by A W Wang
What did I forget?
I clench my jaw and steel my nerves against the nagging question.
“To win where no one else can… no matter the odds.”
The approaching foe makes no effort at concealment, and as the moments pass, the steps resolve into a familiar, confident gait.
I pull my mask off and position myself between two of the middle columns in the southern part of the giant room.
As I chew on a nail, a woman glides around the far corner. The last grays of daylight catch the silver of her battle-mesh perfectly. She’s everything a ten sigma should be—tall, strong, beautiful, elegant, and graceful.
After reaching the spot opposite my position, the modern-day goddess swivels to face me.
“Hello, Mary.”
I pull my finger from my mouth and straighten. “Hello, Samantha.”
The cold gaze of her violet eyes lingers on my battle-mesh before she says, “I bear an offer from the President Pro Tempore.”
“You mean Victoria?”
“Of course.”
When I stay silent, she says, “A ten sigma is quite valuable and not a resource to be wasted. Victoria understands there were misunderstandings. She wishes to grant you amnesty and welcome you back into our circle. She knows you can accomplish great things.”
“And?” I say, waiting for the condition, which I’m sure won’t disappoint.
“This would be subject to you agreeing to have certain controls restored and memories erased.”
Images of Balthazar, mind-wipes, and crazy control mechanisms stomp into my thoughts. “I like the way I am now.”
“Of course you do,” she says with a faint smile. “Yet there is reality.”
“I didn’t kill the President.”
Her face remains passive as she replies, “That is not my concern. I have my mission.”
“Well, then my answer is no.”
She takes a deep breath. “Mary, you’re one of us.”
“Not as much as you would think.”
“Certainly, you’ve noticed the others I’ve brought with me. You have no chance to escape.”
“Maybe that’s not my plan.”
“Whatever it is, it won’t work. Ekton is here too.”
Two of them.
Although I outwardly maintain my composure, my insides crumble. Even with Victoria having her resources stretched, I should have anticipated more than one.
A calming thought arrives; I think of Jonathon and remember my final scenario against Syd and all the composites to graduate from the program.
“I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Brave words from someone in so hopeless a position. It takes more than battle-mesh to be a ten sigma.”
“I have the same training as you, and I’ve beaten the same set of odds to be here.”
Although she remains relaxed, arrogance exudes from her bearing while her voice radiates confidence. “Did you account for all the missions we’ve accomplished in this world? Do you even know how to use those shiny tools and weapons to their fullest advantage?”
Unlike Victoria, whose eyes quiver between human and jacket, Samantha’s stay cold and purposeful. Doubts lead to disaster, and she has none.
I blurt, “I’ve killed you so many times. I don’t want to kill you again.”
She blinks. “What are you talking about?”
“Your AI model is the girl with the violet eyes. I have a niece with the same traits, so in all those battles during the program, I remembered every time I killed one of you. I don’t want to do it again, so please leave now.”
Her lips tighten, and her eyes narrow. “Those weren’t me.”
“They had your coding, and I beat—”
“We’re done talking. I have a very specific set of instructions to follow. This is your last chance to surrender before I use force.”
“No.”
“Good.” Her stance imperceptibly changes, angling to the side, allowing access to her gun.
I shift my position to match.
Her gaze wanders across the room, focusing past me.
Detonations rumble in the distance.
“Friends of yours?” she asks.
I shrug. “Not exactly…”
High-pitched shrieks come from approaching aircraft, and a line of explosions rocks Congressional Park.
As the lobby trembles, Samantha slips her hand under her cloak and flicks her wrist.
A shuriken flies at my head.
Instantly, I duck and toss a handful of marble-sized flashbang grenades.
While blinding flashes pepper the darkness, I throw myself behind a column and jam the protective mask over my face.
Shots crackle, and concrete chips splatter over me.
The battle is on…
Fifty-Four
While the flashes fade, snipers join the fight. Advanced projectiles punch spider-webbed holes in the front windows and hurtle across the lobby, blasting chunks of marble from walls and columns.
I hunch from showers of debris, struggling to make sense of data jetting across my mask.
Under the hollow zips and loud bangs, footsteps crunch on the glass-strewn floor.
No time to sit still.
Despite the chaos, my greatest and most immediate threat is Samantha.
I touch the underside of the mask and activate my optical camouflage.
As my outfit and weapons blend with the background, a sixty-second timer appears at the bottom of the display—the duration of the translucence. Then the battle-mesh needs fifteen minutes to cycle before the stealth is available again.
In combat, a lot can be accomplished in one minute, and more can be undone in fifteen.
I peek around the column.
Dark sprays wash over jumbled, shifting gleams as the battle outside increases in ferocity. A form ripples past the fountain, and spiders stab into my nape.
I jerk back as a shot whips by my head. Disgusted, I flatten against the marble surface, tossing out choice curses.
In any fight, one has to threaten the opponent or risk losing the initiative.
Passivity isn’t going to work.
I yank out my configurable carbine and slap in a magazine of shotgun shells.
