Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  “Look, do you want to get out of here or not? This person is your best hope.”

  Annoyed at her optimism, I roll my eyes.

  “I’m rolling my eyes too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  A wave of people heads toward the cafeteria, and I follow, eyeing the seven sigma. After getting the blue glop, I sit away from the noisy crowd, sipping without thinking of food and keeping my concentration on her.

  Unlike everyone else, her pouch rests on the tabletop while she spends her time occupied with the inside of her forearm.

  “Well, are you going to get up the nerve?”

  “Frankly, I’m a little scared of her.”

  “This is a sanctuary, which means she can’t kill anyone here. And she’s your only chance.”

  I wrinkle my lips. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Quick, she’s leaving!”

  The seven sigma marches through the cafeteria doors, tossing away her untouched meal.

  Although I hate admitting it, internal me is right. I need to speak with someone, anyone who’s not getting killed in the next scenario or the one after that.

  With a short breath to steel my nerves, I pop out of my chair and follow. The outer hallway is empty, and I charge to the exit. After stepping outside, I shield my eyes from early morning sunlight and search across the sanctuary.

  A few seconds pass before I spot her, fifty meters away, heading eastward and into a group of spindly structures.

  People scatter as I cut through the Commons, trying to catch up. Ignoring the annoyed looks, I blast past the first structure, a framework of square blocks, and stop. I edge onto a rubbery walkway and scan the nearby buildings for any movement or sound. I hate being desperate, but this woman is my only chance to get better.

  My hands clench in frustration.

  She’s nowhere in sight.

  How did she move that fast? And quietly?

  Now committed, I focus on the surroundings and wait.

  A shadow cuts around low-cut bushes and strides under the green arch leading into the Oriental Garden.

  I hurry after her, mindful of the irony of the location, where my original team spent sunrises and sunsets, trying to save our memories. A few steps later, I blow past the arch and over the decorative bridge. When I hit the outer circle of black gravel marking the boundary of the garden, I pause.

  A shadow moves beyond some elegantly trimmed ferns and a manicured flower bed.

  Not sure how she can appear and disappear at will, I march into the peaceful setting, letting my feet stray off the path and onto a lotus-shaped patch of grass. I walk past a round outdoor patio and over another footbridge.

  As the tranquil tone of the colorful flowers and greenery relaxes me, I reach a rectangle of flat black stones.

  Rustles come from behind.

  Before I turn, someone slams into my ribs, plowing me off the stone carpet and past a Japanese maple tree. I land in a moist bed of red flowers, spitting dirt.

  A shoulder drives into my back, and hands grasp at my wrists.

  I shift, trying to reverse the attack.

  My opponent reacts with deft movements and forces me onto my side, pinning my right arm beneath my torso.

  I wriggle against the iron grip, straining with all my might.

  A hand slips under my armpit and snakes up to grab my hair, putting me into a half-nelson. As my free arm flails high in the air, supple legs twist against my lower half until I’m helpless and bent like a lopsided pretzel.

  While I writhe, which only makes everything worse, hot breaths pour over my nape. A female body presses into me, restricting any motion. I feel the curves of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, the tautness of her abdomen, and even heat coming from the junction of her thighs.

  None of which is arousing.

  How come I can’t win?

  Everybody has the same threads, and I’m bigger than her.

  “I guess size doesn’t matter after all,” internal me chimes.

  “Oh yeah, that’s not what you said.”

  “Do you even remember what that means?”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s a brilliant comeback.”

  “Bravo, dear. Bravo.”

  A surprisingly sweet voice lures me back to reality. “Why are you tailing me?”

  After wrenching my mouth from the soil and blowing out some red flower petals, I croak, “I just want to talk.”

  Her other arm pushes under my neck and wraps me in a chokehold. She laughs without a trace of humor. “Why would I talk with someone who is barely a three sigma?”

  I say through gasps, “Please, I need your help to reach ten sigmas.”

  The hold tightens around my throat.

  Panicking, I screech, “I have to find my wife. I volunteered to be with her.”

  “Nobody comes here by choice.”

  “She’s the love of my life. I’d do anything for her.”

  The choking pressure lessens.

  Grasping at my one chance, I blurt, “Isn’t there anyone you love enough to do anything for?”

  A long second passes before the heat from her body leaves.

  I roll through red flowers and onto a knee, coughing.

  “How do you know me?” the physically average woman asks from a few steps away, her seven sigma score blaring over the vicinity.

  How could anyone get that high?

  I avert my eyes as she readjusts the straps of her outfit to cover her private areas. While everything looks perfect, I have no attraction to her. I wonder if I’m too afraid of her martial prowess to react to the sight or if my libido has dropped too low for sex. After a moment, I decide it’s because I still love my wife.

  “Aw. That’s so sweet! But she is cute, and she’s got that badass hotness.”

  I roll my eyes and gather my breath. When I feel my words will come out coherently, I say, “We were teammates in a scenario together.”

  While she finishes tugging the strap covering her sex, she says, “Sweetie, I’ve been in a lot of scenarios. With a lot of teammates. Most of whom are dead.”

