Other Books in the Splinterverse

Mere Mortal by A.J. Stevens

The Dissection and Reassembly of Cohen Hoard by Elesa Hagberg

By Boydell Bown

Splinter's Edge

A Splinterverse Book

by Boydell Bown

© 2024 Boydell Bown

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact info@splinterpress.com.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, private locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Typesetting by Faralee Pozo

Cover art by Midjourney

Cover design by Boydell Bown and Elesa Hagberg

Published by:

Splinter Press, Spanish Fork, Utah

splinterpress.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-960108-10-4

To my family. To my wife Jennifer, who always listened patiently and gave amazing feedback whenever I rambled about some finer point of the story’s complicated plot. And to my children, who always said, “This is cool, Dad!”

Part I

MESH STORAGE - 2012-08-19 21:34:54

Hey, Dad. It’s me.

I’m in over my head.

I knew it would be bad, but I hoped I could handle it. Now that I’m staring the task in the face, I’m worried I will fail.

Or worse.

What do you think my future-self will say to me? That it will all be worth it? More likely, “I’m sorry, but everything will go horribly sideways, and the next few days are going to be a disaster.”

You always said to make weaknesses my strengths, which I try to do, especially since the accident. I’m just afraid the next few days will prove how weak I really am.

I wish I could tell you more, but it’s not safe.

Love you. Miss you.

I think the universe just tried to kill me.

It wasn’t the first time Lahn wondered if forces beyond his control conspired against him, and it wouldn’t be the last. But this time was different. This time, it was more than breaking fourteen bones in his hand and living through the Accident, where random events felt bigger than they were. This time, the universe really had tried to kill him.

“Oh hey, jefe,” said Lucia, her artificial voice coming from speakers near the wall display. “I’m glad you’re not dead. Unless you are. Are you dead?”

Hunched on the faded gray love seat of his tiny apartment, Lahn shivered, right hand cramped in pain, eyes wide to keep back the darkness. “I’m . . . fine.” Probably? “I think I’m alive.”

“Humans are weird,” said the AI. “You fell to the floor and just lay there, like un cadáver. And I don’t know what to do if you get dead. But you’re not, so I’m glad.”

It should have been a normal Monday morning. After fighting the alarm clock and struggling with becoming presentable, he was supposed to find something not-horrible to eat for breakfast, get ready to join a video meeting, and attempt to talk to other engineers. But the comfortably unpleasant morning routine had been interrupted.

Violently.

On his way into the kitchen—while trying to shake off an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu—his consciousness had been ripped from his present and slammed into a frozen, black, single moment of nothing. A moment where absolute zilch could exist. And if he stayed, the void would destroy him. Obliterate him. Squish him flat.

After forever—or in an instant—he’d come to on the floor, muscles cramped by cold, no idea how much time had passed.

“And ’cause you’re alive,” Lucia pressed, “maybe it was a DP episode?”

“No. I . . .”

Was it one of my episodes? he wondered desperately, heart attempting to escape his chest.

By habit, he started his exercises. Leaning back on his love seat, he focused on his breathing. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Five times and his pulse slowed. He closed his eyes to start a grounding exercise, but immediately snapped them back open and jumped to his feet, heart speeding again. The malevolent, silent void was still there, hovering on the edge of his perception, ready to crush him.

The crushing emptiness of the void wasn’t like the empty night sky, where the stars had been lost years ago. It was nothing like the dark of a bedroom at night, the polar glass of the windows set to black, blocking the pale-green glow of the evening sky. This was the absence of everything: light or dark, life or death, time or even reality.

“Your heart rate just spiked,” said Lucia. “Are you going to fall down again?”

“I . . . I don’t know what’s happening. It feels like I’m being chased by an empty void.”

“Ohhh . . . that sounds ominous,” she said with a bit of glee. “Want some more light?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think that would help.”

The wireless controls Lahn had installed over the light switches in his flat received a trigger from Lucia, and the lamp on his worn wood desk as well as the reading light next to his love seat shimmered on, adding warmth to the recessed lighting of the living room.

Lahn sighed in satisfaction, feeling the light like heat on his skin. “That’s nice. But how about all of them?”

“Every room?”

Lahn nodded.

“¡Brilloso! Commencing Operation Supernova.”

