by A W Wang
The bizarreness has to be a hallucination, but when I scream, my lungs won’t function. I fold my arms tight over my knees, willing myself not to disintegrate, but somehow my skin gives way into spongy tissue and hazy bones.
The sadistic parts of Syd quake with laughter.
Shudders run through my tissues as I gnash my wilting teeth, and then, steeling my nerves, I force myself upright and lean over the railing, preparing to jump into the blackness.
The aroma of sage mixed with rosemary floods the area.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a girlish voice says.
Slowly twisting my head as if it’s disconnected from my neck, I pivot to the sound. The darkness is too heavy to discern any details, but the new presence seems gigantic. “Who are you?”
A disquieting moment passes before there is a pop and a spark flares. I squint, adjusting to the brightness, my mind suddenly clearing. When I glance down, my body is back to being healthy, long, and perfect.
Strange.
Holding a lit wand, an avatar-sized witch with jet black hair floats on a short broomstick. She has a cute face under her pointed hat.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
“I’m looking for a plain-faced man accompanied by a leprechaun,” I say, realizing exactly how stupid the words sound as they leave my mouth.
“Nobody is down here. Since the initial construction, this place has been empty.”
I wave my arms at the black space. “Are you sure?”
She closes her eyes and flicks her wand.
Illumination arrives from wide ceiling panels.
We’re on a narrow suspension bridge, which isn’t as high as I expected. About a meter below the railing lies a lattice of glass containers with smoke swirling under their thick tops. A malevolence seems to emanate from mysterious substances.
“As I said, nobody is here. You’ve made a mistake. It’s not uncommon for people imported from the outside. Perhaps you are experiencing dementia from the acclimation.”
“I am not imagining things.”
“Of course not. Yet, there isn’t anyone here. I give you my word.”
“What’s in the glass boxes?”
“Nothing that should concern you.”
Of course the witch won’t answer the question. The avatars are never forthcoming with any information. I turn and walk away.
There is another pop, and she floats in front of me, her shallow eyes staring placidly.
“There’s something very, very wrong with this place, and I will figure it out if it kills me,” I say, my tone exaggerating my hyperbole.
I wait for the hatred that arises from every avatar not named Haiku. Instead, her face remains stoic as she says, “You should be more concerned with succeeding in the coming phase of the program.”
“What can you tell me about it?”
“Nothing.”
I put my hands on the railing. “I’m leaving.”
She makes the teleport gesture, and I find myself standing in the sunshine and fresh air of the elliptical platform outside the building. Although relieved to be free of the dark, evil place, I’m angry about the lack of truth amongst all the innuendo.
“I promise, I will figure out what you’re hiding.”
As I step toward the massive doors, the witch zips around and blocks my path and the indicator panel switches to a bright red.
“You should beware of traps.”
“Traps?”
“There are those that would induce you to bend the rules, so the rules can be bent against you.”
“What?” I answer my own question. “You mean the leprechaun and other avatars that have been giving me the stares.”
“My meaning is for you to follow the rules and not try to discover things that are none of your business. Do not allow yourself to be provoked.”
“But why would they single me out? Is it this body?” I ask, pointing to myself.
She examines me like a biology experiment. “While aesthetically perfect, that form is ordinary. It serves only as a shell to hold your true essence.”
“You mean I haven’t been given any special powers?”
“No. That would defeat the entire purpose of the program.”
The words are stated so matter-of-factly and with such obvious logic I feel stupid not only for asking the question but for even thinking of it in the first place.
“It’s just that everyone else resembles their real-world selves, except for me.”
“Everyone receives an appearance conducive to maximizing their success in the Ten Sigma Program. There is nothing special about your body. Perhaps it’s meant as something you should grow into.”
I raise my hands. “Grow into? Who wants all this attention?”
“Exactly my point.”
Clasping my cheeks, I knead my temples with my fingers. I’m losing an argument to a software construct that looks like a five-year-old dressed for Halloween. Worse, I’m surprised to find myself liking and trusting her. “Why are you being so helpful? Nobody else is.”
“No more questions. Please, have a great rest of your free day,” she replies.
“How do you know I’m having a free day?”
Blankness covers her face while her body remains motionless, her clothing still in the soft breeze.
As I turn away, she begins the hand motion to leave. Although I spent the morning following Syd, my real purpose was finding out more about the virtual world. And I was close to solving the riddle.
I reach for her.
She stops. “That would be a mistake. There are things you should not know and consequences for every action.”
This time, when she gestures, I let her leave.
Afterward, I stay lost in thought, contemplating without resolution the entire weird experience, until two people walk onto the empty platform.
They stare at my aesthetically perfect form.
Rolling my shoulders and wishing I was dressed in a long trench coat instead of something better suited for an S&M party, I try to hold my ground against their attention, but after a few moments, my resolve wilts. Defeated, I gnaw on a thumbnail as I slink away and return to the barracks.
