Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

“So, the machete vibrates?”

“Not in any way you’ll ever feel,” she says. “I’m not a physicist, but the way I understand it is, all matter vibrates, but at different speeds. Different frequencies, from very low to extra high. Normally, people might talk about atoms and electrons, but around here it’s all about string theory, which basically says all matter is composed of teeny, tiny strings that vibrate at different frequencies. And like the frequencies of sound waves, there are vibrations we can detect as physical matter, or light, or heat, and some we can’t. What you thought were hallucinations are simply frequencies of reality that are normally undetectable and intangible to humanity and most common elements on Earth.

“Think of reality as musical notes. Each note on the scale is as audible, as real, as the next, but vibrating at different frequencies. The world as we experience it is an A. But the Dread experience the world in a different frequency. To them, reality is a B. On the same scale, the same planet, but distinct. The difference is that they are longtime musicians, able to move between notes, whereas we are still children, striking only a single note. Unlike us, or even the Dread, oscillium can vibrate in a single frequency, or multiple frequencies, and it can shift back and forth with ease.”

“And how does that work?” I ask, unwilling to hide my sarcastic tone.

“Bioelectromagnetism.” The confidence of Allenby’s voice says she’s up to the task of facing my scrutiny, but this is starting to feel new-agey. “The magnetic field generated by a human being pulsates up and down between .3 and 30Hz. The field measured at the hands matches the field measured in the brain, all of which can be affected by the mind. It’s been shown that people can change their field simply by focusing on it. At the low end of the spectrum, the magnetic field will pull the oscillium fully into sync with our frequency. On the far end of the spectrum, the oscillium will shift out of our frequency. Everything in between will have no effect.”

“Is that dangerous? Can’t the Dread affect the frequency?”

“Even if they knew it was possible, their bioelectromagnetic field is different from our own. The frequency shift only works for people, and even then only with practice. Once you know what the bioelectromagnetic field shift feels like, you can change the frequency of oscillium just by thinking it.

“The weapons you see here, like the walls and windows of this building, were designed to oscillate between A and B so quickly that they exist in both frequencies at once. But they can also be in one or the other, depending on the electromagnetic field of the person in contact with them, though there has never been a reason to not have the weapons exist in both worlds. It allows us to attack them without moving between frequencies like they do and keep them out of the building. Theoretically, all matter can make the jump between worlds with a shift in frequency, but oscillium does it naturally.”

“Here, there, and everywhere,” I say.

Allenby pauses. Sighs. “Your uncle used to sing that song to me.”

“Sorry.”

She forces a smile and waves off her sudden melancholy. “It’s a horrible song, but an accurate description of the alloy.” She holds the machete out to me, the blade resting in her open palms. Back to business.

I accept the offered weapon. When my fingers wrap around the handle and the machete comes up in my hand, a smile creeps onto my face. “Was… this mine?”

She grins and nods. “Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shogun samurai of Japan, once said that the sword was the soul of a samurai. The relationship between weapon and warrior, forged in battle, could never be broken.” Her smile fades. She puts the scabbard in my free hand. “Too bad that didn’t also work for family, eh?”

I slide the blade into the scabbard and slip the weapon over my back. Katzman approaches holding a belt with a holstered sidearm already in place. I identify the weapon with a quick glance: a black SIG Sauer P229. “What’s inside?”

“Point forty cals,” he says as I take the belt and strap it in place. “Try not to shoot any people. Your… senses are still adapting, so your target will most likely look like a shadow, but just because you can see through it doesn’t mean you can’t shoot it.”

“Oscillium,” I say. “Right.”

He nods. “There is a chance it could also appear as something more substantial. If that happens, try not to let this throw you.”

“Nothing throws me. Figuratively, though literally is also doubtful.”

Not amused, he heads for the door. “Two teams! Alpha, hit the west stairwell, work your way down. Take your time. Beta, elevator down and come up from below.” I’m sure he’s going to leave me out, let me tag along, see how the big boys do it. It’s the kind of silverback macho stuff you expect from a short man dressed for war. But that’s not what happens. “Crazy, you’re with Alpha. On point.”

“ Katzman, ” Allenby complains.

Katzman opens the door. The four-man Beta Team rushes out. “It’s why he’s here, isn’t it?”

Allenby racks the slide of her own handgun. Holsters it on her hip. She’s got two black knives on the other hip. She quickly grabs the wild poof atop her head that is her hair and pulls it back into an elastic that rolls off her wrist, there all along, waiting for duty. “Fine.”

Katzman motions to me. “Follow the hall to the right. All the way to the end and left. The stairwell door is straight ahead.” With that, he lowers a pair of strange round goggles over his eyes. The rest of Dread Squad does the same. I turn to Allenby to ask, but she’s pulling a pair over her own eyes as well.

“They let us peek between frequencies, but just a peek is sometimes too much. You won’t need them. Hopefully.” She flashes a grin. “Move it, soldier.”

With a confidence born of obvious naïveté and lack of fear, I head out of the room and turn right. I feel a flash of déjà vu. It’s not the hallway that feels familiar. It’s the anticipation. Of battle. Of facing chaos and reining it into control. I’ve done this before. What does it say about me that I can remember this feeling, but not what it’s like to have a son and lose him?

“Cut the alarm,” Katzman says behind me, talking into his hidden mic. A moment later, the blaring whoops fall silent and I can hear the heavy breathing of Dread Squad’s Alpha team behind me. They’re not winded already, just amped. Or are they afraid? If they are, they’re pretty good at hiding it.

Eight apartment doors later, we reach the end of the hall and turn left. The stairwell entrance is forty feet ahead. I don’t know if anyone lives in these units. Maybe just the Dread Squad guys. Either way, the doors don’t open. No curious eyes peek out. Could be that the residents have been trained to hunker down when they hear that alarm. Could be that they’re just afraid.

I stop by the stairwell door, draw my weapon, and flick off the safety. Katzman stops next to me. “I hope Lyons is right about you.”

“Let’s find out,” I say, and look back at Alpha Team. “Teams of two. No bunching up. Katz, you’re with me.” I point at the next two men in line. “You two enter when we hit the first landing.” I point at the last two. “You two stay put with Allenby. If it’s not us that comes out the door…”

The four men under Katzman’s command all turn to him.

He’s clearly annoyed but gives a curt nod.

I open the door and step into the stairwell. The walls are gray. So are the railings. And the concrete steps. It’s woefully bland in an industrial-Russia kind of way. No windows. Wire-encased bulbs line the walls. Whoever designed the rest of Neuro’s HQ really skimped on the stairwells. Of course, this is the modern world. How many people still use stairs?