Not a bad name, he thought as a sequential trigger started, with a delay between each to avoid blowing a fuse in the aging apartment. The doddering fluorescent lights in the kitchen flickered to life, and a cool, white glow illuminated the small plastic table and chairs nestled under the kitchen window. Next to the ancient fridge, the grow lights over the hydroponic tower faded from red to aqua.

In the living room, the display also came on, adding to the light of the room. He wished he could afford a newer holographic, but the display was a gift from his mom when he’d moved in. It was fine. A scene of vibrant woods faded in, moss growing from every tree, accompanied by gentle strains of oud and bamboo flute.

Lahn rotated slowly, eyes wide, pulling the light from every direction into his soul. He felt his anxiety receding, but the void was still there, on the edge of his perception.

Depersonalization, DP, had dominated his life for almost eleven years. Ten years, ten months, and two days, to be exact. His episodes were terrifying and horrible. It had only been in the last few years that he learned to manage them and keep them at bay. The idea of having the episodes start up again scared him more than he wanted to admit, but at least he understood them.

This? This was something else.

Lahn glanced at the binary hologram clock on the desk, a matrix of blue dots floating in the air above its base. When he’d first gotten the clock, Tia and Maddox had teased him because he couldn’t read it. But now it was second nature. He still had ten minutes before his work meeting.

“Luz,” Lahn said, “how long was I out?”

“Twenty-nine seconds.”

“Only thirty seconds?”

“No, twenty-nine.”

“It felt like forever.”

“It wasn’t. It was twenty-nine seconds.”

Lahn shook his head in confusion. His Depersonalization usually lasted hours or days, not seconds. But even if the experience of vast nothingness was not DP, his brain was sure he was still in danger. The light in the room had helped, but not enough. Whether or not his vision of the void was Depersonalization, his beating heart told him if he didn’t do something he’d find himself in an actual, full DP episode. His mind would split from the here and now. His perspective would become one of viewing the world through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, or watching his life as a movie. And that would only be half the fun; with the stress of the morning, he knew there was no way he could fight off the inevitable despondency that always came along for the ride.

Lahn drew in a huge gulp of air and let it out slowly while stretching his hand to release tension. He needed to start his grounding process to fight off the DP, but the void was still there, he could feel it, waiting for him. He couldn’t close his eyes for fear of that void. He couldn’t ground.

“No!”

Frustration coursed through him, and he leaned into it, driving off the emotional spiders of helplessness. “I can still ground!”

He turned from his clock and stood in the middle of the living room, allowing his vision to blur as he stared at nothing. With conscious effort, he put all his focus on his sense of touch. Pinpricks of residual chill ran across his fingers, and he blew hot air into his cupped hands, the temperature contrast causing goosebumps on his arms. As he rubbed his hands on his pants for added warmth, the fabric of yesterday’s jeans felt rough against his legs. He reached up and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, bringing chills to his scalp.

“I can feel what’s real,” he said, stating the mantra with forced conviction. [I can feel what’s real.]

The thought reverberated in his head, echoing as if from an external source, and conviction became reality. One last breath released slowly through pursed lips and his anxiety receded to a tolerable distance. His heartbeat settled to a minor throb in the scar on his hand. Tentatively, carefully, he closed his eyes, and to his relief the dark void was not there waiting for him.

“Stars! What was that?” He slumped to the love seat and struggled to convince himself that it was not as bad as it seemed. Grabbing the fuzzy gray blanket draped over the back of the small couch, he pulled his feet up and wrapped the blanket tight around his whole body, with only his nose and eyes exposed to the cruel world.

“If it wasn’t DP,” said Lucia brightly, “maybe you were attacked by a weapon. I bet Lex Luthor hit you with a sleep-ray.”

“It was violent,” he said, poking his head out of his cocoon. “More like I was incinerated by the Eye of Sauron.”

In a fit of nostalgia, Lahn pined for his mother’s thrift-store couch back home: floral brown, tragically hideous yet cozy. A safe space to sit with his sister, Tia, and talk for hours about everything. Or nothing. She had always said to address his episodes head-on. Describe them, quantify them, put them in a box and move on. Even when Tia was not around to help, he always tried to do that.

Maybe he could catch Tia before she left for work. “Luz, call Tia.”

