by A W Wang
In the pictures, these were happy human beings, living a carefree life.
My eyes grow moist as the finality of death seeps into me.
Shying from the macabre forms, I sink next to a fuzzy stuffed animal. Although the torso is ripped and the face burned, I’m pretty sure it used to be a cartoon character.
I gaze at the innards of the house. These people had a history like the one I fought to get back. Every stick of furniture, every picture, and every accent was picked and placed in an exact location.
Like I did for the cottage Nick and I moved into after we got married. And like us, these folks had similar aspirations for their lives.
A sniffle leaves my lips as my sense of wrongness flares, worse than ever.
Despite all the brutal training and my casual attitude toward death, I can’t stifle my feelings for the dreams that died in this place.
As Jonathon said, here on the ground, things are different. Everything is personal.
I try to imagine what Suri would say. Nothing comes because nothing in the program matches this scene. In this world, the dead don’t magically disappear with a scenario map. And no scenario ever held this much innocent suffering.
Against my will, I edge toward the shed and the bodies, the remains of the mother shielding the two children. The snakes dance through my insides as I wave away a carpet of flies and look at their faces.
Maggots crawl from hollow eye sockets.
I sink to my knees and squeeze my tearing eyes shut.
Nausea bubbles through my lower half, forcing its way upward.
I clench my jaw, fighting the strange feelings.
Saliva pours into my mouth. Despite my training and enhanced body, I can’t stop what’s coming. My abdomen clutches, and the queasy sensations explode.
Oh, no…
Bile rushes up my throat, and I’m on my elbows, my fingers clutching at the ground. My stomach heaves and vomit spews over the charred grass.
The cycle repeats until nothing is left inside.
When my muscles finally unclench, I spend a few moments spitting the awful taste from my mouth and letting my thoughts whirl.
It’s like there was an apocalypse or at least half of one, and I’m just getting the news now.
Pictures of mass graves arrive from the data dump, the bodies covered in lye before bulldozers push mountains of dirt over the holes.
Unlike those that surfaced during the flight with Jonathon, this time, my mind adds the stench and the individuality of the dead to the overall experience.
Everything I missed during my stay in the virtual universe.
Didn’t I suffer enough to get back here?
I did, but not in this way.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. This isn’t something a ten sigma would deal with or even consider part of their reality. When a mission ends, ten sigmas return to a “Proper Homecoming,” without ramifications for any of their deeds.
Aftermaths don’t factor into their thinking.
I ball my fists over my face, sucking down rancid air, fighting the conclusion my body has been leading me to.
The person who entered the Ten Sigma Program isn’t cut out for this never-ending scenario.
Doubts crawl into my mind. While dealing with the Liberation Front was child’s play, my next battle will be against the apex predators.
What chance do I really have?
I shake my head, fighting the weakness.
But…
If I alter course, slightly to the west, I could bypass the air of finality surrounding New Austin.
Can I spend my life hiding with everyone thinking I’m a renegade from my own country?
An echo reverberates, “What will you do?”
My thoughts wander from the depths of pity.
“What will you do?” says the man in the broad-brimmed hat.
I slam my hands on the ground.
The question isn’t ‘What will you do?’ Nor is it ‘Who am I?’ The question is more basic.
How do I fit into this crazy world?
This is my lot in this life. No matter where I go or what actions I take, death and destruction will follow.
I push myself onto my knees.
These people needed someone like me to protect them, not someone feeling sorry for herself.
Better to die fighting for what I know is right than cowering like a rat.
For now, that thought will have to suffice.
As my newfound purpose wipes away the last vestiges of the snakes, I stand and wipe my face clean.
My heart pounds as I march back to the speeder and fire up the engine.
Time to embrace my destiny.
Fifty-Two
With my last known location heading into the Southern Badlands, New Austin should be the last place anyone would look for me.
However, I use caution to enter the ruins of the former Jewel of the South. I travel toward the research center via narrow alleyways and under the overhangs of intact structures, watching for drones and ground threats.
The wariness is unwarranted. Besides the humming of the engine, things stay quiet.
Outside the northern entrance to the enclave, I pull into an underground garage and hide the speeder in a dark corner behind a mound of garbage. Then I grab the pulse rifle and walk into the fading daylight. When I reach the broken outer gates of the protective wall, I hesitate, wondering if there’s anything else that needs to be done.
I roll my eyes.
Probably a million things.
However, the more time I take, the more time Victoria has to set her house in order. And she has more resources than I do.
Speed and chaos are my allies.
With those doubts settled, I step through the gates.
The avenues are deader than when I left, and the bland structures more broken than I remember. There aren’t even flickers of any holograms trying to cling to life.
A dry breeze ruffles my hair, bringing the stinging odor of feces and the putrid stench of rotting fruit.
