by A W Wang
All things I don’t have.
Their camouflage cloaks are furled down their sides while a vast array of arms—knives, throwing stars, guns, and all types of ammunition—rest in holsters and pouches draped over their bodies.
While I don’t remember Peter’s AI model, Samantha’s is more than familiar. She’s an instance of the violet-eyed girl, the type that engendered such guilt each time I killed one of them.
Because, according to the green threads from the man in the broad-brimmed hat, I have a niece named Darla, who has violet eyes.
I remind myself all the AI instances are separate. These two are the best of their baselines. Capable enough to match what I did—beat impossible odds and return to the real world.
No, not return…
As software constructs created in the virtual universe, they entered this world for the first time.
A quiet sigh leaves my lips as their lengthy accomplishments fill my mind.
Besides the violet eyes of her model, Samantha has a narrow face, long snowy hair, and beautiful Nordic features. She’s nicknamed “The Ice Queen.” Her history includes many missions across Siberia. Have an issue with a Russian despot and nuclear weapons? Let Samantha cross into Asia, and after a bloody swath of destruction, including a hundred dead Spetsnaz, the problem is solved. Her other trips into Moscow, Kiev, and the Ural Mountains form the stuff of legend.
A couple of places down from her, sporting a youthful countenance with a cheerful expression etched on his face, Peter presents a light-hearted, fun-loving persona. However, underneath the curly brown hair and behind the simple features of his tanned exterior, he’s a pure killer, who mostly operates in South and Central America. Needless to say, any issues arising from warlords in these areas are handled swiftly, leaving rivers of dead to bolster his perfect mission record.
The rest of the ten sigmas, including Ekton, the instance of the bald giant, have similar international resumes.
Outside of these worldwide excursions, ten sigmas have one other mandate they perform exceedingly well: defend the homeland against the best other nations have to offer.
As I witnessed, they have no peers at this point.
“Looks like our new friend has an interest in you, Samantha,” Peter says.
Samantha’s violet eyes shift, and a piercing stare settles on me.
An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my spine, and chains rattle as I straighten.
My hands are manacled to my sides.
Surprised, I tug harder. “I’m a prisoner?”
Samantha tenses, positioning her hand to grab one of a dozen weapons holstered over her arm.
I snort, thinking of how the two of them, fully kitted in their battle-mesh and high-tech weaponry, would be concerned with a single bound and unarmed prisoner.
Because such is the nature of a ten sigma, everything is an accouterment—we are the weapon.
Peter raises his palms in a peaceful gesture. “We’re all from the same family. We’re all ten sigmas here.”
When I relax into my seat, he says to Samantha, “Aren’t we?”
Her hand returns to her thigh as an answer.
“I’m Peter, and she’s Samantha.”
Curtly, I reply, “Mary.”
Peter indicates the chains. “You could probably break those things, but where would that leave us?”
I nod, accepting his estimation of the situation. “Fine, so I’m a prisoner?”
His smile returns, although his eyes remain alert. “Let’s say an honored guest. Ten sigmas don’t come along very often—”
“Just try to fit in and do what you’re supposed to,” Samantha says icily.
My stomach sinks. I have no idea what those words are supposed to mean.
Peter brightens his smile. “Don’t mind her tone. Samantha doesn’t like to fly.”
She frowns. “I don’t like being a passenger.”
Although I stay quiet, I stare at the chains binding my arms, agreeing with her viewpoint. As warriors, the loss of control is unsettling.
The streaming sunlight shifts as the plane banks.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home,” Peter replies.
The simple term sounds strange. Home is where my family is, wherever that may be. For all I’ve been through, I’m no closer to finding an answer, and when I try getting another peek at the green threads, Syd will be waiting.
Instead of asking where their version of home is, I glance up and down the empty seats. “Where are Victoria and Jonathon?”
And the bald giant, Ekton.
Samantha answers, “The scientist and the Defense Secretary have other responsibilities. They’ve gone ahead.”
The violet-eyed gaze lingers on me.
“What?” I ask to break the awkwardness.
“I’m curious. When you were fighting around the truck, why did you spare that soldier near the rear fender?”
I straighten as much as the chains will allow. Despite being in the middle of a pitched battle with dozens of targets and distractions, she noticed I let the teenager with the birthmark go.
Do they miss any details?
Although the thought unsettles me, I reply in a level tone, “A lot was happening. I missed.”
“Indeed,” she replies, unconvinced.
I force myself to meet her stare, and the uncomfortable moment lasts until Peter says, “Mary’s had an awful arrival, and anything could have happened.” He glances at Samantha. “When we get home, perhaps we should throw Mary a proper welcome?”
Samantha blows out an unenthusiastic breath. “Perhaps.”
Peter turns to me. “What do you think, Mary, would you like a proper welcome to unwind?”
“Sure,” I say, thinking that a cake and party streamers along with a pat on the back would be infinitely better than anything that happened during my entire screwy first morning in the real world.