Nanotechnology shortens and widens the barrel as the weapon alters to match the ammunition selection. This move is a waste of limited resources, but the alternative—getting boxed into a corner without options—is worse.
A moment passes before green pulses on my display show everything is ready.
I whip the muzzle at the chaos and squeeze the trigger.
The gun chatters and pellets spray, rattling off the walls and floor.
I roll from the windows and toward the interior, trying to regain the initiative.
An explosion flares on the broad avenue, and the tall front panes of glass rattle.
Focused on the shadows, I rush to the next column, struggling to reacquire Samantha’s position from the stabs of red, green, blue, and yellow rushing across my display.
The spiders signal again, and I dive behind a column.
Shots clip the corner, and silver streams of nanobots jet into the next column, melting the glossy surface.
I empty the magazine and retreat to the side wall, giving ground I can’t afford to give.
While my eyes struggle to follow the colorful data spilling across the mask, I huff in frustration. There are too many things to learn about ten sigma equipment and not enough time to learn any of them.
A burning ship tumbles into Presidential Way, and a thunderous bang shatters the front windows.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, I holster the gun and head into the roiling wave of glass. As shards rattle off my battle-mesh, I curve toward the street and tuck behind the last column.
After the deluge settles, I concentrate through the intermittent flashes and bursts of gunfire spilling through the now open lobby, looking for any movement.
Everything is mayhem; it’s impossible to tell where Sama
ntha might be.
Where would I least expect an attack?
I twist my gaze past yellowed trails of missiles streaking across the night sky and toward the ceiling.
Fresh detonations flare and optical camouflage shimmers above me.
I jump to the side as projectiles spray downward, smacking into the glass-covered floor with crinkly pops.
Samantha doesn’t let up. A shuriken flies at my face.
I draw my sword and deflect it.
Her rippling form lands in front of me. With lightning quickness, she holsters her empty gun and draws a Kali stick made from advanced composite.
I pedal backward, trying to buy more time to react.
A tight strike loops from overhead, and I flick my blade, shunting the blow aside with an angle block.
With a flick of the wrist, Samantha reverses and sends the stick at my temple.
I raise my free hand and take the strike off my forearm. The stiffening nano-tubes dampen enough of the energy to prevent my bones from breaking, but not enough to stop a painful jolt from rocketing through my arm.
As I wince, a stomp kick slams into my thigh, driving me backward. I struggle to remain upright while more slashes follow, not allowing me a moment to reset.
Despite several hammer-like impacts, my enhanced reactions allow me to bear the brunt of the storm, but…
Samantha’s far deadlier than Allison Taylor in her battle-mesh, being not only smoother, stronger, and faster but using a well-thought strategy.
A side kick slams into my chest and sends me crashing into a column. Although the mesh softens the impact, the force knocks the air from my lungs and the sword from my grip.
As I shove my hands into a defensive posture, a fist, moving like an invisible gust, nails my shoulder.
I counter with a back strike that meets nothing.
A sweeping kick takes out my legs, and I roll to the side, just avoiding an overhand blow from the Kali stick.
Another barrage of attacks arrives just after I pop to my feet. I dodge a snap kick, but the stick thumps off my bicep, then a roundhouse mashes my thigh.
With the muscles deadened, I bring up my arms for a last defense.
Instead of finishing me, Samantha veers into the shadows.
I take the hint and retrieve the sword. As I stagger into cover, dark objects arc through the open window frames.
They bounce off the floor with heavy clangs. One of the oval devices clatters nearby.
I dive away.
Booms rock the building. Shrapnel rattles off my mask as the concussive force knocks me sideways and into the empty fountain. The higher-level data streaming across the display stops, leaving only the optical camouflage counter.
EMP grenades.
Dark figures leap from the street and into the lobby.
I freeze, thankful my translucence is still intact.
At least, for twenty-five more seconds…
Crunches come as the newcomers advance over the glass-drenched floor, their long-barreled weapons scanning for targets. Unlike Princess and her augments, these foes wear Lamellar armor formed from hexagonal scales. With each step, their angled helmets glisten with flashes from the street.
Flying Eagle has more friends than I thought…
No snipers engage the new guests, a testament to the sprawling battle engulfing the rest of the city.
The black knights are dead or battling to survive.
Either is good news. At least, that part of my plan is working.
I tighten my lips. My brilliant strategy does have the downside of having more ways to get killed by a host of different enemies.
Throwing stars zip and punch through hexagonal armor with dry clacks. As the two figures furthest down the line fall, the rest open fire, and armor-piercing rounds shred the walls and columns.
I twist and dive into the soldier nearest me. A slash from my blade lops its head off.
The darkness ripples as a translucent form somersaults into the midst of the panicked enemy. Armored scales fly and blood sprays as mortally wounded soldiers tumble in all directions.
A drone hovers outside, trying to assist someone with spotting targets.
I sheathe the sword and draw my pistol, snapping off a shot. The gunpowder round is slow, but an advanced warhead of nanobots jets through the robot’s metal casing, melting the innards. The machine sends out an electronic screech and drops from sight.
