by A W Wang
After I nab a fresh pulse rifle and reload the pistol, I shove the desk from the doorway and say, “We’re running out of time, so we’ll have to hurry. Stay on my tail and try to be quiet.”
“Just remember your priorities.”
I frown, hoping I don’t have to make any hard choices between the competing directives.
We step outside and to the end of the corridor, avoiding the sparks falling from the live wires. From there, we advance past scattered bodies of Liberation Front soldiers and security guards but find no traces of augmented people.
Not sure if that’s a blessing or curse, I round a blackened corner with deep gouges. The passage narrows and halfway down a female in a white outfit lies draped over the frame of a shattered window.
A grunt of anguish comes from Jonathon, and he rushes to her.
Six
I run after him, muttering curses.
He brushes aside long blonde hair and checks the woman’s face. “Not who I thought it was,” he says, shaking his head.
With bigger issues to worry about, I resist admonishing him for the lack of discipline and reply, “That augmented person will be coming back with help. We need to hurry.”
He nods confidently, trusting too much to my abilities, while overlooking the fact that I’m not sure of what these abilities are or how to maximize them.
And still pass for being human.
My lips tighten at the dour thought.
In the adjoining hallway, the floor bows from a fallen beam of concrete.
I signal Jonathon to stay close, and we tightrope along the wall, giving the cracked area a wide berth.
At the intersection, water splatters over us as we cross beneath a broken sprinkler and duck under a hanging cloud of wires.
I march ahead, wiping droplets from my visor. Uneventful minutes pass until we enter the passage to the control room.
Muffled shots drift down the hallway.
I squint, focusing beyond the red of the emergency lights to a set of double doors.
When Jonathon pushes around my side, I shove out my arm and say, “There’s a battle ahead. How important is what you have to do?”
“Very,” he says, returning my gaze. “Can you deal with whatever’s in there?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Also, there might be someone we need to rescue.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling.
Just dandy…
“Whatever happens, follow me in and do what I say.”
After he nods, I hurry to the entrance.
While Jonathon fiddles with an entry panel, I listen to the action inside, eyeing the corridor behind us with suspicion.
When the doors unlock with a beep, I curse. So much for a stealth entrance to the party.
My latent reservoir of knowledge presents the layout, and I say, “There are stations ringed around a central area. Keep low. If things get too hot, I don’t care what you have to do, we’re leaving.”
Jonathon swallows hard, sensing my unease. “Okay.”
Bitter odors wash over us when I yank the heavy door open. With Jonathon in tow, I dash into a dim haze. As we tumble behind a curved workstation, shots from both groups plaster the wall overhead.
Through the rain of debris, I say to Jonathon, “Stay here.”
He replies with a jerky nod.
I crawl to the main aisle and peer into the stadium-shaped space.
Along the ceiling rim, red emergency lights shine through the murkiness. On the highest level, there are four sets of double doors, one in each quadrant. Below, colorful indicators—green, blue, red, and yellow—glow from tiers of workstations marching downward in concentric circles. Several bodies lie sprawled over the equipment. At the bottom, a hologram of the building and surrounding area jitters above a central table. In the shivering light, three people in white outfits conduct a desperate defense.
Shadowy forms in battle-mesh descend from the opposite entrance.
Augments.
Waiting isn’t an option. I crawl down a level and roll behind a station.
The shooting ebbs as everyone seeks a better position, adjusting to the new threat.
To maximize the pressure on the enemy, I follow the ring to my left, intending to catch them in a crossfire.
Shots from the people I’m rescuing zip past my head and thump into the workstation behind me.
Great.
“I’m on your side,” I holler.
When no answer comes, I roll my eyes and push ahead, trying not to expose myself to either group.
An augment leaps down a side aisle and heads in my direction, while the other two engage the defenders, keeping up a heavy stream of fire.
I pop up and snap off pulses across the room, trying to divert their attention.
Metal clatters. A grenade appears along the curve of the higher ring, rolling toward me.
Instead of leaping into view to get to a different level or charging as the enemy would expect, I scoot forward and flick it over the upper tier.
The detonation reverberates between the wall and outer stations, blasting upward and destroying electrical circuits in the ceiling.
Ignoring the blue sparks showering over the area, I grab three shuriken, Japanese throwing stars, and whip them on a downward arc at the grenade thrower.
Two hit with metallic thumps, but the third meets flesh with a wet thud.
With my immediate enemy off-balance, I roll over a control station and down to the next level.
The other augments leap on the offensive.
I sight the lead one and blast a hole in his battle-mesh.
He crashes headlong into a chair, but the other charges downward, stepping on computers and shifting from side to side faster than the defenders can aim.
A whir slices through the air, and I twist, dropping the rifle and yanking out my sword.
The grenade thrower stares with wide eyes as I deflect a thrust and riposte.
He dodges, and I jump into his aisle and attack. The glimmering edges of our weapons clash in the smoky darkness as I drive him back. His arm is wounded from my shuriken, and I take advantage, parting his head from his body with a quick stroke.
