by A W Wang
“You should expand the company you keep.”
“To ten sigmas? Sadly, your kind never cares about what happens outside of the mission. Although, perhaps we do enjoy certain yet differing physical pleasures, so I guess in that way, we are alike.”
“I’m not that kind, and I’m nothing like you,” I shout.
“Similar, then. You kill more quickly, but I have more purpose with my pursuits.”
My lips crease into a frown. Despite the sheer volume of words, I’m no closer to finding his location because the curved dimples in the ceiling and the hard surfaces of the columns are wreaking havoc with the acoustics. “What type of jacket are you?”
He says with approval, “Victoria was right to sacrifice you. Knowing and deducing too much isn’t a good thing for a tool like yourself. What do you think is my specialty?”
“Torture.”
More clucks come. “You were doing so well. But since you asked, I’m a specialist in information extraction. Not just the nuances of manipulating flesh, but all the mental aspects too. What you see in front of you is more experiment than hobby.”
“It’ll be just that much more satisfying when I smash your face in.”
Another knife flies into a rope-tied prisoner, whose cry is stifled by a mouthless leather mask.
At the edge of the candlelight pouring from the desk, I spy Jonathon lying on a spiky bed in the sunken area.
When I hurriedly step to him, Balthazar snorts and says, “Loyalty? And here I thought you had come for me. I’m jealous.”
“I’m going to so enjoy strapping you into one of your contraptions, Balthazar.”
“Colonel Montgomery, although, given what I do, the title should be doctor.”
A torch flickers, and instead of answering, I sweep to the side.
Knives sprout from the vague outline of a moving shadow.
Rather than dodging, I flick them down with the rifle, not wanting any prisoner to get hit by accident.
When the last one clatters on the bricks, the padding of bare feet comes from the rear of the room.
I swing the muzzle as a hazy form glides behind the candlelit desk.
My finger tightens, but a final knife rockets at Jonathon. By reflex, I leap and grab the tip just short of his nose.
Light sweeps across the chamber as a passageway opens.
I fire the knife back, but the metal clatters against the closing door. Unwilling to let Balthazar escape, I charge up the stairs and hurry down the outer floor.
When I reach the exit, a voice cries, “No.”
I stop, glancing at a large man stretched over a barrel.
“It’s a trap,” he says.
My hand tenses on the iron handle. Thoughts of exterminating Balthazar, who reminds me of every nightmare I’ve had from the virtual universe, run through my mind.
I fight them. The man is a jacket, and in this awful place, he’s in his element. I don’t even know the extent of his jacket’s expertise.
This isn’t the moment for a do-or-die showdown.
Reluctantly, I turn away.
I’ll meet Doctor Balthazar Montgomery another time.
Thirty-Five
While the newly freed prisoners toss on shoddy clothing and stretch, trying to get their joints working, I stand on the raised corner next to Balthazar’s desk, nibbling on a thumbnail.
It only took a few minutes to liberate the people from the torture devices, and thankfully, most were less injured than their grotesque positions would suggest. The displays existed for Balthazar’s pleasure more than anything else.
Shots echo down the hallway as cell doors are blasted open.
I frown.
After being released, the newly freed left to free their friends. My worries rise with each new person wandering into the medieval chamber. Something that started as a simple mission to grab Jonathon and escape from the city is becoming a shit-show.
What do I do with all these people?
Furious scratching comes from the candlelit area to my side where Jonathon sits at Balthazar’s desk, a little worse for the wear but still functional. His brows furrow behind high stacks of parchment while he scrawls with a quill pen.
Not understanding or caring about what could be so important, I shift my gaze to three men and one woman stripping the black knights of armor and weapons.
Without the face masks, the mind-wiped convicts look like regular people. Except these have scars on their naked bodies from augmentation surgeries. More than enough to take down a normal human and defeat other augments, but not even close to a ten sigma.
Because we are the apex predator of the apex predators.
When the newly armed finish dressing, Cleon, the large man who stopped me from chasing after Balthazar, sends them outside and heads to me. As the fake black knights exit, they brush past more people drifting into the already crowded space.
I gnaw at my thumbnail, considering the worsening options.
There are no safe escape routes for this many.
Cleon stops at the edge of the sunken floor and rests his hand on top of a metal cage. Despite all his suffering, he gives me a smile. The addition of the earnest gesture to his imposing size and athletic build reminds me of Jock from my first team.
Someone who I had feelings for…
I roll my eyes. That’s not a past I need to recollect.
“We’re freeing everyone on this level,” he states.
“Great,” I reply, trying not to let sarcasm infect my tone. “Nobody else?”
“Only those who are still human.”
I dip my head. The answer only confirms my suspicions about the terrible happenings below.
He takes a deep breath. “Did Victoria do something?”
“How do you know it was her?”
“Just tell me.”
“She killed the President and framed me for the murder,” I spit out, unsure if anyone would believe the story.
His lips purse, and he nods, unsurprised.