The call went through. “Hello, Lahn,” said Tia’s proxy, Tane, in a formal but friendly voice through the room speakers.

“Oh, hi, Tane,” said Lahn.

There had been a boycott against proxies a few years back, people afraid of the AI. The boycott didn’t last; proxies were too convenient. Which was fine by Lahn. He would almost always rather talk to a robot than a human anyway. “Is Tia available?”

“I am sorry, Lahn. She is busy at the moment. Would you like to leave her a recording?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.” Better than nothing.

“Hey, Chị,” Lahn said as the recording started. “Kind of had a rough morning. Maybe it was a DP episode, but it didn’t feel like one. It was dark, cold, vast, and violent. Or none of those things. I don’t know, I can’t describe it, but it put me on the floor.” He sighed. “I’m not making any sense. I’m fine. Call me when you get a chance.”

How do you explain an impossible experience? Not well, apparently.

A growl from his stomach reminded Lahn how important food was to managing his emotions, and he freed his feet from his protective cocoon and stood. Tossing the blanket onto the love seat, he stretched and rolled his shoulders back, then moved into the kitchen for breakfast. Something light. He opened the freezer and pulled out frozen berries, grabbed fennel seeds from the cupboard, and tore some spinach leaves from his hydro tower. With an apple from the counter cut into slices, and a handful of ice, he put everything in the blender. The grinding sound bounced off the walls of his small apartment, a harmony to the grinding of his chaotic thoughts.

The strange letter Lahn had received yesterday, sitting innocently next to the blender, drew his attention. Blessedly, it had nothing to do with the incidents of the morning, and he allowed himself the distraction.

The letter was weird, for sure. It had shown up, slipped under his front door: full-sized manila envelope, string clasp and everything, with only his name typed on the front. Inside was a single piece of paper with a string of numbers typed in the center.

Who would leave him a note with only random numbers on it? The strangeness had kept him from throwing it away. In the corner was an icon: a solid, upside-down triangle, with a hollow, diamond-shaped overlay. Maybe he could ask Lucia to do an image search and find out what it was.

“Soooo . . .” said Lucia. “Your work video meeting. Are you skipping?”

Stupid job, he thought. He wanted to skip. For some reason, he’d been dreading this meeting more than normal. But this one was important. They were kicking off the functional engineering project for a new set of features. “No. I need to go.”

He took a sip of his blended mix and closed his eyes, sweet and bitter flavors overlapping as the cold drink slid down his throat. He could be a minute late. Muscles tense, he focused all attention on the simple sensations. Yes, life was complicated and weird things were happening, but he could get through it. Sure, he felt a lingering sense of unease. Okay, the sense was getting stronger. But he’d survived before. He could set up an appointment with his therapist, and together they could—

Something intangible slammed into Lahn, a flash of white light, heat, and noise.

Fear, confusion, and smoke.

And the horribly familiar sensation of not being in his own body.

[The forceful pull relents with a snap and the smoky shadow resolves into a building. The front is half-gone, with a gaping hole that exposes the inner rooms of four floors. Bits of the roof and walls break off with a crack and fall in a grinding cacophony, loud in the unnatural silence.]

Lahn’s view returned to his kitchen and he stumbled back, grasping the edge of the counter as he slumped to the floor behind it.

“Hey, Buck Rogers,” said Lucia. “You awake back there?”

For a moment, Lahn was sure something horrible had inflicted a massive wound on his building, cutting deep into his apartment. As the interference cleared from his eyes, he looked around desperately, but found no damage, no destruction.

It wasn’t real, it hadn’t happened to him or his home.

“I think you fell down and died again, old man,” said Lucia. “I still don’t know what to do, you know. I know you don’t want me to, but maybe I should call Emergency?”

Lahn breathed in deeply through his nose, a frantic desire to connect to actual stimulus. The imagined odors of dust and smoke, batteries and plasma dissipated as he focused on sensations around him: the smell of last night’s dishes still in the sink, overtones of coriander and cinnamon; the odors of fruit and vegetables, with a hint of fennel seeds; the sounds of his deep but ragged breathing.

