I actually tried out for the middle school soccer team at Landsdowne.
That was the first time I met Alice’s best friend, Candice. She was a year younger than my sister. Maybe she still is; I don’t know if she’s survived this or not. Truthfully, I hope she did. Lying my ass off, I don’t care.
The point is that I tried out, and Candice was a bitch even at thirteen. I wanted to be keeper. She kept saying I was too short. She wouldn’t defend if I was keeper. On and on. She wanted me at forward. Back-up forward. On the bench or as far away from her as she could get me.
I found out later that she was Alice’s friend. That stung.
When the call came that I didn’t make the team, I didn’t even bother picking up.
----------------------------------------
Location Unknown, Location Unknown, Time Unknown
- - - - -
Strauss lands on his feet. He starts to double over, then pulls himself together and nods. “I’m good.”
He doesn’t look good. He looks like he’s about to vomit all over everything. The rover’s wheels spin mournfully as we work to right it; it bounced funny when we came through, but it’s not damaged or anything. Sergeant Strauss and I have everything we need to make this exploration quick.
More importantly, we’re in the right spot.
I know we are because everything’s slightly too orange-yellow. Because the sun overhead says it is. And most importantly, because even though glass-and-steel skyscrapers tower over Strauss and me, their windows glinting in the sun, the world is dark and desolate. There are no vehicles on the streets, no lights in the buildings, and no one looking down at us from the too-close-together windows.
Strauss opens up the comms channel. “Command, L4-5. We’ve arrived at the landing zone.”
“Copy that, Lambda-Four. JAMES Unit, please analyze—“
[Analysis complete. New reality cataloged; labeled as Provisional Reality ARC. Estimated likelihood of correct merge targeting: 94% and rising. Estimated probability of Voiceless Singer activity: 04%,] James says.
“Four percent?” Strauss asks.
[This location is abandoned,] James says, [and I recommend we pull back and recalibrate for a different one. It is unlikely that we will complete any secondary objectives here.]
“Negative,” Command says. “Explore the surrounding environment. Try to make sure the ‘landing zone’ is safe. If it is, we’ll pull you back and move Lambda-Five in to begin hunting with L4-3.”
“Copy,” Strauss says, and the line goes dead. “Fucking hell.”
We walk down the street, me in front by about ten meters, him behind, with the rover humming along like it’s on vacation between us. The Revolver’s ready, and so is Strauss’s rifle; it feels a lot like our time in Aberdeen Hospital and the maze—except this time, he’s not shooting me. No way. He needs me alive.
Besides, we’re on the same team. I can trust him.
There’s something wrong about the skyscrapers, but it takes me a minute to figure out what it is. Then it hits me; they’re short. Whoever lived here, I mean. The towers are plenty tall, but there’s no way the people who made them were taller than me. Strauss would be a giant here.
Gas vents from a…vent…in the street. I sniff, and it smells like potpourri. Not one flower, but a dozen at the same time. There’s a sewage stink, too, and it only makes the flower scent more sickly sweet by comparison.
It’s dead here. The whole thing would remind me of the God in the Machine’s reality—but it’s so alive at the same time. Black vines cover the spaces between the steel towers’ windows. They’re almost spectral, and it takes me a second to realize—they’re void, just like the Voiceless Singers.
“James, what are the current reality levels here?” I ask.
[Extremely high, for the most part. I don’t have data on the upper reaches of the towers, though, and the local flora and fauna’s reality levels are almost nonexistent. They match what we’ve seen from the Voiceless Singers so far.]
“And do we have any idea why?”
[Why what?]
I pause. “Why reality levels are so extreme here, I guess? I’m looking to fill in variables.”
[No. Further research is needed.]
“Okay.” I level the Revolver and send a beam of fire into one of the skyscrapers’ doors. It shatters, molten crystal flying everywhere.
Strauss reacts instantly, rifle on his shoulder. “Contact?”
“No. Clearing a path for us. I’ll call it next time,” I say, flushing red. I step through the broken glass door and into the lobby; even though it’s high enough for me—barely—I feel like I have to crouch. One of Sora’s books talks about this. Frank Lloyd Wright called it compress and release architecture—make people feel claustrophobic, then release them into a more open space.
Only there’s no release. Strauss is bent over at the waist, rifle jammed forward. “What are you thinking?”