As silvery blood fountains from his neck, a scream cuts through the haze.
Below, a defender flops against the hologram table with a slash across his chest and abdomen.
I charge down the tiers, stomping on green-and-blue-lit control panels.
The last augment jumps over the jittery building hologram and grapples with a stocky woman against the interior ring of computers.
Just as his arm rises for the killing blow, I leap onto the bottom circle and run my sword through his head. He jerks once then falls without so much as a sigh.
I whip my eyes over the hazy space. Besides the falling blue sparks, nothing moves. I holler, “Jonathon, come down.”
The woman I just saved grabs a pistol from the floor and points the barrel at my chest. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Okay, friend. What are you?”
“Just an ordinary person,” I say, unsure of the correct answer.
“Not in that armor”—she indicates the dead augment—“and moving faster than that thing, you’re not.”
A youngish woman with long shiny blonde hair, the third of the trio, says in a commanding voice, “Captain Jameson, put down the weapon.”
“But—”
“Check on Billingsley.”
The pistol lowers. “Yes, Secretary.”
As Jameson moves to their fallen comrade, the woman steps into the trembling yellow glow of the hologram and appraises me.
Although I classify her oval face and olive complexion as beautiful, I realize the adjective is an understatement. Even though only dressed in a white jumpsuit embroidered with simple crests, she exudes elegance and has a regal bearing. Her charisma magnifies the size of her petite form, while her gray-eyed stare carries both power and intelligence
.
Someone of importance.
Jonathon reaches us and gives her a curt bow. “Secretary, I’m so happy—”
She touches his shoulder. “Please, call me Victoria.”
“Victoria.”
“I was under the impression you were ordered to leave.”
“Forgive me, but the reintegration process had already started. I stayed to finish it.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Without the rest of the team?”
He nods.
Her eyes quiver, making slight side-to-side movements, as she weighs her options. Finally, she sighs. “You did what you thought was right, and I won’t fault you for that. Now, tell me, how bad is the loss?”
“With the latest collapse in the technology chains from the West Coast, nothing we’ve lost here can be easily reduplicated. The costs…”
“I see,” she says with a frown.
Not caring about the strategic or economic fallout, I say impatiently, “Jonathon, don’t you have something to do? We’re running out of time.”
He explains to Victoria, “There’s a final task I need to perform and wipe out the database, so it doesn’t get captured.”
She nods. “Please, proceed.”
After he rushes up a level to an undamaged station, Victoria returns her attention to me.
“That’s an enthralling look you have.”
It’s a strange statement for a strange situation. Besides having long red hair, I have no idea of what my real-world face looks like or what it should look like. I shrug, deciding to maintain an air of indifference.
She sends a pleasant smile. “You seem to have turned out very well. And a thank you is in order…”
I hesitate, battling a reluctant liking for the woman, then force the name of my alter ego off my tongue. “Mary.”
From the shadows above, Jonathon twists his head.
“Mary,” Victoria says, the word rolling from her lips as if sampling food. Her eyes lose focus and quiver again.
An uncomfortable feeling arises. I don’t know how to act in casual conversation.
How much of me was wiped in the Ten Sigma Program?
Jameson returns and saves me from further awkwardness. “Billingsley is dead.”
Victoria tightens her lips before acknowledging the news with a curt nod.
The captain turns to me. “No matter what, we have to get the Secretary of Defense to safety.”
Great, more people to protect.
I point at the four entrances. “We can’t defend this place. We’re getting attacked soon, and we’re going to be screwed.”
“Do you have a way out?”
“Yes.” I turn to Jonathon. “How much longer?”
“A couple of minutes still.”
I shake my head.
“Secretary,” Jameson says, “we should leave now.”
“We wait,” Victoria says, ending any debate. “Erasing the database is more important than our escape.”
Not agreeing with the assessment, I nab a pulse rifle from the fallen augment and walk past the inner circle, planning out a defense for the undefendable space.
After stepping around several mangled bodies, I pause and push out a breath. My clinical detachment toward death is becoming an annoyance. The dead aren’t virtual constructs; these were flesh-and-blood people.
My lack of empathy bothers me.
When I step near Jonathon, willing him to work faster, he wipes beads of sweat from his forehead. “Almost there…”
“Not a moment too soon.”
He taps my elbow and whispers, “Keep this between us. When this is done, I want you to consider leaving and heading into the badlands.”
His meaningful stare stops me from questioning the startling advice.
Muted steps and faint clinks interrupt my thoughts.
“They’re coming,” I holler. “Move it or we’re dead,” I say to Jonathon.
“Wait,” he replies. “Just one more thing—”
I grab his elbow. “Now!”
A door bursts open, and Liberation Front soldiers pour in.
Seven
A mass of ratty armor cascades into the room from the entry on my right.
“Cover,” I shout, firing my rifle at the top level.
The zips cutting through the air end in screams, and the charge stops. A moment later, the survivors retreat past the doorway.