  “It was with the two forts in the winter hills. Where we were wearing World War One uniforms and using World War Two Garands.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re one of the idiots who almost shot me.”

  I smile reassuringly before saying, “I am that idiot who shot.”

  Her posture shifts, and I tense, wondering if she’s going to leave or, worse, exact some sort of revenge.

  The standoff breaks when she shakes her head. “I’ll give you props for honesty. But that doesn’t change the fact I think you’re an idiot.”

  “At least she’s not going to kill you. I knew I liked her.”

  “Wonderful,” I say as a sheepish response to both statements.

  She walks under the low-hanging branches of the red maple tree and sits on a flat stone bench. Her hand taps the spot next to her.

  Although she looks like an average person, sitting demurely in this sedate setting, I hesitate because this person is the most lethal human being I’ve ever encountered.

  “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have already done it. So come on.”

  Still amazed by her fighting abilities, I warily walk past the tree. When I reach the stone bench, I plant myself an arm’s length from her.

  “Are you stupid?” she asks.

  Strangely, the déjà vu of the question immediately leads to a perfect recollection of the scientist who put the metal band around my head. And Frederic Powers and Valerie, his mistress. I frown, not understanding the predilections of the memory loss.

  “I’m not stupid. Just a tad silly,” I reply.

  She snorts. “I guess I’m a sucker for hard-luck cases.”

  “Really?”

  The lightness disappears from her eyes. “No. I don’t care about you, and I certainly don’t need to know you. Emotional bonds make you weak. Now, what exactly do you want me to tell you?”

  “Just—�
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  “Just what kind of magic do I use when I fight? The secret elixir for success?”

  I nod, twisting my lips in embarrassment.

  Her disdain rolls out in a chuckle. “There isn’t any. I can’t explain what I do because in any combat situation whatever comes to me is always the right choice. I’m better than everyone because it’s natural.”

  “There has to be something.”

  “You might improve after the memory loss,” she says with a shrug.

  “I can’t forget my wife. She’s the only reason I’m here.”

  Her eyes soften, and she glances at her forearm.

  A little surprised that the bloody cuts form words, I ask, “Who are Melody and Melissa?”

  “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

  “That I can’t promise.”

  “I give you more props for honesty.” She sighs before continuing in a gentle tone, “These are the names of my children. I cut them into my arm every time I get my health restored, so I remember them. Does that help?”

  “So you’re using your love for them to get through the scenarios,” I say, groping for anything that might be useful.

  “Love? I’m not sure if it’s the acclimation process or just all the killing, but love is only an empty concept to me. I’m more of a shell that only gets filled when I’m fighting for my life.”

  “But they’re your daughters. If that isn’t love then what is?”

  “Not this,” she says, waving her finger over the surroundings. “Here, there’s no room for anything like that. I don’t even remember what Melody or Melissa look like. But, everyone who’s standing between me and my girls is something that needs to be destroyed. And that, sweetie, is hatred. Kinda crappy, huh?”

  I don’t respond.

  “Take my advice, don’t let your feelings go. Find a different way than I did.”

  “If I don’t become like you, I won’t survive.”

  Several seconds pass before she says, “You have a goal besides yourself, and that’s good. Maybe, you only need more focus.”

  “How can I do that?”

  She shrugs. “Tame the threads? I don’t have the foggiest idea because everything came easy for me. But whatever solution you find has got to start from inside yourself.”

  As the words sink in, her skin glows with golden specks.

  “Can we continue this later?” I blurt.

  “If you survive…”

  “Then I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

  As her body disappears, another question pops into my head.

  “What’s your name?”

  Instead of answering, she sends a smile devoid of warmth or empathy.

  A chill sinks into my bones.

  It’s her kill face.

  Twenty-One

  A few minutes later, I recover my composure and leave the garden. My optimism grows with each step.

  The seven sigma is going to help!

  “And she likes you,” internal me adds.

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’d be friends with her.”

  Shaking my head and deciding not to let internal me interfere with my good mood, I walk toward the Commons.

  But, how can she help me to improve? As she said, her talents are natural. But perhaps a way exists to emulate some of her traits.

  That would have to be better than nothing.

  A frightful notion interrupts my optimism. While I might become better and live long enough to find my wife, how do I know she’s still alive? She couldn’t even kill a spider, and now…

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, dipping my head in anguish.

  She could already be dead.

  “Hey,” internal me says with indignation. “That seven sigma didn’t look like much either.”

  “You’re a little biased.”

  “I’m a figment of your imagination, dummy. She’s probably fighting just as hard to reach ten sigmas as you are.”

  Rather than answering, I nod. There isn’t any choice but to agree. I have to believe in my wife as much as I believe in myself.

  Or this whole thing is for nothing.

  Without understanding how, I find myself in front of the museum. I pause before marching under the raised iron gate and through the foyer.

  Every new sanctuary that comes with a restocking looks like the old sanctuary. Has my wife visited her corresponding museum? Did she walk down these hallways appreciating the artwork? Maybe the decor? I think she was fond of older stuff.

