Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  “Here are the details of the next phase of the Ten Sigma Program. You will be placed in a series of scenarios. Every scenario contains its own virtual environment, generally representing something in the real world. It can be jungle, desert, arctic, mountain, ocean, or anything else you can imagine on Earth.

  “Scenarios begin with a specific mission, which can be defending or attacking or a specified task or some mixture of them. Additionally, other parameters will be presented on a case-by-case basis. This can include a command structure and boundaries. And to ensure fairness, the sides will always be of roughly equal strength.”

  Given the threads, nothing is particularly unexpected.

  “Like some sort of holo-game?” Saya says.

  “The principles are the same, but this is more realistic,” Lan replies.

  “Do we get a guide?” Cheri asks.

  “You’re thinking of Dungeons and Dragons,” Whip says, showing off his nostalgic knowledge.

  “Only participants may enter a scenario. And in this program, rules are rules and can never be broken,” Lan says.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. It would be so wonderful to have your company,” Cheri dreamily replies.

  The glows on Lan’s helm darken as his metal head dips. When he speaks, his tinny voice sounds an octave lower.

  “This is important. Your bodies react as they would in the real world. You need air to survive, and if you are shot or stabbed or punched, the injuries will be the same as in real life. However, no matter how terrible, any and all wounds shall be healed upon completion of the scenario. Most importantly, if you perish, you shall be expunged from the system.”

  “Expunged? Like killed and never coming back, dead?” Jake says.

  “Yes, the realism has been determined to be an important part of your training.”

  “Are you being serious now?” I ask.

  “When have I not been serious?”

  Frowning, I think of the litany of things the metal-plated software construct has ambiguously spoken, struggling to find one that isn’t interpretable in many ways.

  Saya lets out a whoop. “Awesome, there’s nothing so much as being alive when you’re on the edge of death.”

  As annoyed eyes glance at him, nervous murmurs rise. Thankfully, not everyone shares his enthusiasm.

  “There is one other important point.” When the room quiets, Lan continues, “If you do not complete the objective of a scenario, you must start the Ten Sigma Program from the beginning.”

  While that doesn’t sound good, it’s better than death.

  I purse my lips, unsure of the last notion.

  “How do we know how well we’re doing in this wonderful program?” Cheri asks.

  “That is a fine question. Everyone receives a score. And soon, as an enhancement for this phase, you’ll be able to sense not only your score but everyone else’s too.”

  Everyone glances around, squinting.

  “It will manifest in time, according to the individual,” Lan says dryly.

  “So how do we get out of here?” Jake asks.

  “That is a fine question too, and perhaps, my favorite part of the briefing,” Lan replies.

  Although not completely certain, I think some sarcasm rests behind the words.

  “You receive a score based upon your performance in the scenarios, which is denoted in sigmas. Those who reach ten sigmas graduate the program.”

  “What’s a sigma? Is it like a point?” Jake asks.

  “No, it is not,” Lan says drier than usual. “Sigma is a measure of population.”

  Blank stares greet the statement.

  Something resembling a sigh echoes from within the avatar. “To graduate, you must prove your worthiness. We want to ensure only the best return to the real world.”

  “So we are at zero,” I say.

  “No. Everyone has a 2.5 score from your initial battle.”

  I clench my hands, remembering the terror of the island. There’s something I’m missing and questions I should be asking.

  Weird tugs come from the back of my mind.

  “That would be me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Doesn’t this whole sigma thing seem rather weird?”

  “I’m not sure. What seems weird?”

  “Don’t you wish you understood more math?”

  “I don’t know, do you think this is math related?”

  “If you don’t know, how would I?”

  I shake my head, wishing for my real wife and not the impostor lurking in my head.

  “Hey, that’s mean. I’m only trying to help.”

  This is really not helping.

  “Can you tell us anything else about what might happen?” Jake asks, more concerned than usual.

  “The specifics will be given to you inside the scenario. All I can say is cheerio and good luck.”

  Nervous gazes roam the semicircle.

  Saya breaks the tension, laughing. “Who cares what we have to do? Let’s just go out and do it. I’m tired of being cooped up in this place.”

  I plaster over my doubts and nod in agreement. As the leader, I need to set an example. With my eyes wandering over my only friends in the virtual universe, I say in my most confident tone, “I’m proud to be with each and every one of you. Don’t worry. Whatever comes, we’ll handle it together.” For effect, I throw in an extra-wide smile.

  “That’ll do it,” internal me says with what I imagine are rolling eyes.

  Lan says, “Yes, I’m sure this confident attitude will help immeasurably.”

  My smile disappears along with any trace of good humor. Despite Lan’s protestations to the contrary, I again wonder at the subtleties of the English accent. With that visor, the words can be interpreted to carry any nuance or meaning.

  Especially sarcasm.

  Before I ask for clarification, the lance dips, and golden sparkles crawl on my skin.

  I brace myself for the first scenario.

  As the prep room dematerializes, my optimism rises.

  How bad could getting to ten sigmas be?