A speeding knife flashes, and I twist to the side. The hyper-edged blade spears into a support behind me with a hollow scrape.
Chills run down my spine. Even engaged with multiple opponents, Samantha deduced my location from the shot and attacked.
I can’t win…
The truth underlying the realization hurts. In this place at this time, I’m going to lose. I can’t even handle Samantha, and when Ekton comes…
As the last enemies fall by Samantha’s hand, I sprint away, holstering the pistol. After leaping to the next floor, I tumble through the busted windows of the stairwell and toss a grenade behind me.
An explosion rocks the landing as my display timer reaches zero.
Another fifteen minutes before I can disappear again.
In a battle like this, that’s an eternity.
I rush up the stairs, heading opposite to the headlong escape route I took with Jonathon and Victoria.
At the eighth floor, I pause.
No following footsteps echo.
The news doesn’t fill me with confidence. Samantha could be coming from another direction. Ekton is still hunting too. And that’s not mentioning any of the lethal party guests getting in a lucky shot at my now visible form.
I blow out a breath and charge higher.
Everything is a shit-show.
Accompanied by the rumbles of distant explosions, I ascend the stairwell. Before I take too many steps, darkness swallows the confines. Rather than wait for the mask to reset, I pop on a capsule light and follow the tiny beam upstairs.
A nearby explosion shakes the surroundings, and dust falls from overhead.
I twist the light higher.
Patches have broken from the plaster finish and cracks are forming in the concrete underneath.
I ascend with more urgency and remind myself: This is what I wanted.
Whatever this is turning into…
As I near the uppermost floor, the throbbing from my limbs dulls. With relief, I roll my shoulder, feeling the strength return to the muscles.
Not a moment too soon.
Gunfire echoes from past the exit door.
I pause, listening for pursuit while trying to anticipate an ambush.
Nothing.
Still wary, I tread up the final steps and open the heavy door with a gentle push.
Things remain quiet as I step into an unlit hallway and draw my pistol. After I edge forward, metal clashes and shouts erupt from ahead.
Very aware that ten more minutes need to pass before my optical camouflage is ready, I keep the capsule light pointed low.
The sounds of fighting fade with each stride, and by the time I arrive at the first intersection, everything has stilled.
I put away the light and peer to the left.
Down the side passage, starlight drifts from holes in the ceiling. Faint glints reflect off silver as a bulky outline steps around the corner.
My heart skips a beat.
Ekton.
While I’d love to fight him, he’s more experienced, and the outcome would probably be worse than dueling with Samantha.
Even if some miracle allowed me to prevail, I’d most likely be impaired, which would be a prohibitive price to pay at this early stage of the battle.
Angry at the truthful logic, I turn tail into a nearby passage and head for the roof access.
Thumps and crashes come as he pursues, taking the shortest path through offices and walls to intercept me.
My terror propels me up the stairs. After I blast through the doorway and tumble onto a
gravelly rooftop, I jam the pistol in its holster and sprint toward the corner of the building nearest Congressional Park.
The door bursts off its hinges as Ekton smashes after me.
I yank a remote detonator from a leg pouch and click the button.
The explosives from the room with the ninety-nine Brins, the ones Jonathon wouldn’t let me use for fear of injuring bystanders, detonate.
A jolt spears upward, and the building quakes.
With my battle-mesh quickening every movement, I race against the collapsing floors below.
Just as everything gives way, my boot hits the rim framing the roof, and I leap high over a narrow street.
Fifty-Five
As my feet hit the opposite rooftop, I tuck my shoulder and roll. When I stop, I rush back and peer over the edge.
A curved slope of gleaming metal and broken concrete lies where the corner of the research building was. Glass, glinting from nearby fires, shifts at the top of the pile, and a shot whizzes past my flinching head.
I curse. It was too much to expect the trick I so carefully prepared would hurt a battle-meshed Ekton.
Distant rockets screech, and yellow and white exhaust plumes crisscross the night. Moments later, bright detonations outline dark contours floating over the western skyline.
EM pulses rain over that neighborhood, heralding the arrival of new guests. After suppressing fire chews the top off of a tall structure, a craft similar to those flown in the first battle of New Austin edges into view.
However, instead of the svelte forms of Midnight Tigers entering the contest, huge behemoths drop lightly between the buildings.
A name floats unbidden from the database.
Midnight Dragons.
The bigger, meaner cousins to the Midnight Tigers—the ones Balthazar warned about.
Time to leave.
Flashes create shadowy tangles across my path as I head from the fighting, scrambling under pipes and scurrying around environmental units. When I reach the darker recesses opposite Congressional Park, I leap to the next building. Keeping quiet, I climb or jump to get beyond the next rooftops, until I pass the edge of the battle and crawl into cover beneath a cylindrical water tank.
As I peek past a rusted metal strut, a stubby craft roars overhead, weaving to dodge ground fire. The attempt doesn’t succeed. Chunks rip off the tail, and the ship corkscrews into a square building with a deafening boom.