“We need to figure out why reality levels are so out of control. James, can you get a timer until reality levels become a problem for Strauss?” I force myself to stand up straight since I can. Strauss isn’t so lucky. Even if he tried, he’d fail.
[Two hours, fifteen minutes. More if he remains indoors, and even more if he activates his personal reality anchor.]
The world feels like Jell-O for a second. It shimmers like a thinning, and I breathe to calm myself. Then it stops. “Copy that. PRA running. Two-hour run-time, then we should consider other options.”
“Right.” I go into my System and add a new Inquiry.
►Why is the Voiceless Singers’ city empty?
It’s an important question and one I don’t have an answer for. Yet.
I head for the stairs, Strauss at my back. He’s talking into his helmet, and he looks pissed off. The steps aren’t high enough, and they’re too wide; it takes three flights to get between even the short, stubby floors, and it feels more like climbing a ramp. By the third floor, Strauss slings his rifle over his shoulder. He’s sweating.
So am I. It’s humid in here.
The void vines have broken through the walls in places. They hum. I give them a wide berth, just in case.
On the fifth floor, I finally give up. I’ve climbed fifteen flights of stairs, and the truth is that stairs won’t help me solve this world’s math. “I’m finding an elevator.”
----------------------------------------
Some things are the same across realities.
The moment I push what I hope is the button for the highest floor, the muzak starts. I wonder if muzak is actually a memetic anomaly. It’s pervasive, both catchy and forgetful at the same time, and it sounds the same here as in Victoria. I bet it sounded the same in the God in the Machine’s reality and the infinite war one. Probably the maze world, too, if it had elevators. Maybe even in Berlin.
“What are we doing?” Strauss asks. He’s sitting on the floor as we move slowly up.
“We’re exploring, investigating the Voiceless Singers, and trying to find a secure merge zone for future expeditions,” I say before Command can interject.
“Affirmative. Your current orders are to avoid contact with hostile anomalies whenever possible, Lambda-Four. Continue your investigation,” Command says.
The door opens, and I step into what looks like a computer lab—or maybe one of those internet cafes I’ve seen in old movies and stuff. No, that’s not right. It tickles the back of my mind. I’ve been somewhere like this before, but I can’t place it. It’s not the lab in the Experimental Sector, and it’s not like the God in the Machine’s temple tower.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Strauss can’t place it either, but he pulls out his bag and starts checking computer hook-ups. After a second, he gives up. “There’s no wires. I don’t need a USB port, but I do need a wire. Some input to the system.”
He’s right. There’s not a single wire in the whole lab. The computers sit there, screens gray and tall, narrow towers looming over them. They’re just boxes, though. I have no idea how to power them up, much less get them to work.
“Let’s keep moving.” The computers represent a nearly infinite amount of information about this world, but at the same time, they’re worthless to us. We can’t make them work. I tap a screen, just in case they’re touchscreen. Maybe they’ll talk about how much of a heretic I am, like the last time I played with another reality’s computers. Maybe it’ll be an AI we can communicate with.
Nothing happens.
For all intents and purposes, the computers are very expensive paperweights.
The room’s surrounded on two sides by a thin, wide window that runs the length of the walls like a corner office.
I walk over to it and peer outside. We must be three hundred feet up; there were at least fifty buttons in the elevator, and I pushed the one that looked like it was the highest. It’s so high I can barely see the road below. It’s just a road—a whitish cement that somehow manages to still look dark even under the yellow sun’s brilliant glow. Shadows flit across it, but there’s nothing in the air—or on the street.
Then, suddenly, there is.
It’s null and void, just like the Voiceless Singers. This one doesn’t have the shape of an angel, and I can’t hear the song—if there even is one. It’s hard to say what it is from up here. It’s easier to say what it’s not. It isn’t human. It’s not animal-like, either, and it doesn’t have the angelic wings of a Voiceless Singer. It doesn’t seem like it’s hunting us, but it’s also not leaving. It parks its not-form in front of the door and slowly slumps into the concrete until its not-body is not here. But it is. It definitely is.
“Think it knows we’re here?” Strauss asks. “I could hit it with a few rounds, do the reconnaissance by fire routine, but that’ll tip it off for sure.”
“I stare at it a bit longer. “James, thoughts?”