Thirteen
Frazzled by the morning encounter, which only succeeded in creating more riddles than answers, I salvage the remainder of the free day by taking an afternoon walk with Suri, Jock, Vela, and Walt, my best friends in this world. Suri plays the role of a close sister while Vela acts as the critic. Walt is the teenager everyone needs to protect. Jock is…
I’m not sure what Jock is.
“Hey everyone,” Suri says. “Let’s go catch the sunset.”
“Lead on,” Jock says to me.
As I step on a winding path to the western wall, Suri calls out, “It’ll be romantic!”
I respond with a faint smile, the most romantic reaction I can force upon my face. True to Haiku’s word, our residual desires for sex have faded as our minds optimize for what comes next.
As we wend our way amongst the tall buildings of the western skyline, my anxieties increase. Despite the witch’s bland explanations, I know a dysfunction underlies everything in sight. With each step, the urge to mention the morning’s adventure wells in my throat.
I sigh, not wanting to involve my friends in some unwinnable conspiracy.
Jock glances curiously at me but oblivious to the dangers, marches ahead, appreciating the beauty of the architecture. And he’s not wrong. Here on the surface of this imitation Garden of Eden, we’re safe. Nothing would be allowed to disturb the harmony of our acclimation.
While I wrestle with the dilemma, Suri acts as a mother hen to Walt and Vela, slowing their pace to allow a sizable gap to open between us.
I roll my eyes at her rebellious fantasies of romance.
After a few tranquil minutes, Jock and I are wandering alone.
“When I lived near the Shenandoah Valley, I used to love nature,” he says and takes a deep breath. “This remi
nds me of an October evening hiking up a hillside.”
The futuristic buildings towering over us bear no resemblance to anything I remember of Western Virginia. “That sounds a little weird. None of this looks natural in the slightest.”
“It’s the clean air, distant mountains, and sunshine.”
I gesture at nearby sights, snickering. “Look at the size and shape of these things. That building is all giant buttresses. How about that looped overhang? Those struts can’t possibly be holding up that block. What’s up with that pudgy obelisk?”
“It looks cool.”
“Ha. That’s the point. Everything has some feature that’s matched to the golden ratio or pi or the square root of two. It’s just a hurried design to be cool rather than a construct emphasizing realistic details.” Thinking of the interiors and creepy avatars, my voice rises. “None of this can exist in the real world.”
Then, to emphasize the spoken and unspoken, I flourish my arms at everything.
Shaking his head at either my math knowledge or overwrought attempt of persuasion, he veers off the path. When he reaches the edge of a terrace, he stops and rests his large hands on a railing overlooking the boundary wall.
“And what about the food?” I say, catching up.
“There’s something in the air, but I can’t put my finger on it,” he replies, ignoring the logic of my arguments. He gazes into my eyes. “And the company.”
I bite my lip. Jock’s alluded to his nature walks with his high school sweetheart in previous conversations. She left for college after the terrible accident paralyzed him. While I remember his romantic stories, I’m uncertain if he has any remembrances of his first love. I want to mention her, but the breakup was painful and maybe he doesn’t need me bringing back any haunting memories of their relationship.
Instead of replying, I step next to him and place my hands on the railing.
His fingers tense, but otherwise, he makes no response to my intrusion.
As we stand close, his musky scent fills my nostrils while the warmth of his body tingles my skin. I wonder if my gimpy real-world self would have interested him. Or if I would have stayed with him after the horrible accident.
A breeze rises and he shifts, his arm brushing against my elbow.
Although my physical desires are absent, I hold my breath, waiting for his next action. Perhaps if something happens, he can provide a spark.
As the moment stretches, I try getting excited by imagining his large arms cradling me against his muscular chest and his hand reaching between my thighs.
I could kick his ass.
The bizarre thought breaks my reverie. Even if Jock shows affection, then what? Any libido still buried inside me is crumbling in deference to the will of the virtual overlords. Besides, my loving husband Nick still dwells in my disintegrating past. I miss his big smile and confident attitude.
Leaving the sexual rebellion to Suri, I create space between us with a half-step. While my memories remain, I won’t taint them with an affair, regardless of my affection for Jock. Our relationship will never progress beyond a simple friendship.
Blowing out a breath, Jock squeezes the metal guardrail and straightens.
I tilt my head as he faces me.
“There’s no place for love here,” he says.
Although anger underlies the statement, his eyes waver, allowing an opening to prove him wrong.
My decision’s final. “It certainly won’t win any fights,” I reply, returning my gaze beyond the mountain peaks and to the wonders of the blue dome.
An uncomfortable silence falls between us.
Finally, Jock recovers, saying, “When you look at the sky, what do you see?”
“Our virtual overlords.”
He laughs. “Don’t be such a downer.”
“What’s it to you?”
“The dome is the way to get home.”
“Ha. Were you a poet?”
“Hopefully not,” he says with a straight face. “I might have dabbled in it to be romantic, but judging by that last line, I probably had no talent.” He shrugs. “Either way, who knows?”
