by A W Wang
“Dead? As in forever?” Suri says.
“Your consciousness can’t be duplicated, and once extinguished, cannot be revived,” Haiku replies.
Simon pops to his feet. “I don’t understand. Everyone has the threads. Why do we need these scenarios!”
Haiku slowly turns him. “The threads are only a starting point. To prove worthy of graduating this program, you must hone your skills and steel your mind and that can only be achieved through trials by fire.”
The ex-politician sinks back into his chair. “I mean, it just seems like a waste,” he says, looking to the rest of us.
Carol raises her hand. “If we survive, but don’t accomplish the mission are we expunged from the system too?”
Haiku admonishes her. “Don’t be such a worrywart. If you fail to complete your mission, you restart from the beginning.”
There are groans I would join, except I notice Syd staring at me. When I quizzically raise an eyebrow, he asks Haiku, “What are the parameters to complete the program and get back to the actual world?”
Haiku claps, her happy face returning. “That is a wonderful question and my favorite part of the briefing. Everyone receives a score. And soon, you’ll be able to sense not only your score but everyone else’s too.”
Everyone pushes their heads forward, squinting.
“Not now,” Haiku says. “Like the rest of the acclimation process, it will manifest according to the talents of each mind.”
“We all start at zero?” Rick asks.
“No, everyone’s score is 2.5 sigmas,” Haiku replies.
I sit up with a start, the mathematician within me shivering.
“What’s a sigma?” asks Walt.
“It’s also called a standard deviation and is a measure of population,” she replies. “We only want special people of great skill to return to the real world, so it is the highest standard of measurement.”
“So, 2.5 sigmas were our odds of winning the first battle?” Sergeant Rick says.
“Exactly, one in one hundred and sixty-two,” Haiku replies in her happiest voice, dismissing the one hundred and sixty-one people that died for each of us to be here.
Her next words confirm my worst fears. “The risks from each scenario are cumulative, and to graduate this program, you must achieve a level of ten sigmas.”
While she gleefully claps, I cover my mouth, hoping I misunderstood.
Grumbles and yips of consternation come from around the semicircle.
“Seven and a half sigmas to go?” says Jock in a heavy voice.
“One out of a hundred and sixty-two to get 2.5 sigmas—what’s that make, one in a couple of thousand to get to ten?” adds Walt.
Syd looks at me with laughter dancing in his dark eyes.
I avoid his gaze. Walt thinks the odds are additive with the sigmas but that’s not the way it works. I have the math background and wish I didn’t. Everything operates on a bell curve. The further you move toward the tail ends, the less there is. It’s like trying to gather oxygen at higher and higher altitudes. While easy at sea level, Mount Everest is harder, the stratosphere harder than that, and it’s impossible when you get into space. The finish line for this program is like trying to breathe outside the orbit of Pluto.
It’s not that 2.5 sigmas are one out of one hundred and sixty-two while four sigmas are roughly one half more.
Four sigmas are one out of thirty thousand.
Five is one in 3.5 million.
Ten would be—
131,248,150,000,000,000,000,000 to 1.
The giant number representing the odds materializes in my head accompanied by Haiku’s cheery voice. “About one in one hundred and thirty-one sextillion but don’t tell anyone!”
As the others wrestle with the basics of statistics, my fingers rub along my bottom teeth.
Syd sends a knowing nod, while Haiku secretly speaks again, “Remember, keep that between us!”
The astronomical number has twenty-four digits and is greater than the number of people who have ever lived or will ever live by factors of ten. Even if we had a billion lives instead of just the one, in the face of one hundred and thirty sextillion to one odds, zero people would be expected to survive the gauntlet of scenarios to reach a ten sigma level.
We’re all dead men walking.
Sixteen
Scenario one begins when I materialize in a new world, wearing a snug skinsuit. My hand grips a silenced .22 caliber assault rifle while sprays of water hit my face. I lie with four others—Suri, Carol, Rick, and Syd—in a speeding rubber craft, bobbing over shallow waves. Three other identical boats travel in a line with us for a total force size of twenty—two teams worth of people.
I want to scream, “We’re all dead! What does it matter!” but the words die against the knot constricting my throat.
From the horizon, a lengthy triangle of land grows against the nighttime blanket of stars. My body tenses from apprehension as I squint to gather more details. Gnarled rocks dot a landing beach that leads to lurking bluffs formed from twisted crags. Between the fractured veins of moonlight spilling down the slope lie deep gouges of blackness. And offset to the moon side of the island, a single menacing peak completes the foreboding picture.
This is a deathmatch. Kill everyone on the opposing force.
The grim task isn’t spoken; it appears in my mind.
Filling my lungs with sea air, I shake my head. While I’m torn between hoping to get used to the brutality and never falling into the trap of guiltless murder, the weight of the ten sigma odds dwarfs everything. No matter what we do here, an endless line of battles awaits, and our long-term survivability is, for all intents and purposes, zero. We are corpses with temporary control of our bodies and besides Syd, I’m the only one who knows it.
I don’t want to die.
My fingers twitch as I wipe water from my eye.
A gentle hand touches my shoulder. “Are you okay?” Suri asks.
Skirting around the deadly truth, I reply, “Yeah, just anxious about what’s coming.”
As the boat vibrates, the moonlight jitters over her pretty eyes. “Think about something good in your life. Something to live for.”
She’s right. Besides surviving the coming violence, I need to keep reminding myself of who I was in the real world. I search for the most iconic of my remaining memories.
My husband flashes a winning smile. An intimate moment consisting of him, red wine, a silky comforter over a small bed, and homework appears in my head.
