Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

But the image of my parents interrupts, and I grit my teeth, wanting to forget everything.

  “Follow your true love,” a ghostly voice whispers.

  Cheri was right; I need to never forget my purpose. But with the memory loss, how can I hold on to my wife?

  “You’ll find a way. I’m sure of it,” I imagine her saying in her best French accent.

  As the optimism covers my seething emotions, exhaustion settles into my bones.

  I spend my final waking moments fighting to keep the memory of first meeting my wife in the basement computer room, where we bonded over our hatred of software programming.

  Cheri’s voice echoes as the dingy scene crumbles and sleep overtakes me.

  “Follow your true love.”

  Nineteen

  Fogged breaths moisten my white scarf as I say, “After my first team got wiped out, my next team gets tossed together in the prep room. But you already know about how we get tossed together into new teams right before the scenario starts.”

  I brush specks of snow from my visor, waiting for a response from my companion, whose white winter garb blends seamlessly with the snowy background.

  Nothing comes, so I continue. “The new team gets wiped out almost as fast as my first one. Except for a woman named Trudy. No, that’s not right, her name was True.

  “Well, we feel our way through the rest of the scenario. This is just brutal, nasty house-to-house fighting with long-barreled pistols, but we manage not to get killed. Now, don’t get me wrong. I get hit too. Somehow, I always get shot or stabbed in every scenario, and somehow, I always survive. After our side wins, True and I get three days before the next one. We spend that time exchanging all our stories. At least those we remember. And we train together, just like Jake wanted with my first team.” I snort. “So after all that, guess what happens?”

  My companion stares past me.

  I tighten my lips.

  When no answer is forthcoming, I send a knowing nod. “Yeah, you know what happens. We get dumped into a new scenario with a fresh team. Defending some rocky cliffs from a sea invasion. True bites it in the first wave—a three-round burst in the chest. Messy. Everybody else gets tagged too, except for a guy named Goat.

  “Exactly, I have no idea why anyone would pick a name like that. So afterward, I do the same thing with Goat. We swap stories, and then…” I smile under my scarf. “Well, you know the rest. Next scenario we’re dressed like samurai, and he gets hacked to pieces. Ever been in a sword fight?”

  Again, my uncaring teammate remains silent, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

  “Nasty stuff,” I say, thinking of entrails. “The casualty rate during these battles has got me a little worried.” I tap my helmet. “There aren’t a lot of stories left. Even if I survive, I’m not sure what I’ll become if I don’t have them.”

  With that bit of sharing done, I twist my head, trying to force a reaction from the man lying next to me.

  Behind the frosted visor, his eyes snap into focus. A curse erupts from his lips, and he says, “Why are you telling me this, now?”

  Although I find his fright distasteful, I calmly reply, “I wanted you to understand why I never friended you even though this is our second scenario together, Jack.”

  “It’s Jon!”

  “You see, that’s the whole point. If we survive this, that’ll make two scenarios. I wasted my time with True and Goat by sharing too soon. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting close to people and having them die right away. But if we both live through this, we can trade stories, at least those we have left. Isn’t that better?”

  With wide, furious eyes, he dips his head while shrugging.

  “Wow, I can’t tell if he’s happy you can be friends, or if he thinks you’re just plain crazy,” internal me states.

  “Hey, positive thoughts only for this conversation.”

  “Oh, excuse me. Your newfound method of making friends is amazing.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t count as a positive.”

  “I’m rolling my eyes in case you didn’t notice.”

  “You’ve been kinda quiet lately,” I say to change the subject.

  “I show up whenever I can’t stand whatever it is that you’re doing. This seemed like a perfect spot.”

  Instead of giving in to frustration and burying my face into my hands, I roll my eyes.

  “By the way, I’m doing that too. So, now that you’ve got that big confession off your chest, what are you going to do about your more immediate problem?”

  I lift my gaze from the red splotches of dead teammates dotting the snow-covered valley and up to white-camouflaged forms descending from the surrounding cliffs. I count six of them, and at any given moment, half are scanning for me and Jon.

  The last two from our side.

  These enemies carry the same advanced rifle that rests in my hand. The long, tapered weapon shoots hypervelocity slugs with enough power to blow a gigantic hole in a person.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Jon says.

  “Stay as still as possible.”

  “We can’t hide in this snow forever. They’re going to shoot us to pieces.”

  His eyes dart over the oval, two-hundred-meter patch of ground. The confines don’t allow a lot of room to run.

  “They’ve got the exits covered. We’re screwed,” he says with panic.

  Rather than answering, I look higher, past the sheer slopes and into the surrounding mountain range. They’re laden with overhangs of snow.

  “You can’t be serious,” Jon says, following my eyes.

  I pull down my scarf and send him a reassuring smile. “This will be a coin toss. But the avalanche will hit them first. We only need to outlast them.”

  Jon glares. “A coin toss? You’re betting our lives on the flip of a coin?”

  “Got any better ideas?”

  He curses again, louder, as I roll my shoulder from a phantom pain.

