by A W Wang
“Allison Taylor gave me a death sentence. She won’t trust anything I say.”
Jonathon steps to us and holds up Balthazar’s notes. “That’s why I saved these. As evidence of what Balthazar and Victoria are doing. If you tell Chief Justice Taylor what you know, we can win.”
I glare. “So when you said we’d join this counter-rebellion temporarily and then decide, you already had your decision made?”
Jonathon looks away as Cleon says, “We have to do this. Victoria threw all her potential enemies in prison with manufactured charges and Balthazar’s help. In the move to the new capital, a lot of people conveniently disappeared too. Things are only going to get worse.”
“Are you positive this isn’t about revenge? Victoria put you into that dungeon, and Balthazar certainly did plenty for you to want him dead.”
Although his eyes blaze, he shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“Escape is a better plan.”
“Remember, you can do the impossible.”
“That still won’t be enough.”
Cleon leans close. “I’m similar to Victoria and Balthazar.”
I tense, fighting a surge of optimism. “If you’re a jacket, why don’t your eyes quiver?”
“Some of us are integrated better than others. Not quite as much as you with your threads, but almost seamlessly.”
Although I don’t understand the context, I promise myself to look things up later.
If I’m still alive…
“Why aren’t you with Victoria then, like Balthazar?”
“Like everybody else, we combine with the jacket to have our own sense of morality. Everyone was forced to pick a side, and Victoria put all the jackets who wouldn’t follow her unquestioned leadership here.”
My eyes wander over the crowded vicinity. “I thought the Jackets Program was unsuccessful because it was too hard to get numbers.”
“There aren’t that many of us.”
“Not enough to win this battle.”
He sighs. “People who believe the ends justify the means can never be trusted with power. Once you cross the line, the boundaries no longer exist. Afterward, there’s always another rationalization that leads to abuse. That’s the real reason we need to fight. Right here, right now.”
My suspicions flare. “Since you’re spoiling for this counter-coup, I’m guessing your jacket contains some aspect of martial knowledge,” I say, hoping my fears are wrong.
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“My jacket specializes in philosophy.”
“Stuff like, if a tree falls in the woods—”
“It’s more complex than that,” he says with annoyance.
While knots twist my insides in all directions, I face him with a skeptical stare. “Well, now that we have the war of words won, how much combat experience do you have?”
His glare says it all.
“And you’re going to lead these people into battle?”
“Yes.”
“How many of your jackets specialize in fighting?”
“A couple.”
“But you’re in overall command…”
He nods.
My hands shake as I fight the urge to throttle some sense into him. He might remind me of Jock, but he’s no fighter.
Jonesy steps between us. “Time’s a wastin. If Victoria gets control of the comm centers while we sit here bickering, we’ll lose for sure.”
Cleon points at me. “We need her help. She’s special.”
Images of Samantha and Peter carving up augments in their battle-mesh flood through my mind. What would they do to these people? “I already said no. Does anyone want to come with me?”
Those nearby shake their heads.
“Really?” I say incredulously. “They have people that can do everything I can do, only they’ll be fully armed and wearing battle-mesh.”
“We’re committed,” Cleon calmly replies. “All we’re asking is you get a small group to the Chief Justice and give her your information.”
Jonathon says, “Mary, please. We need you.”
“Let’s assume we even get there, what then? My death sentence gets executed?”
“She’ll see your value.”
“You’re in trouble too,” I retort.
A sigh leaves his lips. “I know, but this is about more than just you or me. If you run now, your guilt will be assumed, and Victoria’s narrative will be considered true. There’s not much of the country remaining, but what little is left is worth saving. The Chief Justice is the best chance we’ve got.” He shrugs. “But I can’t decide for you.”
Cleon adds, “In the interests of full disclosure, you’re right. I wouldn’t mind getting payback on Balthazar if that happens. But if Victoria wins, this world will become a lot more like that dungeon.”
I roll my eyes.
As if Syd had come back…
I despise the notion of joining all the coming violence and death. That past I had hoped would die with the destruction of the control mechanism.
But I can’t do whatever I want, I’ve got to do what’s right. And now that means fighting against anything that would turn into Syd’s version of this world.
A scowl spreads across my face before I say, “Fine, I hate this plan, but I’ll make sure the message gets to the Chief Justice. And if she doesn’t listen, I’m leaving”—I turn to Jonathon—“with or without you.”
“Good,” Cleon says.
While Jonathon nods, I say to Cleon, “What now? We just head out the front doors?”
Cleon laughs. “Nothing that obvious.”
Jonesy slaps my shoulder, saying, “Easy peasy. This will be just like when I went into Madrid.”
Annoyed with the bluster, I follow as Cleon leads everyone to the end of a side hallway where an auxiliary exit leads outside.
Jonesy marches a little further past and plants his foot on a staircase heading underground. Pointing at Jonathon and another man, he says, “It’ll be the four of us taking this passage to the residences.”