Lahn’s head fell back against the base cabinets, his labored breath escaping in sharp bursts. He looked down and saw that he’d dropped his cup, spreading the thick drink across the floor in a bright streak that was almost art. Staring at the mess, he allowed the vibrant color to capture his attention and draw him in. The scar on his right hand throbbed madly, and he sat, unable to move and not sure he wanted to. In contrast, adrenaline continued to course through his veins, pumping his muscles with energy to fight some mythical beast or run from a supernatural danger . . . anything but sit on the floor.

“What’s happening to me?” Lahn whispered.

“Oh, hey. You are alive. Same weird vision of infinite space?”

“No . . . something else.” His voice trembled. “A building with massive damage.”

“So, not related to your first death?”

Lahn paused. Deep in his core, he knew the two visions were related. “I saw different things, but the feeling of being ripped from my body was the same.”

“Oh, so it was Depersonalization.”

True, the feeling of being disconnected from his own body was unmistakable, but that was where the similarity to DP ended. A sense of energy and power was behind these incidents. Where Depersonalization muted everything, these had a feeling of hyper-reality. And he’d never had hallucinations before, at least not like this. Strong visual, auditory, even olfactory sensations that were clearly not from his physical surroundings. He could still almost feel a coating of dust covering every inch of exposed skin. The thought set his hair on end, and he scrambled up and stumbled to the bathroom.

After asking Lucia to tell his work he’d miss his meeting, he took a long shower, almost scalding. It was worth using an extra water ration.

Lahn stood wrapped in a towel, staring at the high-resolution photograph he positioned years ago covering the mirror in his bathroom. The craggy stone walls and tall towers of Eltz Castle in the photograph spoke of sanctuary, an ancient inviolacy that called to his soul. He’d always liked the strange architecture found in the building—a blend of nine centuries—and hiding his bathroom mirror removed the chance he might see a stranger instead of a recognizable reflection. Just one more stupid complication of his condition.

His eyes wandered over the familiar colors and lines of the photo, the mint sky vibrant against the darker flint roofs of the building. Lahn fantasized of living in the castle, in a different world, one with magic and fantastic adventure, where he wouldn’t have to deal with the challenges of mental illness.

With a heavy sigh, he moved to his bedroom to get dressed. Could the vision of the damaged building just be a product of his overactive imagination? Could both visions be? Even before his DP, there were times when imagining mythical adventure was easier than facing the realities of life. When his fantasies got in the way of healing from DP, his therapist encouraged change, and gave him tools to do so. But the fantasies still took over from time to time.

“Maddox is calling,” said Lucia from the bedroom speakers as Lahn was pulling on a clean shirt.

“Really?” said Lahn with a sigh of relief. If he couldn’t talk to Tia, at least he could talk to his best friend. After Tia, Maddox was Lahn’s strongest support in his struggles and recovery. Lahn could tell him anything, and he knew Maddox would simply listen and help him process, no judgments. Maddox had even once run some tests on Lahn to determine if any of his research into quantum consciousness could help with Lahn’s condition. It hadn’t come to anything, but Lahn was never in any doubt that Maddox cared.

“Answer it.”

“Oh, Lahn?” said Maddox from the bedroom speakers, a tone of surprise in his voice. “I . . . I didn’t think I’d catch you. Are you . . . okay? I was just . . . I just had this feeling I should call.”

A feeling? Weird. He sat on his bed with a deep sigh. “I’m glad you called, Maddox.”

Maddox hesitated. “Why, what happened?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I experienced two extreme visions.”

“Visions? You mean DP episodes? It’s been a little while since you’ve had one.”

“They were like my DP episodes, but different. They were short, yet so much more than anything I’ve felt before. The first one was cold and painful. And instead of only feeling disconnected from my body, I felt disconnected from everything.”

“What do you mean?” Maddox asked. “You’ve told me the things you see and hear can get distorted, like looking through old glass. Different from that?”

“Much different. Like I was outside space and time. The best I can come up with is a horrible Void that wanted me destroyed.”

“Um . . . wow!” said Maddox with an awkward chuckle. “I don’t quite get that, but okay. What about the second one?”

“I felt like I was someplace else, an actual place, unlike the formless Void of the first one. I saw a building, and I swear it was hit by a bomb. The front was a gaping hole. Smoke everywhere. It felt so real.”

Silence from Maddox.

“I know, I know.” Lahn sighed. “None of that makes any sense. But it must be more than DP, right?”