  An enemy notices us, signaling his teammates.

  “Take the left, and I’ll take the right,” I say, rising and raising my rifle.

  As I pull the trigger, hypervelocity projectiles whoosh upward. The metal balls spear through the snowpacks with dull whomps and deposit their kinetic energy into the underlying rocks with muffled cracks.

  Jon and I finish shooting at the same time.

  “Run!” I yell as our enemies take a bead on us.

  For a few uncomfortable seconds, pellets zip near my boots as I rush toward the end of the valley.

  Crackles echo from the rock faces. A moment later, distinct snaps come as heavy packs of snow crumble down the mountainsides.

  I toss my now useless weapon and run for all I’m worth. When the disquieting rumble rises into a dull roar, I risk a glance over my shoulder.

  Past a huffing Jon, who is struggling to keep pace, cascades of white plow down the near-vertical slopes and over the surrounding cliffs, swamping our enemies. The avalanches meet in a crescendo of fury and splash forward in a snowy wave streaked with brown rocks and black dirt.

  I put my head down, sprinting as fast as my legs will carry me from the irresistible force.

  My feet travel a few more steps before the roiling whiteness blasts past my shoulders and knocks me over. As I tumble in the stinging cold, I use swimming motions to get above the powder.

  The effort is futile. More weight crashes down, the layers of snow and ice leaking past my collar and blotting out the sunlight.

  As I fight the whipping currents, threatening to rip my limbs off, I’m reminded of the nightmare of the dead rising into the swirling winds of “Acid Island.”

  The icy maelstrom stops.

  In the stillness, I shiver. Strangely, the involuntary movements don’t stem from the cold slush leaking down my chest or a fear of being buried alive. It’s completely irrational, but my terror of the whirling body parts trumps everything about the current predicament.

  As the pressure of the fresh snowpack crushes the air from m
y lungs, I repeat to myself there is no sea of acid and the dead aren’t coming back.

  Finally, as my consciousness dims, Cheri’s last words ring in my ears.

  “Follow your true love.”

  The image of the red-haired woman outlined in the sunlight breaks through my terror.

  I smile as everything fades to black.

  My teeth chatter as trembles run up and down my wet, half-frozen form.

  I’m dying.

  My eyelids flutter, and the glows of the ready room fill my view.

  Somehow, I’ve made it through another scenario.

  I stare across the semicircle while my body adjusts to being dry and not being flattened by tons of snow.

  The other nine seats are empty.

  Jon didn’t make it.

  All my teammates are foreordained to die.

  Perhaps everybody is.

  Alarmed by the pessimism, I blow out a breath and battle the defeatist thoughts. Someone has to be able to graduate from this program.

  A pop arrives.

  “Welcome back,” Lan says from behind the visor of impassivity. “An ingenious solution.”

  “Thanks,” I reply half-heartedly.

  As the miniature knight launches into the debrief, internal me says, “You know, there won’t always be a convenient snowpack or sea of acid you can use.”

  I accept the truth of the statement with a shallow nod. While allowing for the odd victory, relying on quirky terrain features is not a recipe for long-term success.

  As Lan drones in his usual monotone, bitter thoughts sting my optimism.

  After a few minutes, he announces, “And your sigma score has increased to three. Congratulations on passing the first milestone to ten sigmas.”

  Because of the visor and evil subtleties of the English accent, I can’t tell if he’s being earnest or facetious. “Does it get easier to move through the levels?”

  “Due to the nature of what a sigma is, the task becomes harder.”

  My shoulders slouch from the weight of the remaining journey.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to get out of this place?” I ask, hating the desperation leaking into my voice.

  Lan pauses, acclimating to the new line of questioning.

  With nothing better to do, I fold my arms and wait.

  Finally, he says, “When you mean this place, you mean the program and not this room?”

  “Yes.”

  “The odds of reaching ten sigmas is infinitesimal, and more so for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from displaying a small amount of resilience, you have no actual abilities to rely upon.”

  “Well, resilience has gotta count for something,” I reply angrily. “I’m still here.”

  “For the moment.”

  My budding hatred of the English accent soars at the last comment.

  “Now, if that is all—” he says, tipping his lance to end the debrief.

  “You said you were my guide and confidant. I’m asking you for advice.”

  A huff echoes within the armor.

  “The path to ten sigmas is long and narrow. You need to learn, and you need to grow from the inside. Although the remainder of the acclimation process will provide some assistance, any flaws you don’t correct shall be exposed over the course of the scenarios.”

  I’m afraid that after the memories are gone, only the rage and hurt will remain. And my purpose for being here will be gone.

  What’s the point?

  Lan surprises me. “What will you do?”

  The generic question that was posed in the void echoes in my head. After a moment’s thought, I reply, “I’ll keep going like I have been. Front and center as always.”

  “And yet, here you are asking for my advice because those actions haven’t been the answer.”

  As the impassive metal visor remains centered on me, my thoughts churn. It could be I’m coming at this from the wrong angle.