“Was this something you were expecting?”
Rather than elaborating, he turns to the rest of the assemblage. “Everyone! We’ve got a job to do. We have to visit the armory.”
I study the unwashed mass of humanity milling around the torture machines. Some are hobbled while everybody is emaciated from the lack of food and water. None is in any condition to…
“You’re taking this”—I wave my hand over the rabble—“into a fight?”
He frowns, glancing at the nearby people. “Every person here is mentally tough. We withstood everything Balthazar had to offer.”
His naive nature further cements an image of Jock in my mind, and I shake my head. “Combat is different than resisting torture.”
“You have another suggestion?”
“Escape. That’s why I came here.”
He gestures over the crowd. “For all two hundred of us?”
My lips tighten. The original plan of leaving with just Jonathon was more than feasible. Now with this horde, the odds would be longer and we’d likely lose quite a few.
But some would survive…
A contest against black knights, who know nothing of fear or pain, or ten sigmas in their battle-mesh would be infinitely worse…
I jump to the sunken floor and face him. “If you fight, everyone will die.”
“We were going to die anyway.” He points to the body of a black knight. “Or worse.”
“I have special knowledge. We can get some people out.”
He drags his hand down his face. “To what end? This coup is important to defeat now, in its infancy. If we try later, stopping Victoria will be impossible.”
“You won’t win. Escape—”
“To be hunted down like rats? We’ve got extra motivation. Victoria imprisoned us here.”
“Hate can only get you so far.”
“It’ll help. We might win.”
I let out a long sigh. “You won’t. And what about them? Are they okay
with dying?”
When I glare, Cleon turns to the gathering.
“People,” he shouts, raising his arms. “People!”
As the murmurs quiet, the scribbling behind me stops and Jonathon steps to my side, holding a stack of parchment.
After everyone turns to Cleon, he says in a commanding voice, “Thanks to Mary here,” he says, flicking his eyes to me, “we have an opportunity to defeat Victoria.”
A smattering of applause comes from the sea of faces.
“I can’t tell you this will be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is, but we have to do our best for those that we love…”
As he continues, a sense of déjà vu strikes me. I gave a similar speech in my last scenario to rouse my side into making an extraordinary effort to defeat Syd and end the composites once and for all.
As the altruistic words spill from his mouth, I frown at the futility.
Something nags at my thoughts, and I shift uncomfortably, struggling to figure out what could be wrong. I bite my lip. Part of me is wondering why I’m not the one at the forefront, leading the charge.
“So, who’s with me!” Cleon roars to finish the speech.
Raspy cheers arrive from across the dungeon. It looks like a unanimous vote.
Just like I got from my last team.
Poor Bob, Odet, even Cleo, who drew that shit-show as her first scenario…
Cleon turns to me. “Can we count on you?”
“I’m not joining this craziness.”
“This is something I don’t understand. You plowed into this place to rescue a friend and killed four black knights. Balthazar ran from you.”
“So?”
“You aren’t a coward, so what are you?”
I pause, trying to figure out the answer.
“Look,” he says with a softer tone, “I can’t force you to do anything, but we’d be a lot better off if you joined us.”
I turn to Jonathon. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
He shakes his head. “We can’t. Cleon’s right. This has to be stopped here and now when there’s a chance.”
“After what you’ve been through? What do you owe anyone here?”
“Victoria and Balthazar don’t represent what this country stands for. Neither did the former President. This is a place that’s worth saving.”
“You know what these people are up against.”
With a weary breath, he nods. “There’s a chance, and it’s worth the risk.”
I wonder about his inner fortitude and raise my estimation of him.
More echoes of gunfire trickle past the huge archway.
Jonathon says, “Let’s just help them for a bit. At least to the armory, so they can get weapons. Then we can decide.”
Like when we first met and he had to go to the control room, I can’t drag his sorry ass from the city if he’s unwilling.
I roll my eyes. I’m not ready to abandon him yet. Not after he risked his life to wait for me and get the download done.
“Look around us,” Jonathon says, glancing at the torture implements. “This will only get worse.”
Stupidly, I nod, hating getting sucked into a hopeless mission. “Fine, as far as the armory. What’s the plan?”
Cleon smiles. “I’ll let you know as I figure it out.”
“Please tell me you’re not winging this.”
“Not too much. There’s definitely an outline of a plan.”
“Wonderful,” I reply, filling my tone with sarcasm.
As Cleon motions for everyone to move out, I say, “Wait, one last thing.”
“What?”
I march to the desk and knock a candle over. After the flame catches on the parchment, I trot to the entrance. “Now we can go,” I say to Cleon’s satisfied smile.
We step into the hallway as the fire roars over the old fashion desk, consuming the wrinkling, shriveling stacks of Balthazar’s legacy.
Thirty-Six
Cracks spread from the fresh hole in the visor like a spiderweb, and the black knight sinks to the floor, leaving a crimson smear running down the wall. Smoke rises from the holes in another mindless wonder who lies at my feet.