“I have no idea . . .” Maddox made a noise like he was hyperventilating. It comforted Lahn to realize he was not the only one freaking out about his experiences.

“Listen,” said Maddox, breathless. “I gotta go. I’ll come over after work, and we can figure out what’s going on. But this is weirder than you realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . you should check your queue.”

As Maddox ended the call, Lahn stood from his bed. He walked into the living room, picked up his portable from the desk, and with a frown, opened the news queue function.

How could things get any weirder? He thought.

The picture and headline of the very first article made his breath catch and his heart race. His right hand twitched, and he switched to holding the portable in his left. Opening the article, he tried to read, but it was impossible to focus on the meaning of the words and he jumped back to the top to read the title again.

Explosive Accident at Renelogy Solutions.

The photo was the building from his vision. Damage, destruction, gaping hole, everything exactly as he envisioned it.

“Oh . . . I guess that’s how.”

“Why don’t you turn on your camera?” asked Lahn’s mother, her face large on his living room display, the concern clear in the worry lines around her blue eyes. “I want to see if you’re okay.”

Everyone was asking Lahn if he was okay. He wasn’t okay. He was hundreds of miles from okay.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he responded, not looking at the display. “It wasn’t near here. Did you call Tia?”

“I tried,” said his mom, her cheeks flushed against her light complexion. “She didn’t pick up. She never answers my calls.”

Lahn knew he should be working. Like every other Monday, he should be on his terminal, coding functions, implementing output from AI, or struggling through the effort of collaborating with another engineer. But after his call with Maddox, there was no way he would get anything done, so he’d called in sick. He’d spent the next hour on the mesh, reading everything he could find about Renelogy and the accident.

“Tia’s just busy,” Lahn said. “I’m sure she’s fine. Tane would have let us know if she wasn’t.”

“I know Tia can take care of herself. I just worry about both of you, all alone in that city.”

Eventually Lahn had given up his research. Even though there was a fair bit of speculation that something had gone wrong in one of their renewable energy labs, nobody really knew for sure what happened at Renelogy. So now, Lahn stood in his living room, staring at his apartment door. The doorway to . . . outside.

“I’m twenty-three years old, Mom. I can take care of myself, too. And Tia and I are not alone. We have each other, and Maddox.”

“Maybe you should come home for a while. What if there’s another explosion?”

Usually, he tried to take comfort in knowing the challenging experiences of Depersonalization were not real. As his therapist often said, it was his mind trying to protect him from perceived danger. And he’d been assuming all morning that these new incidents, whatever they were, were no more real than Depersonalization.

“Why would there be another explosion, Mom? This was an industrial accident.”

“It must be stressful,” pushed his mother. “What if you have an episode? You’d think in 2012 we would have a cure for Depersonalization by now.”

But if his vision of the destroyed building was factual, that changed everything. It meant it definitely wasn’t anything like Depersonalization, created by his own mind. It was something else. Something unknown. And if there was one thing Lahn feared more than his DP episodes, it was the unknown.

“Lahn, it’s my job to take care of you,” she said.

He needed information, like a dragon needs gold. And more than the paltry scraps he found on the mesh. His only option was to go to the scene, see the site and the destruction for himself, and try to find some answers. That meant going outside.

Which he could do. He did it all the time. At least once or twice a month.

“Lahn, please turn on your camera and let me look at you,” she pleaded.

He stood at the doorway of his apartment. Dark-gray newsboy cap on his head. Beige ribbed shirt, minimal embedded tech—just your typical comfort nodes in the shoulder straps. Canvas satchel slung over his shoulder with the bare essentials. And his proxy ear cuff, matte gray, worn on his right ear. All of it boringly average, nothing old or worn, nothing nice enough to draw attention. Urban camouflage. It was his Ranger gear. Protective armor, weapons and tools needed to fight off orcs and trolls, whatever enemies the city might hold.

Now . . . if he could just open the door.

“I don’t blame you for the car wreck,” said his mother in a soft voice.

Lahn’s breath hitched, but he didn’t turn to look at her. “I’ve got to go. Love you, Mom.” Without waiting for her reply, he tapped his ear cuff and ended the call.

One deep breath, held, Lahn whipped open the door and stepped into the hallway.

This is the end of the free sample. Read the rest of the book here!

This is the end of the free sample. Read the rest of the book here!