Dull booms and crisp sounds of combat roll past when Cleon opens the door. As he motions everyone toward the fighting, he nods to me. “We’re heading this way for Victoria. Best of luck.”
“You’ll never make it.”
“Maybe not. But the diversion will give you a chance.”
Although I still dislike being drawn into this endeavor, I have nothing better to offer. As people shuffle past and step outside, a notion hits me. “Cleon?”
“Yes,” he says, turning.
“I should be going with you. I have just as much of a reason to hate Victoria.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t hate her. I know she’s been unhappy with the policies for a long time, and truth be told, they were bad policies.” He rubs his scruffy chin. “Just remember, she’s doing the best she can, given the hand she was dealt.”
“Are you saying Victoria is one of the good guys?”
A weary sigh escapes from his mouth. “This is 2065. There are no good guys.”
I watch with tight lips as he marches out the door and follows the rest of the former prisoners, heading toward the distant flashes and booms.
Thirty-Seven
Weighed down by weapons and reloads, three of us head down an arched tunnel, following the train rail that leads to the senior government residences. The fourth person from our meager force, Jonesy, scouts ahead, somewhere past the dim line of red bulbs fading into the distance.
So far, the mission to right the wrongs of the world has been uneventful.
Rumbles reverberate down the long confines.
The lonely echoes of our footsteps barely pause from the renewal of the firefight.
In my heart, I know Cleon’s ragtag bunch can’t defeat Victoria’s augmented soldiers. Given the disparity between the forces, I doubt many of the prisoners last more than a few minutes, even with a couple of combat-oriented jackets.
All s
o we can reach the Chief Justice.
But why should she believe our story?
Victoria is a decorated, trusted member of the cabinet. I’m someone under a death sentence, whose companions are a bunch of escapees on a jailbreak.
I blow out an exasperated sigh.
No matter my feelings, I couldn’t let Jonathon go alone.
And there was that annoying issue of doing the right thing…
I gnaw on a thumbnail. The ten sigma mantra shouldn’t be “Win against all odds,” it should be “Make the best of crappy situations.”
While I think differently than the AIs, I could stand to be a little more like Ekton or Samantha.
And therein lies the problem.
While I’m worried about so many things beyond the idiotic plan, the most worrisome thing of all is why I’m worried about anything.
Ten sigmas win, period.
In my final battle against Syd, I had no issues with leading my other teammates to their deaths.
Anything to beat him, but now…
I shake my head, battling the glum thoughts.
Regaining my past was my best and only option to retain my humanity, and for now, I don’t need any more blood on my hands from being in charge of this looming fiasco.
But how much blood will be on my hands if I don’t use my abilities to their fullest?
Huffing near my side, Jonathon moves the pile of parchment under his arm and wipes sweat from his brow. “I wonder how the others are doing?”
“I’m sure not as well as we’re hoping,” I reply in a sour tone.
He frowns.
“Jonathon,” I say, giving a hard stare, “When this is over and it’s clear we can’t win, promise you’re coming with me out of this city.”
His response is a sigh, and he casts his gaze forward.
I grab his shoulder. “No more games. Promise.”
“Promise,” he says without looking at me.
David, our companion, says from the other side of the tram rail, “I’m sensing a lack of conviction on your part.”
Although he’s not wrong, I purse my lips at the intrusion. “Aren’t you the perceptive one?”
If the snarkiness infecting my tone bothers him, he keeps it hidden. “I heard Cleon mention you were special.”
“I’m a ten sigma.”
“Does that mean anything?”
I snort. “I have no idea.”
His eyebrow arches. “I’m not sure what Cleon was referring to, but for him to hold you in such high regard speaks volumes.”
“He’s got a high regard for Victoria. That speaks volumes too,” I reply, deciding that snarky feels right.
“You can respect someone and still want to kill them,” he says with quivering eyes.
Great, another one.
“What’s your jacket’s specialty? Psychiatry?”
“No, nothing that mundane.”
I walk faster through the alternating glows of red and patches of darkness.
David matches my pace, saying, “Victoria is right about the policy, but her methods are wrong.”
When I raise an eyebrow, he adds, “If your answer is a coup when you have a disagreement, throwing away all law, then you have nothing worth saving. Victoria can never give up her power because the next person who disagrees with her will do the same.”
One of my Roman Legion threads spills a tidbit of history. “So, you’re saying she crossed the Rubicon like Caesar?”
“Yes, that’s a good analogy. For her, there’s no turning back.”
“That’s true for all of us.”
He nods. “Which is why I’m offering myself as a sounding board, so you can get past your reservations.”
“Are you sure your jacket isn’t for psychiatry? Or better yet, philosophy?”
He ignores the sarcastic questions. “When you have a jacket, it’s not that simple. There are millions of datums containing expertise that pertain to the knowledge and experiences of a topic.”