Jonathon rises and goes back to the computer.
“Time to go,” I say.
“One more thing.”
“No.” I grab him, grinding my teeth.
Victoria shouts, “He has to delete the scientific information. Please, let him finish.”
I release my grip, cursing at myself for being drawn into the extracurricular task of protecting another person while reserving the worst expletives for ignoring my battle sense. The real world is nothing like the virtual one, and I’m performing at a substandard level from the issues with my frighteningly fragile mind.
A wave of helplessness washes over me as clomping boots approach from every direction.
Jameson sights her pistol on the entrance across the way, while I sweep my rifle over the other three.
A total shit-show.
“Finished,” Jonathon says and rushes to Victoria.
As I follow, the doors to the left and those from behind blast apart.
“Down,” I yell, tackling Jonathon. I push him against the inner circle of computers while Jameson shoves Victoria under the hologram table.
With enemies spilling from more places than I can cover, I toss every flashbang I stole from the augments at each axis of danger.
“Stun grenades out,” I holler, shielding Jonathon with my body, as the last of metal balls arcs past the outer ring of stations.
Sharp concussions rattle equipment and blinding flashes fill the smoky atmosphere. Moans pour from our disoriented enemies.
I pop to a knee and cut loose with a barrage of pulses at murky figures staggering in the haze. In a few seconds, everybody standing gets seared or dives into hiding.
“That way!” I holler, pointing to the doorway from where Jonathon and I entered.
Jonathon sends a blank stare.
Victoria rushes to him. “This way Jonathon,” she says, pulling him into a stumbling crawl toward our exit.
Thankful for the help, I rush ahead, letting Jameson cover the aisle behind us.
When we reach the doors, which surprisingly haven’t been battered down by a horde of soldiers, I push out my arm to stop Jonathon from tumbling outside.
Metal clinks from the hallway.
Groaning at the unsurprising event, I sling my rifle and draw my advanced sword. Nanobots gleam down the edge when I squeeze the handle.
“Count to three and follow,” I say and slam through the doors.
I plow into four soldiers. As the surprised men raise their weapons, I roll and swing the sword. The enhanced blade has no issue cutting through their shoddy armor, and after four swipes, they’ve all fallen without firing a shot.
The others exit a moment later and not a moment too soon.
Pulses splat into the thick doors as Jameson and I shove them closed.
Victoria drags the halves of a body across the doorway, getting her hands and white uniform bloody.
When I add to the makeshift barrier by jamming a pulse rifle through the handles, she gives a quick nod. “Thanks.”
“Thank me when we get out of this.” I turn to include Jonathon in the conversation. While he blinks, trying to shake off the disorientation from the flash-bangs, I say in a harsh tone, “No matter what, stay with me and be quiet.” I need them to be wary but move with speed. It’s asking the impossible of noncombatants, but in battle, that’s what’s necessary to survive. After they nod in understanding, I sheathe my sword. “Jameson, cover the rear. Now everyone, move fast.”
Footsteps thud from the other side of the entryway.
I raise my rifle, assuming a combat crouch
. With Jonathon and Victoria on my heels and Jameson a few paces behind, I take hurried strides past the red of emergency lights. My enhanced, passable-for-human body quickly outdistances everyone. At a darkened corner, I stop and force down my frustration. The turmoil of emotions is interfering with my judgment.
When Jonathon and Victoria arrive with plodding steps, I peer into the next hallway.
The dim space is clear, at least for the time being.
A moment later, the barred doors crash open, and heavy boots pound behind us.
“They’re coming,” Jameson shouts, turning the corner.
I charge ahead, retracing the route Jonathon and I took over the 8th floor. As doorways and windows pass, I gear my senses to find clues of any activity, comparing every smudge, hole, and obstacle of our prior path with what I see now. Nothing is different, and that’s a good sign.
When the broken sprinkler comes into sight, I stop.
Shadows lurk behind the hanging cloud of wires.
Gunfire rumbles down the hallway as Jameson slows down the pursuit.
In battle, things have timing, and with threats to the front and rear, we’re seconds from death.
Jonathon brushes against my side as a wave of armor spills through the spray of water.
I shove him back and twitch my fingers on the trigger.
The rifle spits pulses. Heat blossoms across the advancing figures, who yelp and tumble. When I nail the final one, I twist my head and look past Jonathon. “Where’s Victoria?”
He shakes his head in bewilderment.
I drag him back down the corridor and peek around the corner.
Soldiers approach Victoria’s huddled form.
I advance and clear the area with a barrage of pulses.
As I near, Victoria glances up from the dead stare of Captain Jameson and says in a small voice, “She’s been with me since my teenage days.”
I draw a deep breath and say as sympathetically as possible, “We don’t have time to be sentimental.”
Her eyes do the strange quiver, and a mask of coldness settles over her face. She lays Jameson down and stands. “Yes, you’re quite right.”
Surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor, I reply, “Just stick close, and we’ll get out of this.”
She smiles. “I know what you are, and I trust in your abilities.”