  Something’s missing.

  Unsure of what I want to find, I wander through different exhibits, twisting my head, searching for an echo of her presence. After exploring an arched hallway featuring tall Greek statues, I enter a wing devoted to impressionist paintings.

  My footsteps slow as I pass a stunning portrait of a woman with the parasol painted by Monet. The white clouds and color contrasts are intriguing and nearby is the bench where Cheri offered to help me overcome my dark emotions.

  I sigh, remembering her acting ability, and then add extra sighs for Saya’s brashness and Jake’s sense of caution. I miss my first team for many reasons, including the selfish one that all my stories died with them.

  After another moment passes, I continue down the dank corridor. When my path loops back into the courtyard, I stop and scratch my chin. While I recollect making a point to come to this place, the feelings the decor evoked have faded.

  Why was I drawn here?

  The museum should feel special, but…

  A bit flummoxed, I flop onto a bench dabbed with late morning sunlight.

  Is my past that far gone? The next time I visit, will I remember why this place interests me at all?

  As I stare at a dark stormy painting, I decide to make a last stand. No matter what I do, there’s no way to get my dead memories back and no way to stop the live ones from disappearing. However, while I might never become what that seven sigma is, I can copy her trick.

  I grit my teeth and rub my thumbnail over the inside of my forearm. Just a few deep cuts to remember…

  “Ewe. That sounds squishy and painful.”

  “This will be your name.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet!”

  After pressing the thumbnail into the skin, I pause. “What’s your name again?”

  “Really? You waited so long that you forgot?”

  “For once, can you try to be helpful? Just tell me what it is.”

  “If you don’t know, how would I?”

  I roll my eyes, knowing internal me is doing the same.

  The familiar image of the woman in front of the sunlit bay window pops into my head.

  I push the thumbnail down. As I make the first bloody cut, my lips crease into a smile from the reassuring pain.

  When the sky darkens, I get up and leave the museum with slow steps, shaking my forearm from discomfort. Despite staying for the afternoon, nothing in the old bricks or tasteful decor leaped out for me. The entire episode of trying to reconnect with my feelings was a dead end.

  After trudging back to the Commons, I pass the bustling cafeteria. Past the plastic windows, people drink the blue liquid with happy expressions. My new teammates, who I’ll meet right before heading into the next scenario, are probably there too.

  Too bad one of them won’t be the seven sigma.

  With her on my team…

  I sigh.

  Only actions, not idle thoughts, will work in the Ten Sigma Program.

  However, she’s going to help, and my optimism surges at the notion. Just from being in her company, some of her prowess has to rub off.

  I head to the barracks, my mind ablaze with ideas of how to maximize my time with such a formidable warrior. When I climb into bed, I keep an eye on the corner bunk, excited for her return. Then exhaustion from the day’s events overwhelms me, and I slip into a restful sleep.

  Everything will be okay.

  The next morning, when the yellow of dawn creases over the
bunks, I bolt upright and jump down among the sleepy people.

  It’s going to be a great day.

  My heart sags after I reach her bunk.

  The mattress is empty, and the sheets untouched.

  I shake my head, not accepting the impossibility.

  “That’s too bad. I really liked her,” internal me says, uttering the unspoken truth.

  Shudders rack my body as I sink to the floor. If this woman couldn’t make it through this program, then who could? And who could be so tough as to kill someone like that?

  Someone who can easily kill me.

  “This world has a boogeyman,” internal me adds.

  Suddenly weary, I rub my eyes, wondering if this boogeyman is worse than my own “Whirlwind of Death.”

  “I’d sure hate to meet whoever beat her.”

  Sadly, I nod in agreement as my newly resurrected optimism crashes into despair.

  I’m going to die in this awful place.

  “Yup,” internal me agrees unnecessarily.

  Twenty-Two

  The pain from cutting into my forearm helps me concentrate past the heavy wind and rhythmic thumping of the rotor blades.

  A hand taps my knee. “Is that a pre-scenario ritual?”

  I turn to a camouflage-blackened face under a loose-fitting helmet. He’s a 2.55 sigma named Jim. Framed by the amber halo of the cockpit lights, he looks too young for the death and mayhem that’s about to be unleashed, as do the silhouettes seated behind him. Given the lack of details in the gloom, it might only be my 3.05 sigma score speaking, which makes me the leader in this helicopter full of neophytes dressed for jungle warfare.

  “Don’t worry about what I’m doing,” I say, yelling loud enough to overcome the engine noise. I look past him. “Check your kits! Make sure everything is perfect.”

  Before anyone answers, I turn away, wanting solitude from my new teammates, most of whom will be dead in the next few minutes.

  After my thumbnail cuts the “R” into my forearm, which finishes “RED HAIR,” I peer outside the cabin.

  A stream of moist air rushes across my face as I watch the dark shapes of the other nine helicopters in the assault force. Besides blinking red warning lights, shadows hide their features from the faint light of the crescent moon. Below and blacker lies the jungle canopy, the uneven tops of its trees sweeping past like so many ocean waves.