“Yes, I know about the Jackets Program.”
“Do you understand all of the issues involved with shoving all of that know-how into a working brain?”
I shrug.
Just in the virtual world…
“When they put that ring around your head—”
“A silvery band that connects to a sphere?”
“More of a cube with a powerpack and a few electrodes. It’s hard for a jacket to be written into someone’s mind. There has to be enough power to inject the threads into your brain, which requires some rewriting of the cortical areas.”
“Try swimming for a hundred dots and forcing yourself through an impenetrable barrier,” I say in my snarkiest tone.
“What?”
I wave dismissively. “Nothing.”
“The jacket process is quite an intrusion. Depending on the circumstance and person, things can get complicated…”
“Like?”
“In the worst case, the person and jacket don’t mesh and the threads form their own personality.”
“You mean having two people living in one head?”
“Yes, although in many cases, it’s pleasant. For me, I always wanted to design things, so my integration was easy, but—”
“What precisely does your jacket specialize in?”
With a straight face, he replies, “Urban development.”
His eyes linger, no doubt waiting for a snide response.
Despite the situation, I don’t disappoint. Chuckles erupt from my lips in a series of snorts. “No offense, but making cities? Great! If we get attacked by a traffic jam, I’ll know who to call.”
“It’s a little more useful than that.”
“I mean, what are you going to do if we run into trouble? We’re not fighting buildings.”
He tightens his lips. “I can handle a gun.”
“Why would you choose something like that expertise?”
“We don’t choose the jacket. The jacket chooses the person, and they’re very picky. That’s why there are so few of us.”
“Well, you make up for it by having really wonderful people like Balthazar and Victoria.”
David sighs and says apologetically, “The goals of the jacket might not match those of the individual. The jackets are demanding in their own right. And if the mind is too weak, then the jacket can take over.
“In many cases, especially for those who had the jackets when they were young, this is a major issue.” He frowns. “Victoria was a child when she got her jacket. Balthazar too. At this point, they’re probably more the jacket than original. So, even if they are evil, they probably didn’t want to turn out how they did. Besides, the jacket is only doing what it thinks is right.”
I roll my eyes to the heavens. “I guess that makes up for everything. The jacket is only being obsessive-compulsive, even if its goals are torturing people.”
“Especially if it’s that powerful.”
“Well, that makes everything okay then.”
“Jackets have uses too. We can pass for human, and it’s instant expertise that can’t be duplicated even through the most rigorous training.”
And a perfectly integrated jacket plus conquering vigorous life-and-death scenarios in a virtual universe equals a ten sigma.
“Is that you or the jacket talking?”
“A little of both.” He smiles. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I saw the way you moved and how you reacted during the fighting in the armory. Black knights are no joke, but you handled them without batting an eyelash. My guess is you have a well-integrated combat jacket.”
“A little better and a little more than that.”
“I bet…” He laughs then coughs, holding his chest. A grimace crosses his face as he says, “Balthazar’s jacket did a pretty good job on me. Sometimes I wish my knowledge was a bit more exciting and lethal.”
“Knowing how to fight and kill isn’t as wonderful as it seems.”
> “But in this world, more useful. Might does make right.”
I grunt, hating the truth of the statement.
“We’re almost there,” Jonathon says, pointing past the last of the red bulbs to bluish moonlight leaking into the end of the tunnel.
Fresh explosions rumble from the opening, followed by the faint chatter of gunfire.
A cloaked form jumps into view and rushes toward us.
I put a hand on David’s raised rifle.
A moment later, Jonesy arrives. “The fighting has siphoned off most of the guards. We’ve got a small window to do this.”
“Let’s go,” I say, breaking into a trot.
Jonesy runs next to me and says, “Hey, take it easy. Some of us have been in prison for a while.”
“That diversion isn’t going to last very long.”
“Don’t worry about Cleon. He’s smart and has people with him who can fight.”
“A couple who might last a little longer than a few minutes,” I reply dourly. “And maybe we’ll get a few extra minutes while Victoria hunts down stragglers.”
“We still need to be careful.”
“Just stay close,” I say for everyone’s benefit. “I’ll make sure we get there.”
David laughs breathlessly. “Who knows? We might even save some lives.”
I snort, expecting an outcome that’s just a little worse…
Thirty-Eight
In the shadow of a two-story home, the security guard struggles before slipping into unconsciousness.
After I drag him behind a line of hedges, I lay him next to three of his other gray-clad companions. These are just regular people, and I hope they wake with nothing worse than a headache.
Past a manicured layout of bushes, the residences bordering the square sit dark and quiet. Glows from gaslights framing a small park glare through the moonlight. Without making use of holograms, the red bricks, wooden shutters, tasteful accents, and wrought iron fences lend a quaint ambiance to the neighborhood.
Booms and crackles sound from the distance.
I step to the edge of the dwelling and lean past the corner.