I gag and clench my hand over my riding scarf, fighting against the unbearable reek of decay.
The gesture barely helps.
I step over a pile of rubble and march toward Government Plaza.
Although mostly disgusting, the brief journey is uneventful. Aside from carrion eaters that flap away from my approaching presence, the only denizens of the streets are me, dead holo-emitters, broken vehicles, and decaying bodies.
Thankfully, no civilians have stayed for the coming carnage.
As I near the epicenter of the battle, a charred stench overpowers the sickly sweet odors of death. Although the fires have burned out, the blackened wrecks of Victoria’s precious machines still litter the streets and parks where they died.
Glass crunches under my feet as I round the corner and enter Government Plaza.
Small, black shapes hover around the entrance of the research center and high above Congressional Park. In front of the top-secret buildings along Presidential Way, fresher bodies of scavengers lie splayed over the sidewalk, courtesy of Victoria’s surveillance and retribution.
Not ready for the final hurdle, I hustle into a side alley and take cover behind office furniture that was tossed from a building.
Hungry rats squeal and bare their fangs from the chewed flesh of a bloated corpse.
I kick at them with disgust. After they scurry into the dark recesses of a sewer grate, I peer around the corner.
Oblivious to anything not interested in technology, the drones go about their business, following predetermined flight paths.
I take deep breaths to steady myself.
Even if everything works perfectly, the odds of me winning are…
Almost impossible.
I shake my head.
The odds aren’t any worse than when I faced Syd and his ilk.
I let the ten sigma chant ripple through my thoughts…
“… 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…”
Brimming with determination, I step from cover and march down the center of the avenue.
With the other party guests already coming, I only need to send this last invite.
The surveillance machines take notice and buzz toward me.
I yank off my riding scarf and let loose with a barrage of pulses.
Metal explodes and electricity crackles as drones wobble and fall from the sky.
The last pesky machine weaves high above.
To cover for the extra altitude, I release an oversized pulse.
The burst scores a direct hit, and jagged arcs of blue race over the drone’s casing. The stubby thing teeters for a moment then tumbles onto a rooftop and clatters off the edge, raining electronics and plastic over the pavement.
With the sky clear, I step past the littered wreckage and march up the stairs of the research building.
The place of my rebirth.
In contrast to the hasty exit we made from the improvised hole in the basement, I stride through the wide doors of the front entrance and open Jonathon’s envelope.
A smaller envelope is inside. The scrawled handwriting on the back is messy but endearing, like him.
“If you aren’t in the research building in New Austin, wait until you get to the research building in New Austin before you open this.”
I roll my eyes and rip it open.
Instructions are listed on the cover fold of the sheet inside.
Following them, I take the stairs to the basement where a smoky odor, tinged with the stench of seared flesh, has leaked into the long hallway.
Although less unpleasant than the outside smells, this is far more personal.
My eyes flick to the safe room where ninety-nine thermite-burned versions of me lie.
A moment later, I yank myself from the memories and march in the opposite direction.
The passage ends at a T-intersection. Concrete frames with recessed doors line the back corridor. Although black streaks cut into the walls, the metal entrances of the super-secret rooms are intact. I turn left and, at the third doorway, stop and put my hand on a red outline glowing from a clear panel.
In a similar fashion to the stealth ship, a static sensation grips my palm, and tingles adhere my skin to the cold surface. When the display flashes green, batteries surge to life, and locking bolts disengage with hollow clangs.
I pull the heavy door open.
Maroon circles glow from the ceiling, casting eerie reflections over shiny surfaces.
The last line of the page says, “In the control room before we left, I initiated the automated machinery to create everything here and wiped the record. It wasn’t ready when we had to leave. After you see what your presents are, open the flap.”
I frown at the overly minute instructions, wondering what I’m about to find.
No time to waste.
I step inside.
Lighted drawers slide at downward angles from the side walls.
My eyes widen at the gleaming accouterments. On my left, all manner of hyper-sharp throwing stars lie in neat rows. In the next drawer are mono-edged knives: big, small, and everything in between.
Rifles and pistols line the slots on the other side along with every type of ammo reload. The bottom drawers hold every kind of grenade imaginable.
Other cabinets pop open, revealing contraptions of all shapes and sizes.
My empty stomach growls.
Near the back, blue tubes like the one the AI offered me in the stealth ship poke from the top drawer.
I haven’t eaten since New D.C., and I gave all my food to Captain Johnson and Finch for the children.
Suddenly fatigued and hungry, I pull out one of the cylinders. Under the deep red lighting, the specially formulated-for-ten-sigmas liquid appears purple rather than blue. I pop the lid and take a tentative sip before I can change my mind. As I swish the syrupy fluid in my mouth, I imagine the taste of Porcini mushroom ravioli.
Nothing.