  Fifteen

  Frost-layered dirt crunches under my combat boots as I sprint up a winding footpath. Every few steps, one of the early morning sunbeams spearing through the barren woodland cuts across my path. When the ground levels, I drop behind a moss-covered boulder and take gulps of frigid air, waiting for the other four from my group to catch up.

  The frozen hills and dense forest that is scenario one rests in a five-kilometer long rectangle under a clear sky. At either end sits a wooden fort, and inside their walls of thick logs waves a giant flag from the top of a majestic pole.

  A hundred ten sigma participants run around this winter wonderland, masquerading as soldiers complete with wide-brimmed Brodie helmets and M1 Garand rifles. Under our trench coats, pouches filled with enough ammunition to kill a small army hang from a canvas belt.

  Continuing the feel of some long-forgotten video game, we’re divided equally between a red team and a blue team—indicated by colored trim running over our woolen uniforms. As a further homage to gamers of the past, the scenario goal requires capturing the opposing team’s flag.

  Either that or kill all the opposition, whichever comes first.

  Without having any expectations, I surprisingly find the odd circumstances unsurprising.

  Jake arrives, huffing misty breaths, and takes a knee at my side. Moments later, metal clinks as Cheri, Ann, and Whip settle behind us.

  I meet their questioning stares with a confident smile. “Just make sure to use your threads and everything will turn out okay.”

  “The other guys have threads too,” internal me states.

  As my smile shrinks, I reply, “You know, your pessimism isn’t helping.”

  “I’m rolling my eyes.”

  I tighten my lips into a small straight line.

  Cheri tugs at her unbuttoned collar, saying, “I’m sure we’ll be fine following you.”

  “She
looks utterly out of place holding that rifle and having that silly platinum hair sprouting from that awful looking helmet. She’s way too delicate for this. Jake was right.”

  “Could you limit the talk to things that might be helpful at this moment?”

  “Fine, I’ll just wait, rolling my eyes until you beckon…”

  I roll my eyes, sighing. Although internal me is correct, we have bigger life and death issues to worry about.

  Before anyone can misinterpret my exasperated expression, rustles arrive from across the way.

  Jake edges past a mottled sunbeam. As he surveys the crest ahead of us, dappled yellow plays over his back and shoulders.

  “Everything going to plan?” I ask.

  “Saya’s group moved too fast. I can’t see them.”

  I nod, understanding the concern underlying his tone. Our side’s strategy is a quick strike, leaving only four guards to defend our flag while the rest of us else grab the high ground in the middle. Afterward, we advance and constrict the enemy’s movements until they only have their fort.

  Then we kill everyone inside…

  However, what sounded good in theory is hard to accomplish in practice. Because of the dense trees and hilly terrain limiting the visibility, communication is all but impossible, and coordinating five teams just thrown together for this scenario is a laughable task. Now, we’re stretched all over the map and isolated.

  A bunch of threads chirp, proposing wildly different solutions.

  Furious with the competing and contradictory advice, I turn to Jake. “Let’s both go and bring Saya and his group to the right position.”

  He nods, surprisingly agreeing with my “Guessing In the Dark” decision.

  Maybe I’m not so bad at this after all…

  I say to Cheri, “Stay here and keep low. You’re in charge until we get back.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  While Ann nods, Whip flicks his index finger, saying, “Got it. Will do chief.”

  “Make sure you kill anyone you see in red.” I tap the blue trim of my collar. “And don’t shoot any of us.”

  When nobody so much as smirks at the lame joke, Jake taps my shoulder, and we scuttle down the trail.

  With a wide smile, Cheri calls, “Don’t worry about us.”

  Jake cringes. “Everybody should be taking this more seriously.”

  While I wonder if we should have been training to instill the proper attitude across the team, internal me says, “Well, I’m just sitting here rolling my eyes waiting for you to ask me for advice.”

  Instead of frowning at the snarky comment, I say to Jake, “When we get back, I’ll make sure we practice common sense into everyone.”

  As the trail bottoms through a leaf-filled gully, Jake sprints to the opposite slope and dives behind a fallen tree trunk.

  I crawl next to him and scan the hillside.

  Near the crest, movement cuts through a beam of sunlight knifing through a pocket of undergrowth. The red trim on the uniform is unmistakable.

  Faint noises rise from the threads, but I can’t make out the words.

  “Crap. They’re not supposed to be here,” Jake whispers as the figure disappears into a crevasse which leads higher and over to the other side.

  Instead of fear, I show my anticipation of the first contact of our first scenario with a reassuring smile. “It’s not how we planned this thing, but let’s go kick some ass.”

  Jake pulls out his bayonet and fixes it to the end of his rifle with a muffled snap. “This is going to get down and dirty.”

  I defer to his National Guard experience and do the same. Then I push forward and advance up the incline.

  Jake follows, his boots softly crunching on the leaves and pebbles scattered over the frozen earth.

  As I wend past barren tree trunks, trying to remain quiet, the threads volunteer an obscene amount of information for dealing with any enemies we might find.

  Unable to concentrate, I shake my head to clear the competing advice.

  Cracks of gunfire echo through the rolling hills.

  We hit the ground as Saya’s signature whoop rolls from the opposite slope.

  A closer, more urgent crackle of shots cuts through the trees.