[I’m not processing that thing. I’m not processing anything that has to do with the Voiceless Singers after your vision video. Plus, that thing’s…not a meme? It’s hard to describe.] A few filters flicker across my vision, but they don’t help. [Uh, let me think for a second—I’m on to something here. Rerouting processing loops—but if they go to hell, I’m cutting them off instantly.]
James goes quiet. Whatever’s going on, it’s taxing even him. I keep staring at the not-form, trying to wrap my head around it. It doesn’t help.
Strauss doesn’t have that problem. “To change the subject, you’re familiar with memes from our previous mission, correct?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“We’re likely dealing with an antimemetic entity. Its presentation is designed to make it difficult to describe and even more difficult to remember." He doesn’t look away from…whatever it is. “There are some simple countermeasures, but they rely on constant reminders that the antimeme is nearby.”
“Got it. James, can you do that?”
[Strauss is correct. Setting external reminders. I’ve enlisted Command 2 to assist.]
“Not Command?” I ask.
“No. Command it likely compromised in the same way we are, and they’re doing something similar to what we are,” Strauss says. “Standard protocol for antimemes.”
[Claire, this is for you alone. Strauss already knows, but antimemetic entities are rarely only antimemetic. They often pair with a physical anomaly, but occasionally with a meme. If it’s a memetic/antimemetic, purging the meme itself will be impossible if it gets in your head because to deal with it, we’d have to be aware of the antimeme for an extended period of time. It’s likely that this anomaly is highly dangerous, and I’d recommend we avoid fighting it.]
I glance out the window again. It’s not attacking the building. It’s not moving at all, in fact. This way of thinking about whatever it is hurts my brain. It’s the wrong kind of equation, where I’m brute-forcing the variables until something works. This isn’t how math is supposed to be, but without any useful information about it, I don’t have any other options.
“Lambda-Four, Command here. New mission objective. We’ve confirmed that this is the Voiceless Singers’ home reality. We’ve also identified at least ten thousand Singer-sized bodies in low orbit around the planet. They appear to be in a flock formation, and also appear to be dormant. Based on that, we believe you and Sergeant Strauss have the time in-reality to investigate why they weren’t on-planet.”
I roll my eyes. Leave it to SHOCKS to tack on goals this early. “How much time do we have?”
[Two hours, forty-five minutes in cover. Less if Strauss is exposed to the sun.]
“Let’s get moving, then,” I say.
----------------------------------------
The first order of business is the computers. I glance at the window as Strauss and I set up near the closest one, but there’s nothing out there. It’s boxy, ugly, and the screen is gray-black and clearly off. Strauss starts out by flicking through a few dozen different settings on his faceplate. “Ultraviolet? Nothing. Infrared? No. Relief? No.”
Eventually, he gives up and starts fishing through his bag. “So, it’s not a different spectrum or way of projecting information visually. There’s no input, and no clear power source. That leaves me with only one option.” His lip curls up in a tiny grin. “I’m going to hack the computer.”
I’ve seen enough movies to know what hacking isn’t. He’s not about to plug into the device with his aug and fight virtual kill programs for the machine’s secrets. He’s probably looking for a keyboard or something to remotely control the—
“Got it,” Strauss says. I stare as he unfolds a collapsible saw and starts slicing away at the tower’s plastic. “Hacking commencing.”
[Command Two says there’s an antimemetic entity outside your building,] James says, distracting me as Strauss hacks the computer into pieces. [Command Two also says it’s not currently a threat, and not to engage.]
“I’ll check it out.” The window’s right there, and I look down, seeing the monster below for the first time. It’s null and void, easier to describe by what it’s not than what it is—or maybe by the space it occupies. I watch it until I get bored, then go back to Strauss.
“I’m in,” he says, the shadow of a grin on his face. It’s juxtaposed against his serious eyes. He’s made that joke before.
He’s got the computer’s guts spread out on the floor; they’re cut into rough chunks. “JAMES Unit, please analyze the footage I recorded of disassembly. I’m looking for ways to interface with a computer using these parts.”
[Analyzing.]
I grab a part and start fiddling. “It’s nothing like the God in the Machine’s pneumatic computer system, is it?”
“The what?” Strauss asks.
“I fought a god the day before SHOCKS called me.” I tell him about the God in the Machine and the pneumatic system it used for computing.