  “What will you do?” is vague and cryptic. Perhaps the question should be framed as “What will you do to get better?” A worse notion enters my head. Maybe the truth is: “What will you sacrifice to get better?”

  Inwardly, I groan.

  Because if I don’t do something different, I’m dead.

  Twenty

  The ground trembles from a thousand feet stomping in unison, and a long wall of round shields emerges from the dusty haze. The Athenian hoplites slam into our formation with a crash of metal and roars of defiance. As spears jab across the lines of desperate combatants, the irresistible weight of armor and flesh pushes us backward, toward the giant gate of our home city of Thebes.

  While my feet struggle to find purchase on the gravel, I scan the grim faces in front of me, trying to determine who’s a real person and who isn’t. Given the limited vision my helmet allows and the quickness of the battle, it’s not a trivial task.

  The bronze head of a spear flashes past, and the curly-haired woman next to me goes down with a groan.

  I jam my shield into the enemy line, buying enough time for a reserve to plug the gap.

  “Fight, fight!” someone hollers from the last rank.

  Still trying not to harm a real person, I raise my spear.

  “Knock it off!” internal me screams.

  “It just feels weird trying to kill a human being.”

  “They’re all trying to kill you and stop you from getting to your wife.”

  Another spear blasts by the helmeted figures and grazes my neck. An instant later, a sharp pain erupts in my thigh.

  I stumble. In danger of being trampled, I stab upward, wedging my spear between the nearest shields and shoving the bronze point into the wriggling mass of flesh.

  The lines shift, and the wooden pole shatters from the weight of bodies. Blood spurts onto my shoulder as the person on my left goes down from a gory wound.

  Internal me is right. It’s inconsequential who gets in my way. They’re trying to end my life and stop me from getting back to my wife.

  Discarding the broken haft of my spear, I yank out my sword and swing, not caring who or what I hit.

  Even though a couple of spears pierce my torso and a short sword splits my leg, my dented and diminished determination carries me to the finish. However, none of my newest teammates return.

  This time, after Lan finishes the debrief, I don’t bother asking for more advice. What would be the point of getting more vague riddles and bland innuendo wrapped in a droll English monotone?

  And for all that suffering, my sigma score only increases a minuscule amount to a paltry 3.05.

  I’ll never find my wife or get to ten sigmas at this rate.

  Alone and feeling defeated from the borderline Pyrrhic victory, I shuffle into an almost deserted barracks. Perhaps one in fifteen sleeping spaces is occupied.

  When I reach my bunk, I complete the dreary journey by stepping on the empty lower bed and dragging myself onto the top mattress with a long sigh.

  I’m out of options with no way to improve.

  After my head slumps on the pillow, I lie still, staring upward at the dark dome. My fingers tremble and my heart races. Instead of moving through my remaining memories, my thoughts whirl between all the horrible wounds I’ve received and all my dead teammates.

  “Those things are why you’re unhappy but not why you’re depressed,” my internal voice whispers.

  “I’m not depressed.”

  “If this isn’t depression, what is it?”

  Biting my lip, I take a heavy breath.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  I drag my hand down my face and confess, “I’m not sure I can make it out of here.”

  A snicker echoes. “You’re just realizing that?”

  “Are you going to be helpful?”

  “Are you going to do something about this predicament?”

  “You think I’m not trying hard enough?”

  “I think you’re not trying well enough.�
�

  There is truth to that.

  “Got any brilliant ideas?”

  “Start with the first thing and get rid of those doubts. Then make yourself a better fighter.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “You’ve always been able to manipulate people to do things. But that won’t work in a scenario. There, you need to be able to do things by yourself. Your determination has never failed. Somehow, someway, you’ll make yourself better, and everything else will follow.”

  I smile.

  “Now get some rest.”

  With hopefulness returning to my mood, I close my eyes and fall into a fitful slumber.

  The next morning, my eyes open when the first rays of dawn enter the barracks.

  Moments later, the domed space bustles with noise.

  I lean up.

  A perfectly fit person lies in every bed.

  Overnight was another restocking. Given that everything is the same from Home to Home, I have no idea if I’ve been moved to a new location or everybody else has.

  Not that any of that matters.

  I jump down and send the sleepy faces in the nearby bunks a broad smile, the gesture surfacing more from habit than any lingering optimism.

  As my new neighbors respond in uninteresting ways, I spy a familiar figure of middling height and build stretching near a corner bed. Although pretty with long black hair and an oval face, her appearance is average for the present company.

  However, her charisma radiates over everyone. Even without the blue-trimmed trench coat and Brodie helmet, I’d recognize the person who single-handedly won my first scenario anywhere.

  I blow out a breath; her score is a staggering seven.

  “If you ask, the overlords shall provide,” internal me says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m rolling my eyes.”

  “Do you think she’s got the secret to getting to ten sigmas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if this assumption is true, what reason would she have to divulge it to me?”

  “You’ll charm her.”

  I snort. “She was going to beat me to death in the last scenario.”