  “Come on,” I say, rising and holding my rifle at the ready. As I sprint the last meters to the top, a patch of dirt crumbles under my feet and I slip.

  Jake pushes me down, whispering, “Keep your discipline.”

  “That’s our team.”

  “I know, but charging around like an ox is a good way to get a hole put in you.”

  Although part of me wonders if the ever-careful man is gun-shy from getting shot in the real world, I return a quick nod and crawl upward with more caution.

  As I poke my helmet over the final rise, I’m greeted by the nearby sight of the enemy’s red flag waving over the logs of their fort.

  Only a ten-minute hike on a fine summer day.

  Another flurry of sharp pops and higher-pitched shouts drags my attention to the wooded slope below.

  I raise my rifle, trying to make sense of the chaos.

  “Just shoot,” Jake says.

  “At what?”

  “At whatever’s shooting at our side!”

  While his weapon barks, I ignore the ringing in my ears and search for a target.

  A second later, rough hands yank me backward as return fire sends wood chips flying from a nearby tree trunk.

  Jake explains while jamming a fresh clip into his rifle, “We can’t keep still, let’s move.”

  Staying below the crest, we scuttle to our left.

  When I lift my head, bullets zip past my helmet. I roll behind an exposed tree root and flatten myself on a loose pile of dirt.

  The distinctive ping of an M1 ejecting an empty clip rings from below.

  In a flash, Jake pops up and charges, shooting at a single enemy struggling to reload.

  As I sprint after him, sucking down frosty, cordite infected air, gunfire echoes and lead zings through the trees. I can’t tell if I’m the target, but I hunch lower.

  The enemy gives up reloading and engages Jake in bayonet combat.

  Hurriedly, I fire, aiming away from my teammate.

  One of my shots clips the leg of the red-trimmed soldier, then Jake slams his bayonet into her chest. She lets out a squeal, flailing at his gun as her body collapses.

  I stare at her face, unsure if she was one of the strange AIs from “Acid Island” or a real person like my teammates. In death, it’s impossible to tell.

  More shots thunder.

  Jake points.

  My gaze lingers on the blood spattering his face before following his finger downslope.

  A blue-trimmed form lies past a bullet-ridden log. It’s Bill, the quiet accountant. Nearby, Miri, the factory accident victim, rests against a boulder, her uniform torn and sodden with blood, her vacant eyes seeing nothing.

  With loud whoops, Saya hobbles up a fold of land bisecting the hillside, clutching at a stomach wound.

  More gunshots ring as he staggers and falls near two other bodies. A second passes before I recognize them as Wanda the QA sex specialist and Margie the grandma.

  Ominous screams rise closer to the enemy fort as another chaotic fight erupts.

  “We have to regroup,” Jake says.

  “But, what about them?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “They might not be. We have to check.”

  When I move, Jake grabs my shoulder. “No, they might not be, but at best, they’re horribly wounded. We can’t help them by getting ourselves killed. The only way we can do any good is to win the scenario. And right now, our side is in big trouble, so let’s get back to the others.”

  I blow out a breath, hating the idea.

  With wide eyes, Jake says louder, “This is war.”

  “He’s right,” internal me chirps.

  Don’t I know it.

  Before retreating upslope, I take one last look
at the red flag waving between the trees. The short distance might as well be a billion kilometers.

  We’ll never get there…

  Sixteen

  Yellow sunbeams and deep brown trunks whip past as I clear the crest. I head downhill, avoiding ankle-sized rocks while barely controlling my headlong rush to rejoin what’s left of my team.

  Jake trails by a few steps, panting.

  I grab a low-hanging branch and slow my pace, sliding into cover behind a rise of black earth and gnarled tree roots.

  Pebbles roll past as Jake crunches into a frost patch next to me.

  “They let us go by,” he says, furious.

  “What?”

  He sucks in a deep breath. “The enemy. Their strategy was to allow us to pass and attack from the front and rear. We’re lucky they sprang the trap early for Saya, or we’d be dead too.”

  “So, we’re screwed?”

  “Totally.”

  Loose gravel spills as I push down the slope, thinking of my surviving teammates. Even though we’ve only been together for a week, these people are my family here. As soon as I find better footing, I pop up and run down the narrow foot trail.

  Rapid shots, both distant and near, ring out as the path bottoms in the leaf-filled gully.

  The battle is devolving into chaos, and the only thing I’m sure of is that my side is losing. I move with greater urgency, sprinting straight up the incline.

  More gunfire crackles with each staccato of eight punctuated by the distinctive ping of the M1 ejecting the empty clip.

  A huffing Jake calls from behind, “Be careful and watch for ambushes.”

  Accepting that his caution is due to the situation and not being gun-shy, I advance with more care, swinging the barrel of my rifle at various shadows dotting the upslope. As the crest nears, I slow and crouch, stopping at the boulder.

  Where is everyone?

  As I peer around the rock, Jake catches up.

  “They must have heard the trouble,” I say.

  “But they didn’t come past us,” Jake replies, scanning the woodland. “That means they might have gotten attacked.”

  I nod. Cheri would never run and leave me.