At the end, he rolls his eyes. “Other realities have the most difficult ways of storing information. That does give me an idea, though.” He walks to a computer and starts tapping the screen case.
[Analysis complete. Sergeant Strauss, these computers operate via direct neurological link to their user,] James says smugly. [They’re similar to our augments, but in this case, significantly more powerful and less mobile. I’m working on understanding the linking process, but it doesn’t bear any similarity to the augment installation process.]
“So we’re not going to physically connect these computers to us? That’s a real shame. I was looking forward to becoming the Girl in the Machine,” I say. Then I pause. “How does it work?”
[I think it’s chemical.]
“Chemical?” Strauss asks.
[Yes. The key appears to be a chemical formula, although I’m still translating exactly what it is based on the numbers in the elevator. I believe I have an idea for how to break into the computers. It’ll require returning to R-0 for a while before a new Mergewalk. I’ll assist SHOCKS VVI in synthesizing the chemical and determining how to use it—although my theory is that it’s a chemical-based language revolving around ingesting compounds. That isn’t without risks, and I would prefer to put the pressure on someone other than L4-3, as her anomalies are currently irreplaceable.]
“I’ll do it,” Strauss says instantly.
[Negative. I believe L4-3’s sister is the best candidate, as she had been developing similar resistances to Claire’s via the System.]
----------------------------------------
Downtown Victoria, British Columbia - June 15, 2043, 3:51 PM
- - - - -
It takes Command five minutes to get the merge open and for us to return to R-0. The moment we do, I head for Alice’s room. This whole thing feels like a set-up, but I’m not sure what James is trying to do. Why couldn’t Strauss take the chemical key James won’t stop talking about?
Other than that it’ll probably kill him, whereas it only might kill Alice. If James is worried about me surviving, does he see her as expendable? Either way, I want to talk to her about it.
She’s in. In fact, she’s just finishing her makeup ritual when I burst in; she’s wrapped in towels, and her face is almost perfect. It makes her glare even worse, somehow. Even more penetrating. “What, Claire?”
“I, uh, need your help,” I say, “but it’s super-dangerous, and James won’t let me do it. He says you’re the best person for the job.” I know how to butter her up; we’ve been siblings for a long time.
“What is it?” she asks again. I explain. She rolls her eyes at me. “You want me to eat alien food?”
“Uh, maybe? I’m not sure.”
“And if I do, I go to another world and act as your computer translator, then come back here again?” She stands up and heads for her dresser. The towel around her hair falls off as she picks out her outfit from a dozen white shirts and slacks that all seem identical but that she insists aren’t. “You know how ridiculous all this is, right?”
“Is that a no?” I ask.
“I didn’t say that. I’m not sure it’s a yes, though. I need something from you.” She slips into the bathroom, and I flop onto her bed, giving her a little privacy. She leaves the door open, and I look away.
The silence stretches until it’s awkward. “What do you need?”
“Li Mei.”
I roll my eyes. It’s always about Li Mei with Alice, isn’t it? “I can’t get her out of your head. You’re bonded with her, and if SHOCKS can’t figure out how to get rid of her, I definitely can’t.”
She’s quiet for a minute, except for the sounds of her getting dressed. Then she sticks her damp, tangled hair out of the bathroom. “Get in here and help me with this.”
She could handle this without me, but I don’t have a choice. I sigh and stand up, then join her in the bathroom. She’s sitting on the toilet lid, back facing me, and she passes me a brush. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you’re the one that wants my help. The least you can do is listen to what I need. Maybe you’ll have some ideas that James hasn’t tried.” I start brushing as she talks. “I’m about ready to give up on having her gone. She’s pretty much the most insistent, pervasive roommate I can imagine, and nothing SHOCKS has tried has made a dent.”
That’s not a surprise, given what SHOCKS attempted with me. “So?”
“I want time without her.”
I laugh. “You want time without her? That’s not…” I trail off instead of telling Alice that it isn’t possible. It might be doable, but it’ll be weird. “Actually, I have an idea. Remember when we were kids, and I’d crawl into your bunk because I was scared?”
“Yeah,” Alice says.
“My room, tonight. If I’m right, I have something to show you.” I pause, setting the brush down. Alice’s hair is half-tangled still, but I don’t care. “And bring your best manners. Our host seems to be very formal. And French.”