I frown because a time will come when I’ll have the same sense of loss trying to recollect my husband and family.
“Hey, no unhappy faces.”
Rather than making a remark, I express my sarcasm via widening my lips into a squarish smile which shows lots of teeth—the “Only a Mother Could Love” expression.
“You won’t be so beautiful when your face freezes like that.”
Not taking the bait, I quickly reply, “What do you mean by way to get home?”
He purses his lips, perhaps regretting the lost moment between us, then he points skyward. “Beyond that is your true home. Never forget it. Your way back is past whatever is up there. Past that gigantic blue monstrosity.”
My sarcastic thoughts evaporate as I consider his words. They’re a bit more profound than I’ve given him credit for, and ironically, sound like something my husband would say. No wonder I enjoy the huge man’s company. The blue dome is important but only as a reminder; the ultimate goal lies far beyond it.
No matter what’s left of my memories.
“So, you’re saying: don’t get used to this wonderful place?”
He laughs. “I’d be worried if you ever got comfortable here.”
It’s a perfect moment to express my worst fears. “Speaking of comfortable, have you noticed anything strange about this place?”
“That’s where you went off to,” Walt says with Suri and Vela in tow.
As they near, Suri glances between Jock and myself. Flashing a look of disappointment, she asks, “What intimate things were you two just discussing?”
“Brin was just mentioning how strange this place is,” Jock replies.
Suri says, “You mean stuff like being dressed in something less than lingerie without any desires?”
“Or the avatars materializing out of thin air?” Walt adds.
Raising both hands, I forestall the other thousand things they could mention. “No, none of those things.”
Vela says, “I’ve noticed something truly weird.”
Because she’s always suspicious, Vela notices more than most. “What?” I ask.
After her wide eyes circle the empty terrace, she says, “We’re in the military right?”
“Yeah, so?” I reply. With the knowledge of a million soldiers residing in each of us, there’s no argument there.
“Doesn’t anyone find it funny we haven’t bothered trying to create a spree du corpis?”
“Esprit de corps,” Jock says. “It means to build up pride and loyalty.”
“Rick’s doing that,” Walt says.
“But nobody else is,” Vela replies. “Everything I’ve ever read or seen has the military indoctrinating people through drills and mass formations. To stamp out individuality and set people into a group mentality. We do nothing like that.
“No drills. No marching. No parades. Nothing. What’s more suspicious is none of the threads hold any knowledge of those things.
“I can kill in a thousand different ways with a thousand different weapons, but I don’t know how to march in unison with anyone. If Rick didn’t have that overly upright posture, I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea of how to stand at attention. And forget about doing a proper salute.”
“What are you getting at?” I say.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m probably being paranoid.”
Jock scrunches his brows while Walt splits his attention between Suri and me, waiting for either of us to produce a reaction he can imitate.
Suri says, “It’s okay to be anxious.”
I chew on a nail. Although Vela’s overly skeptical because of her past, she’s not paranoid. That kind of coordination takes practice, and while we’ve received metaphorical mountains of knowledge and skills, we have no threads devoted to esprit de corps. This sanctuary is closer to a giant meditation resort than a military base, bu
t while odd, I don’t understand how it’s an issue, especially compared to everything else.
Vela rubs her cheek. “Who can you trust around here?”
“Haiku?” Suri whispers.
I’m not sure I trust her, but it can’t hurt to ask. “Haiku!”
After a gentle pop, her strawberry scent rolls past us. “Yes,” she says in a cheery voice.
Uncertain of how to begin, I take a moment to appreciate her silver hair and matching outfit, which shimmers in the fading orange sunlight. “We have questions about this place. About some of the people.”
“And some missing army training,” Vela says.
Jock adds, “Specifically about esprit—”
“There is plenty of time for questions,” Haiku interrupts. Her eyes glaze for a moment before she continues. “But, you should enjoy your remaining free time without worrying about things that needn’t concern you.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Your acclimation period has ended.”
“But…I still have some of my memories,” Walt says.
For some reason, Haiku glances at me before replying. “Each person adjusts at a different rate, which not only depends on what’s best for them, but how accepting they are of the changes. Rest assured, you have all reached the level required for the next phase of the Ten Sigma Program.”
While her smile brightens, my stomach sinks as I wonder what will be left of me when the adjustments end.
“Can you tell us more?” Suri says.
“Tonight, there is a fun event for your sendoff. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
And with that vapid statement, the avatar vanishes.
I exchange an uneasy glance with Suri. There are so many unanswered questions and so many unknowns.
She says, “Brin, did you want to say something else? You guys were talking about something strange?”
I think of my morning adventure and all the riddles. Given the upcoming uncertainty, I can’t burden my friends with extra worries.
“No, it’s nothing.”
“Even though we can’t march as a unit, I know we’ll be ready for anything in the scenarios,” Jock says, straightening with self-assurance.
