippled over my skin, and my nose snarled involuntarily at the rancid rawness.

  “Ugh.” I shook my head. “Rank.”

  My Crown crackled loudly, like a radio between channels. As I looked down the hallway, splattered with carnage, a whining, buzzing voice warbled in my Crown:

  One… Foooour… Sehven...

  The woman’s clipped voice held an accent I couldn’t place. Each tinny syllable set my teeth on edge. Her words came punctuated with near deafening levels of static, as if the recording originated from impossibly far away.

  …Or perhaps had been recorded on equipment built no more recently than World War I.

  FouRTEEn. AlPHA tangents are IN placssse. Si-ix… Niiiiiine… Fi-ive… Four…

  This is Michael Bishop, Asset 108.

  I peered into the gloom, trying not to wonder at the splatters along the left wall as I waited for any kind of response.

  I drew my kinetic disruptors, holding them steady as I listened.

  ThrEE… EighT… Ne-ine… NINE… two-oo… Onnne…

  My link didn’t slow the transmission in any way. The numbers marched onward, the woman’s voice seeming perverse. Her accent sounded more than simply foreign, as if her mouth had been deformed, not quite shaped to create English words.

  Mich—

  I stopped mid step.

  Anya. I only had a quick whisper of her in my Crown, coming between two of the numbers, but I felt certain.

  I would know the feel of her links anywhere.

  Anya? Are you onsite?

  Sssseeven… Sssseeven… TwwENty-twoo Brrrravo. Nine… TWO…

  The woman’s voice, clipped, oddly bent, and emotionless, continued to drone.

  I still felt Anya there, as if we had an open link, but I simply couldn’t hear her over the repetitive numbers.

  My brow creased as I sent: Anya, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I cannot hear you. I am onsite and advancing. I will clear the area as directed.

  The crackling numbers continued their onslaught in my mind, squelching any link that Anya might send.

  “Just fucking awful.” The furrow in my brow deepened.

  The stench of the hallway and the hellish light put my nerves on edge, flossing-my-teeth-with-a-chainsaw on edge, but that sound? Horrible. Far worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.

  And whatever else that interference might be, it overrode links to my Crown.

  “Well, shit,” I sighed.

  I had to go in with no link to the Facility. Not ideal, but then I wouldn’t be alone long. My simple, concise mission specs assured me of that: Clear the area. Await hillbilly. Receive my dossier.

  “Fine then.” I performed the mental twitch that switched off my primary comm. Immediately, blissfully, the eerie transmission died.

  Then, only the stuttering crimson half-light accompanied me.

  “System command: Illuminate.” With absolutely no hope, I awaited a response from the local system. If I could access the lighting, this might be a lot less of a house of horrors.

  No dice.

  The conduit structure had terminated at the end of a hallway, so I only had one way to go. As I stepped forward, I initiated the optics settings in my Crown.

  Immediately, a shattering, shifting brilliance poured into my visual cortex, like scalding oil in my mind.

  “Wha—?” I stumbled backward, throwing my hands up in front of my face, dropping one of my disruptors.

  The moment I had switched to optics, the hallway had resolved into a cacophony of burning, vibrating symbols. It seemed as if the physical walls didn’t exist at all. A lost and forsaken alphabet of incomprehensible ideograms burned their way into my brain.

  “What the fuck?” I switched optics off and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Of course, that didn’t do much with the optical systems directly wire-synched into my brain, which swam with echoing afterimages.

  I rested one hand against the wall and leaned there to take a moment.

  Our enhanced optics weren’t actually night-vision or infrared but a marriage of the two. The Crown had the capability of reading the data, and it used several technologies to provide a visual read.

  It also tended to give me shatteringly painful headaches if used for too long.

  “Just wonderful.” I steadied myself, leaned over, and picked up my weapon.

  Not the ideal situation.

  In the past, I had easily taken my Crown for granted when on assignment, using my system’s capabilities as a matter of course. My systems felt like an extension of myself, and I never questioned them.

  Now, it seemed as if every time I relied upon my Crown, something went wrong. It had been that way since Dhire Lith. Nothing seemed completely up to spec. Hesitations, stutters, and static had haunted me for a full year now. Yet after my diagnostics last month, the Caduceus had cleared me as fully operational.

  “Apparently not.”

  That simply wouldn’t do here. If I couldn’t access my Crown, I was as good as tech adrift. I needed to ascertain my options.

  With one hand braced against the wall, I initiated optics once more.

  For a second, the hallway again shifted from its physical form into a burst of shapes and symbols radiant with colors that had never been named by man. This time, expecting the assault, I stood steady for a moment before switching the optics off.

  Dammit.

  Alone in the dark.

  “Fine then.”

  Grimly, I peered into the passageway. The red light still flickered fitfully, making the bloody walls dance and lurch, shadows grasping at me and then falling sullenly back into place. I wished I could shut them off as well. Proceeding in full darkness would be better than this.

  Slowly, I crept forward.

  Less than ten paces later, I came to the first large splatter of blood and viscera, wet and rancid. It clung to the wall, almost like some horrific fungus, thick and cherry red. It pulsed rhythmically, a blubbery roil of motion.