With relief, I down the rest, and a surge of strength floods into my body.
Doors covering the back wall slide apart.
I gasp.
Two beautiful garments drape down the shallow space, glimmering in the dim lighting.
I grab the battle-mesh and camo-cloak. The nanobot-filled cords are squishy and pliable in my fingers.
The paper has one last instruction, and I unfold the flap.
“You might have hoped for something more dramatic, but this is all you’ll need. Whatever you are, whatever you want to be, it starts here. Embrace your past. All of it.
“You are the weapon.”
I purse my lips as my mind sifts through the words.
Life isn’t as easy as he’s saying, but perhaps, it’s not as hard as I’ve made it. And however misguided his reasoning, I’m here and whatever comes next is coming, so I’ll have to deal with it.
I unzip the filthy maintenance uniform and let it fall to the floor.
After sliding into the silvery outfit, I pull the cowl over my head.
The silky material seals and adjusts for a snug fit.
Tailored made to my measurements as if an extension of my flesh.
Energy explodes from my new clothing and reverberates through my tissues. Power fills my being.
I shiver and throw a tentative punch.
The fibers of the garment instantly respond, squeezing in the right places to strengthen and quicken the blow.
I exhale in amazement.
When I take cautious steps, the same thing happens. The feeling is more gliding than walking.
My mind dizzies as euphoria erupts along my spine.
After I toss on the camo-cloak, I run my fingers over the gleaming weapons, finally understanding the potential of being a ten sigma.
A protective mask gleams from a cubbyhole.
I pull it down and examine the clear, strong material. When I push it on, the edges adhere to the cowl, forming a perfect seal.
The eye display brightens the room. Lines draw and symbols flow past, giving indications of movement and threats.
I sigh.
It’s complicated, but there’s no time to figure everything out.
The party’s just about to start…
Fifty-Three
While the sun falls behind the distant skyline, an orange hue settles into the main lobby. Warm colors twinkle from glass shards scattered over the floor. Above, faint reflections gleam off the shattered panes of the three-story windows running down the sides of the staircase.
The escape with Jonathon and Victoria from Flying Eagle and the augments was quite the battle.
But nothing like the coming storm…
I face the broad windows overlooking Congressional Park.
Past the mecha wrecks and scorched field of grass, figures dart through war-torn buildings and settle into defensive positions.
They are going for a capture.
I suck down a breath and step into the open, bewildered by the revelation. Under the watchful eyes, I stow the camo-cloak along my side before sitting cross-legged on a bare patch of floor.
As the warmth of sunset fades into the reddish grays of dusk, nervous thoughts pester me.
My fingers run down my torso and over my arms and thighs, checking the multitude of armaments in my loadout. For longer distances, a configurable carbine, one handgun, and many magazines with advanced ammunition stuffed into the slim utility pockets of the battle-mesh. Strapped to my limbs for closer combat are weapons invisible to sonic or electronic detection like shuriken and throwing knives as well as grenades of many types. If anyone gets within an arm’s length, I have a hyper-edged sword in a sheath across my back and a knife wrapped around my thigh.
Enough to kill
a battalion of augmented humans.
I sigh, wishing I could carry more and have more time to get used to the battle-mesh, mask display, and tactics for the entire package.
After a moment passes, I dump the weak thoughts. What I’m carrying on my person and what I know will bring me through what’s coming.
Is everything prepared?
No plan survives contact with the enemy, and the design of this battle, once joined, is for pure chaos.
What did I forget?
Whatever it is, I’ll make up for it whenever I need it.
What if the pieces don’t come together?
I shake my head.
It doesn’t matter.
To emphasize the thought, I silently repeat the ten sigma mantra, “To win where no one else can…”
Even if the same expression applies to my adversaries…
As the last daylight shrinks into a gray band crowding the horizon, an approaching engine whines from past the buildings. Fleeting silhouettes rush over the dark rooftops, completing the ring around my location and ensuring no escape is possible.
Once more, I examine the features of my chosen battleground. Because of the data dump, I know this place and the vicinity better than anyone else. At least any other potential combatant.
So many possibilities for the impending battle.
Footsteps echo from an adjoining hallway.
It’s time.
The battle-mesh assists when I push to my feet. Perfectly coordinated with my body, the movement results in a floating sensation.
Like being a god…
I snort and focus on more important matters.
Who will be coming to mete out my punishment? A ten sigma to be sure, but which one?
To find the answer, I strain my senses, struggling to peer beyond the support columns and gathering shadows.
Hopefully, it’s Ekton. Although I don’t know him from this world, his model is one I could happily kill again. While a part of me fears meeting the eternally young Peter, my only ten sigma friend, it could be any of the other ten sigmas, including Samantha.
The only surety is that whoever shows up will be backed by a long list of accomplishments from their lengthy experience fighting in this world.