The last chatters of the firefight fade, and the armory quiets.
A line of heat radiates from my thigh where a round poked through my outfit and touched the skin.
I force away the annoying sensation that will soon heal and swap a full magazine into my rifle.
Cleon steps from behind a tall cage filled with rockets and makes his way to me.
“We only lost five,” he says.
I shrug. In the cold calculus of battle, exchanging five emaciated prisoners for four black knights is a trade to make every time.
Yet, the whole notion unsettles me.
Misreading my non-committal response, he adds, “Things would have been a lot worse without you.”
“Things will get a lot worse before this is over.”
It’s his turn to shrug. “That’s war. We were all going to die anyway. Or”—he points to the body at my feet—“wind up like him.”
“You said that before,” I reply, annoyed.
He pulls open a metal grate and grabs a couple of grenades. “With these, we’ve got a chance.”
I roll my eyes, remembering what “a chance” meant in the ten sigma universe.
He leans close and says, “I watched you during the attack. You’re obviously special.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The black knights are inhumanly fast and strong. You’re even faster and stronger.” He pushes his face next to my ear and whispers, “I know what you are.”
“Then you understand there are at least three people with equivalent skills that you’ll be opposing.”
“Only if they’re following Victoria.”
An image of Peter copulating with her plows into my head. “Just assume that’s true.”
More would-be soldiers enter and grab weapons and ammunition.
To allow them space, I march to the exit, happy to escape from answering more questions about the screwy logic of war.
As I pass through the smashed doorway, Cleon shouts to the throng, “We don’t have much time. Everyone hurry up and get a weapon. If you don’t know how to use one, find someone to explain it to you.”
I nibble on a nail as pools of dread seep into my being.
After everyone grabs something, we head to the lobby of the reinforced building. I frown at the scrawny forms of the would-be army tottering under the extra weight of arms and ammunition. As we climb the final steps into the sequestered space, booms rattle the wide front windows. In the distance, flashes outline buildings and spindly frameworks of construction against the night sky. While the floor trembles from the detonations, most of the newly freed prisoners gape in awe at the stark view as if seeing combat for the first time.
The eerie cadence of small arms fire calls to me.
With my enhanced vision, I pick out shapes darting and fighting on the girders and rooftops. It’s my natural element, and part of me wants to charge into the melee and help decide the outcome.
A flush rises over my face.
That’s not who I am.
The string of explosions subsides, and near-total darkness settles over the surroundings.
Ignoring my desires, I plow through the masses and make my way to Cleon. “You’re still intending on taking this ragtag bunch into that?” I say, gesturing outside.
From a deep shadow, he replies, “That’s right.”
“This is a fool’s errand.”
“Other people are putting up resistance.”
“That won’t make enough of a difference. You’re going to get these people killed.”
A swathe of light sweeps across us as the doorway opens and four cloaked figures enter.
Cleon holds his retort, choosing instead to watch the newcomers push through the motley assemblage.
When they reach us, the leader ignites a glow stick. Black knight armor gl
eams from underneath their coverings—this is the original group Cleon sent to reconnoiter the situation.
“How did it go, Jonesy?” Cleon asks.
Jonesy, a man with a thin face and large nose, pulls down his hood. His eyes dart in the soft yellow light as he speaks, “Outside of the black knights and Balthazar, there aren’t many conspirators, but they’re well organized. It’s why they needed to seize the command-and-control centers first. Victoria is with the group battling for the main communications array.”
“Where’s Balthazar?” Cleon asks.
Jonesy scowls. “No idea, but he’ll pop up.”
“What about the special part of the mission?”
More detonations flare in the distance, and Jonesy waits for the harsh light to fade. “A few high-level officials are holed up in the residential section—including the one we need.”
Clean grins. “That’s it. The plan is a go.”
As Jonesy and the others nod, I ask, “What plan? Who do you need?”
Cleon shifts his attention to me. “The city’s on lockdown, so we move in two prongs. The main force hits Victoria, and hopefully, that succeeds. The second, just a few people, heads to the residential section and warns the Chief Justice.”
“The Chief Justice? Why her?” I ask, remembering the fiasco that was my trial.
“With Congress virtual and scattered, we only have two co-equal branches of government. The word of the Chief Justice carries a lot of weight. Enough to get people to notice.”
“Enough to stop a coup?”
“Yes.”
I arch a brow, and a distant flash erupts, catching the dubious expression perfectly.
Jonesy says to me, “This will work. Not everyone is involved.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was read into their plans before Balthazar discovered I wasn’t on their side and locked me away.”
“That’s not inspiring.”
“I’m good at what I do. He’s good at what he does,” he retorts.
Cleon taps my shoulder. “Unless we change the power equation, Congress will believe Victoria’s narrative. Victoria needs the Judiciary’s approval, or she’s not legitimate. So, we need to get you to the Chief Justice to explain what happened.”