It might even lead to feeling comfortable with this new body.
“Great,” he says with a grin and clap. “Now we can all be friends.”
The conversation lapses, but the two remain rigid and alert.
As the minutes pass, the distance between us grows. I wonder if it’s because they can look so perfect and composed after filling the streets of New Austin with blood.
I frown. Aside from sparing a couple of teenagers, I left a swath of dead too. And like them, I did nothing to help those poor souls being herded into slavery.
The terrible experience hasn’t affected me either.
However, besides the killing and the threads, what do we have in common?
The manacles rattle when I try to pull my hand up to chew on a nail.
Peter tilts his head quizzically.
“I’d really like to get all this straightened out,” I say in a friendly tone.
“That’s simple. Just be like us,” Samantha says as if it’s really that easy.
I shrug. “What does that mean?”
Her eyes lose focus. “A ten sigma is all martial knowledge, but a ten sigma is more than just the threads. A ten sigma is honed by victories in a thousand battles in every type of combat. A ten sigma is a perfect form entering the real world. A ten sigma is a killer of killers. A ten sigma is performance and duty. A ten sigma completes any mission.
“A ten sigma wins where no one else can…”
When she starts repeating the chant, Peter joins in, lending an eerie echo to the cadence. “A ten sigma is all martial knowledge…”
As their words flow in unison, my eyes dart between them. Each utterance widens the gulf between them and me. I wonder if the strangeness comes from their software roots. Perhaps this was programmed into them? Are they only mimicking being human?
When the two fall silent a minute later, I make no effort to reengage them.
As more time passes, instead of searching for similarities, I try to find differences between us.
There aren’t many, but I’m happier I didn’t ki
ll the teenagers.
Finally, the beams of sunlight flutter in the quiet cabin as we descend through the cloud layer.
The plane rattles as I open my mouth to release the pressure from my eardrums.
Peter claps again, his gleeful expression back. “We’re almost there. You’ll be so happy, Mary. You’ll see. This is a wonderful place.”
Not swayed by his youthful exuberance or feeling cheery in the least, I force a smile to match his ever-brightening demeanor.
“Remember, be like us,” Samantha says without a trace of emotion.
Rather than answering, I turn to the nearest window and watch the clouds speed past.
Nineteen
After a quick descent, the white mist disappears and checkered tracts of farmland speed past. Swarms of agricultural robots flow in and out of tracked mobile units as they tend to different crops.
The craft banks, bleeding altitude.
An old cityscape comes into view. In front of the jagged gleams of the decrepit skyline, many cranes bustle, creating a shorter, modern set of structures. In the outlying areas, glittery monorails emerge from underground tunnels, spreading over the countryside and to the horizon.
When we pass a defense ring manned by the familiar M24 mechas, the plane changes course and angles toward a sprawling airbase. At the outer markers, the engines tip for vertical thrust, slowing our forward momentum. We hover for a moment before gently dropping onto the first in a row of square landing pads.
Sharp-angled warcraft line adjoining runways while large-bellied cargo planes roar down longer ones further away. Across the base, small ships with indistinct rounded-gray frames sit between the sloped sides of reinforced hangers.
The array of military might is impressive, but without prior memories, I’m uncertain if I should be happy, depressed, or looking at my ten sigma companions, have any opinion at all.
When the whine of our engines stops, Peter and a relieved Samantha stand.
Peter helps me to my feet while Samantha heads to the rear of the fuselage. As we follow, the ramp lowers.
Aircraft roar in the background as she marches down to the border of the raised area. Although there are no threats, she remains in a rigid posture, rifle ready, her battle-mesh glittering in the beams of late afternoon sunshine poking through the rippled clouds.
A column of armored vehicles rolls up the tarmac and takes positions around the landing pad.
I turn to Peter. “That’s quite a welcome party.”
“You’re quite the guest,” he replies, guiding me down the ramp.
Squinting from the sunlight, I glance at him, searching for any hint of irony.
Only a simple smile graces his face. He’s genuinely pleased.
“Welcome to the capital,” Peter says when we reach the bottom.
“What’s it called?
“The New District of Columbia. New D.C. for short.”
I nod, wondering how I understand that makes sense.
Well-armed figures wearing black body armor exit the vehicles and surround us.
“These are black knights, your honor escort.”
Although I don’t know how they are associated with the Ten Sigma Program data dump, my mind duly informs me that Black Knights are the elite of the special police forces and a branch of augmented humans.
“Should I be worried?”
Peter laughs. “Ten sigmas never worry about anyone.”
Without a goodbye, Samantha walks past the cordon and hops into a boxy, smaller vehicle, which drives off. As it disappears behind the line of reinforced shelters, Peter says, “We’ll see her later.”
“Great,” I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“She’s quite fun when you get to know her,” he says earnestly.
I tighten my lips, envious of his simplistic view of life.
While we wait for I-don’t-know what, the black knights watch with unreadable eyes from under their black battle-masks.