  “Oh!” I yelped as I backed away, my eyes widening with horror, my stomach churning with disgust.

  This couldn’t be the remains of some poor Asset. If this had simply been some poor soul who had been splattered across the wall—

  ALEEeeEERT!

  I started as the Facility announcement echoed down the hallway, the single word warbled and broken.

  Theees ees a Status II hot-ot-ot-ot zown.

  “No shit.”

  I leaned slightly closer to the otherworldly and grotesque patch on the wall.

  In the flickers of light, I saw dark traceries of veins running through the organism. Some throbbed with nearly imperceptible fluctuations.

  Not human remains.

  Then, almost as if confirming my thoughts, the patch of gore moved, ripples passing through it as it shifted higher on the wall.

  Wait.

  No. It hadn’t simply moved; it had grown.

  The more I looked, the more I realized that it indeed covered a greater area. Had it flattened itself? Or had it actually gotten bigger?

  I took a step back and glanced nervously down the hallway. Empty, as far as I could see, although several doors lined the hall in front of me. Also I saw several more of the growths, shining wetly in the flickering light.

  “Okay, a possible target. Time to check in again.” It had been all of five minutes after all.

  Anya. I sent the link the moment that I initiated my comm, hoping desperately that I could get a clear channel.

  Fffivvve… Sssixx… ThirTEEN… Sta-atUS: Whissskey… SEVen…

  I have encountered what I believe to be an aberration. I leaned closer to the pulsing gore again, to get a clear image in my Crown. I do not know if this is the targ
et I am to clear from the area before Asset Guthrie is dispatched. Please advise.

  For a long moment, I only heard the eternal progression of soulless numbers. Then, however:

  —t Guthrie—

  That one warbled bit slipped between the clipped numerals that marched soullessly through my Crown.

  Anya. It had to be.

  So I did have a link. Even if I could scarcely hear her, it seemed as if Anya might be receiving me.

  I cannot read you, Anya. I kept my visual on the aberration for another long moment and then turned toward the darkness. I will explore deeper into the hot zone and see what I can find. If I encounter no hostiles, I will return and deal with these growths.

  I heard no reply from Anya, only the incessant succession of chanted numerics, wending onward with no pattern or meaning.

  The woman’s terse accent made the litany all the more creepy. Even if I did have a clear link to Anya, I didn’t know if I could handle the monotonous parade of useless data as I walked through the flickering, gore-splattered hallways.

  I’m killing the link. I will report back when I can.

  No response. I gave one last glance at the oozing growth on the wall and then shut off my comm.

  Again, I stood in silence.

  After a moment of gazing into the shadows, I stepped forward, my hands clutching the pistol grips of my disruptors tightly. Only a few steps ahead loomed the first of several doorways, a gaping rectangle of darkness bereft of red emergency lights.

  I slipped up next to the door, giving the hallway a quick glance in each direction. Once I felt certain that nothing crept up on me, I stole a peek into the room.

  Silver banks of quantum relays sat ensconced in smooth casings that jutted out slightly from the walls. A soft, electric-blue glow shone across the top of each, small readouts that fluctuated out of sync with each other. Dozens of schemata plastered the opposite wall, but I couldn’t make them out from here.

  A terminal orb hung in the center of the room, the primary interface for this system. It hovered there, in exactly the way a large titanium sphere should not.

  I raised one hopeful eyebrow at the device. Perhaps I could interact with the local system and get some answers.

  Slipping inside, I strode eagerly to the center, my boots quiet against the tiled floor. This could be the break I needed.

  Most Facility locations didn’t have what would be considered a typical computer interface. The terminal orbs we had instead allowed anyone with a Crown—

  “Crap.” Every time I had used my Crown here, the output had come back glitchy and full of interference, not to mention those disturbing numbers. Logging into the local system would certainly give me more intel, but if I couldn’t hear it, the information wouldn’t do me any good.

  I needed to find some way to bypass the interference.

  Peering at the schemata, I hoped to make out anything at all in the dim light.

  CAPRICORNUS ALIGNMENT PROTOCOLS dominated the top of the thin paper in a large, bold font. To its immediate right, a small square with dozens of white dots against a dark background had been printed. Below that marched a long strand of numbers, some of which seemed to be coordinates.

  Great. More numbers. I sighed.

  Beneath the numbers I saw complex geometrical figures, enumerated lines drawn with alien and unnatural angles. All surrounded with what appeared to be the blueprints for a large, slender tower. Gracefully arching symbols surrounded the building, seeming to emanate from it like radio waves.

  Wait. Capricornus? It sounded familiar.

  I squinted, peering at the small square and the white dots within it. They looked like a flat-topped, dented triangle.

  The constellation Capricorn?

  Any other time, I would have pulled the relevant data from my Crown. In an instant, I could have learned the makeup of the constellation Capricorn, the origins of its name, and every use of the word throughout history.

  Now, however, I felt certain that, the moment I switched on my comm, I would be assaulted with an ever-shifting tide of numbers.

  I sighed.

  Without a clear comm to access the Lattice, I was stuck using my physical brain.

  Like a damn shmuck.

  “Fine.”

  I frowned as I looked to one of the other schemata. Without my Crown’s intel, the information made no sense.

  I turned back toward the silver terminal orb, where it hung in the center of the room. It hovered over a small platform in which small blue lights slowly pulsed. Nothing held the orb in the air, at least nothing physical.

  I stepped closer and initiated my comm. Immediately the woman’s haunted drone warbled through my mind:

  FOURrr… Niine… Se-eVen… ThirTEen T-ango... NiNnne… Twwwo…

  Terminal initiation. I paused as the terminal orb rippled in front of me, looking much like suspended mercury. When the lights beneath it pulsed once, the woman’s voice warbled a bit but continued.

  Sev-hen… Fe-ive… Eighttt…

  This is Michael Bishop, Asset 108. My access code is iota-six-three.

  The blue lights intensified, but the woman’s voice never stopped. I stepped closer to the terminal orb, and six rectangular screens shimmered into view within my mind’s eye, each suspended in the air above the orb in ghostly transparency.

  “That’s more like it.” I permitted myself a small smile. While the numbers still marched through my mind, I wouldn’t be able to hear any of the system prompts, but perhaps… “Screen four.” I watched the hovering field, and it brightened as my gaze came to rest upon it. “Please display all system prompts as text.”

  UNDERSTOOD, 108. WILL COMPLY. The words appeared upon the screen instantly, and my small smile blossomed into a wide grin, despite the incessant murmur of numbers.

  “Score one for me.”

  I assessed the other screens, trying to determine what I should look for. Each of them held a dizzying array of data, but two of them obviously displayed readouts from long-range telemetry. As I gazed at the nearly transparent screens, I realized that even though I could read them, I couldn’t get any physical coordinates on the data. That brought me up short.

  I didn’t exactly know my own coordinates, did I?

  It seemed obvious upon reflection, but in that moment, the idea struck me dumb.

  A cold boot had a specific, simple purpose: get an Asset into play as soon as possible. In doing so, some of my systems weren’t exactly online. Until this very moment, it had never occurred to me that part of a cold boot might involve sheltering an Asset from sensitive intel.

  “Makes sense though.” I glanced from screen four to screen two, which brightened noticeably. Naturally. The system worked with the phaneric node in my Crown to create nonphysical screens. Anyone else would see me staring into empty space, speaking with nothingness.

  “Query: What is my current location?” I glanced back to screen four.

  It brightened. Text appeared on it. Unhelpful text, but text all the same.

  ASSET COORDINATES: THE SPIRE.

  I stared at the words for a long moment, frowning. A definite non-answer. I had expected a sub-station or perhaps one of the Facilities themselves. Those, however, had numeric designations, never names.

  “The Spire.” I rubbed my hand through my scruff.

  I had never heard of it.

  An odd title, completely unlike any other Facility location. When combined with the aberrant gore on the walls and floor and the bizarre numerics—

  Fivvve… Three-ee-ee... Sssyst-em Del-ta onnnline… Ff-hor…

  —well, now we’d stepped past odd and straight into eerie.

  Remembering the schemata on the wall and the slender tower at the center of them, I shook my head and tried another tack.

  “What is the location and purpose of the Spire?”

  The blue lights on the platform below the orb darkened.

  INFORMATION CLASSIFIED. DESIGNATE CLEARANCE REQUIRED.

  “
I’m pretty sure the Designates know I’m here.” I sighed and considered switching off my comm. Perhaps just a moment free from the droning numbers would help me think.

  I turned to another of the screens, reaching out to use the tactical interface. As soon as I felt the gentle buzzing sensation beneath my fingertips, I slid the image to the left, as one might turn a page.

  This brought up new data that also made little sense. A diagram of that same tower pulsed a light green as it hovered in front of my eyes. As I studied it, I realized that the image missed several key bits, almost as if parts of the tower itself weren’t on telemetry.

  “That’s odd.” I peered closer, skewing my mouth in thought. “Why would—?”

  With a blaze of scarlet agony, a razor-sharp spike tore through my fancy body armor and into the meat of my left shoulder.

  “Fuck!” I spat as I staggered from the throbbing torment blossoming in my shoulder.

  I glowered up at the silhouette standing at the edge of the door, raw fury in my eyes.

  A man stood against the angry red light, a slender shadow with a massive piece of equipment on his back.

  An Artisan Asset?

  “What the hell, man?”

  I could only assume that I hadn’t heard the trademark WHUF of the tangler because I had been inundated with a merry circus of meaningless numbers in my mind. As I spoke, I reached for the spike, which had torn into the upper part of my shoulder.

  Before I had moved my hand an inch, the spike had begun to heat up.

  Oh, fuck that. More than once, I had seen Wyatt crank up his spikes to hundreds of degrees in a matter of seconds. I didn’t know why this Artisan had seen fit to attack me, but I wasn’t playing that game.

  I had gear of my own.

  Engaging the Spectre, I shut down my comm in an instant.

  I much preferred the Wraith to this packet. It promised nigh-invisibility, which worked well with my katanas and Adept packet. The Spectre served another purpose entirely. I knew that the Artisan could still see me, but I had faded to a blurred version of myself.