I glance at my chains as my stomach knots from the combined weight of their strange stares.
A black Bentley with heavily tinted windows, elegant and out of place for the surroundings, pulls past the line of armored vehicles. A slim man with cropped dirty blonde hair exits from the back seat. He spends a moment adjusting to the brightness by tugging on his form-fitting, black uniform and playing with the golden insignias adorning his collar.
When he marches toward us, the armored figures snap to attention.
He stops an arm’s length away and appraises me with calculating blue eyes. A gentle breeze brings faint scents of cologne through the odor of engine exhaust.
I stare back, imagining my hands snapping his neck.
Somehow, he reminds me of Syd.
He says pleasantly, “I’m Colonel Montgomery.”
Peter laughs. “Ten sigmas don’t use ranks.”
Colonel Montgomery huffs but pushes a smile into his expression. “Or any other decorum. Please call me, Balthazar.”
I nod, replying with suspicion, “Mary.”
“Mary,” he repeats, drawing the word into long syllables in a similar fashion to Victoria.
While I wonder what’s wrong with my name, booms reverberate from a nearby runway where the massive shapes of bombers thunder skyward. Like the autonomous vehicles that destroyed the southern Middle East, these ships are now relegated to creating a defensive umbrella against other AI weapon platforms from invading the homeland. The overly expensive technology standoff is what created the necessity for superhuman people.
Like ten sigmas…
“I much prefer the beauty of the human form over automation,” Balthazar says, watching the formidable craft fly toward the horizon. Although said without the hint of suggestion, I inwardly shiver.
Peter touches my arm and points to an open door. My manacles clink as I shuffle off the landing pad and follow him to an armored vehicle. The interior holds front and back facing bench seats in a central cabin.
I plop onto the rear seat and shift my way across to the opposite block window while Peter positions himself on my right.
As the guards return to their transports, Balthazar sits across from us. The woody and citrus notes of his cologne fill the air.
I sniff, trying to detect what lies underneath.
There’s something, but—
The car lurches forward, and we curve from the landing pad. A moment later, our escorts pull to the front and rear, forming a lengthy cavalcade. We travel slowly past some spindly troop transports and gain speed as we head down an idle runway.
When the convoy thumps off the edge of the airfield onto an access road, the seat jerks and, because of the chains, I bounce into Peter.
He grins from the contact.
I return an embarrassed smile.
“This must be quite the shock,” Balthazar says.
Not wanting to engage the man in conversation, I curtly reply, “Not really.” When I twist my head to the window, Balthazar takes the hint, and the cabin lapses into silence.
After we pass a guard tower, the terrain flattens to provide a practical view of the defenses. The contrails of sleek fighters curve above, while nearer to the ground, small circular shapes of drones hover, scanning for threats. Conspicuous in the distance are the M24 mechas, their squat bodies forming an outward-facing arc. Level farmland stretches in front of them, creating impassable fields of fire for the well-armed beasts.
Although I don’t have exact memories, I know this isn’t the world I left.
I sigh.
Peter taps my shoulder, pointing out the opposite window to the broken towers of the old city. “I like to play in the different underground nooks and crannies under the buildings.”
“What about you, Mary? Where do you like to play?” Balthazar asks, taking advantage of the opportunity to converse.
Although his chilling smile unnerves me, I breathe easier when he blinks.
Perhaps not so much like Syd.
I match h
is smile. “I just do what I’m told.”
“Excellent! You should have no trouble fitting in here. We could always use another ten sigma, right Peter?”
“Of course, I’m too busy as it is.”
“So what should I know about this place?” I ask in a tone mimicking sincerity.
“More than I can tell you in such a brief trip,” Balthazar replies. He looks out the windows at the spokes of cranes towering over the newer structures. “We’re doing a lot of construction and creating hubs across the country to distribute supplies. This is a consolidation of research and leadership”—he points at a tram line—“and hopefully the core of a new society. It’s something that a group of us have been advocating for some time. Especially because of what happened in New Austin.” A dark expression crosses his face.
“What was the reason for the attack?” I ask.
Peter laughs. “Who cares about the whys?”
“You are the curious one,” Balthazar says with an appraising stare.
The car rocks to a stop in front of a round building that curves for several blocks into the distance.
Across the roadway, cranes swivel, their long booms busily hoisting material to fill in the skeletons of new structures and hide the dilapidated skyline behind them. Piles of pre-formed concrete and steel lie up and down the street while small robots scurry, moving things into place.
“This looks like order rising from the chaos,” I say to change topics.
Balthazar smiles proudly, the lighter expression somehow wrong on his features. “What do you think, Peter?” he says.
Peter chuckles. “Creating stuff is outside of my department.”
A guard pulls the door open. More black-armored soldiers arrive from all directions as we step onto the dust-filled street. Scattered recon drones float overhead, and conspicuous cameras dot nearby structures. Although some civilians wander about, the flavor of the vicinity is distinctly martial with everyone wearing colored military unitards.