As I enter, I relax.
The imaginary room flares into a blinding white. When the brightness fades, only the two of us remain in a black space.
The big dreamer voice says, “People win lotteries all the time.”
My sarcastic self responds, “Getting to ten sigmas is exactly like that, except a thousand million million times worse.”
“But, no matter the odds, everyone buying a ticket thinks they are going to win. Why not you?”
“Incredible, your imaginary attitude is on steroids too!”
“The ten sigma lottery ticket in your pocket will be the winner!”
“I’m changing your name to Major Optimism.”
“I’m calling you Private Downer.”
“Touché.”
His tone becomes serious. “Before, we made a great team because my optimism and your realism were unbeatable together. Now, you’re alone, but to survive, you’ll need to be the best of both of us.”
I have no snarky answer to this imaginary version of my husband.
“Get out of here and make sure you win!”
“Whoop-Dee-Doo! I love imaginary you,” I say and give him a kiss.
The salty air blows past my face as the warm touch of his lips fade. In spite of the situation, I force my lips into a tight smirk.
Although only a small step, I set my goal to survive the coming battle with as many teammates as possible. Bigger things, requiring a crazy optimism I don’t have,
will need to wait until I completely lose my sanity.
Suri notices my expression and chuckles.
“Stay frosty,” says Sergeant Rick.
I return my attention to the island.
Although everyone has the capabilities of the black and red threads, the former ranger captain has real experience. And considering the crap is about to become real, that counts for something.
Minutes later, when the boat scrapes ashore, I’ve identified a myriad of ambush points across the faint gleams and intervening shadows of the long side of the island but strangely, no threats.
Hating the conundrum, I hop over the foam of the surf and land on a flat rock. As I flick the rifle’s safety off, Syd shows his amusement with a feral grin.
“Virgin territory,” he whispers.
Although I frown at the odd words, I appreciate their meaning. Something about this place is pristine.
Suri brushes past and I follow her to a low embankment and form part of a defensive perimeter while Rick jogs off to discuss strategy with the other team leader.
As the two of them huddle, I study the dark forms of the second team. While it’s hard to distinguish any features, they seem familiar, and I wonder about their backgrounds, imagining them to be accountants or parents or grandparents. Maybe they even have a Sergeant Rick type leading them.
I shake my head. These people are part of the Ten Sigma Program and subject to the same odds as us.
More dead people walking.
Vela sidles next to me, and I’m relieved to shift my attention to my friends.
“What are we waiting for?” she asks nervously.
“Just remember to use your training.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
She still thinks I have some special power.
Instead of answering, I look to the rest of the group. Although expertly holding their weapons, they have varying expressions. Surprisingly, the calmest is Walt, while unsurprisingly, Simon has the widest eyes and jitters with the most fear. Everyone else falls somewhere between those two extremes, except for Syd, who alone looks eager.
While I’m not sure where I belong in that spectrum, I hope I won’t let anybody down.
A black threads whispers, “One can never tell how one will react until the bullets fly.”
Rick returns and kneels in the damp sand. Under his cool gaze and relaxed demeanor, the anxiety lessens. He explains the strategy. “The second team is the reserve. We’ll form a skirmish line and flush the enemy out. Pairs only, stay alert. Carol and Syd will hold the far right.” He points to Suri and myself. “You two are next. I’ll be in the center with Simon, then Walt and Vela. Jock and Ally will take the far left. Let’s go.”
While I provide cover, Suri scrambles up the meter-high wall and to the gnarled rocks forming the cliffs. The awkward climb is the perfect place to get attacked, especially from the tabletop peak dominating the landmass to the left. After her black form gets to the top, Suri waits, scanning for enemies.
Upset with Rick for volunteering us to lead the assault through this dangerous terrain, I sling my rifle and jump on top of the sandy barrier and then slip into a deep crevasse. Keeping inside the shadows, I use my fingers to find handholds and pull myself up the steep slope. With little noise or trouble, I negotiate my body over the rim of the cliff and crouch next to Suri with my weapon ready.
Ahead of us, bluish moonlight shines on a landscape created from the paths of many lava flows. The twinkles of metallic particles rise into the distance. For no good reason, a black thread informs me the volcanic material resembles Iwo Jima, the home of one of the bloodiest battles of the Second World War.
I suppress a shudder.
Suri motions and we scamper over a ripple of rock. With our expert knowledge, we use the cover of the stones and indents in the harsh terrain to advance swiftly inland.
Despite the cool air, sweat trickles down my spine. While I tug at the nape of my outfit, only the soft padding of our boots and the fading crashes of the surf disturb the stillness.
Something is wrong.
I want to relay my misgivings to Suri but stay quiet, overriding my fears and trusting to Rick’s plan.
Another fifty meters pass before we proceed into the long night shadow of the heights. Although I draw anxious breaths expecting gunfire, during the entire heart-pounding advance, I’ve found no sign of our enemies, not even around the ominous peak that is the premium defensive position on the island.
A strong breeze greets us as we cross the dimpled ridge forming the spine of the landmass. The terrain changes into a smallish plain that spills into the opposite shoreline. The lack of cover forces us to slink into a groove between two colliding lava streams to keep pace with the others.
While my clammy skinsuit enjoys sticking to my sweaty body, a chilling sensation wanders over my skin and the tingly spiders of doom stab at my nape.
My steps slow, and I stop.
Fright from threats tucked into black recesses of this crazy place I understand, but this concern is different. Syd said this place was virginal.
“Why are your thoughts wandering?” my husband says.
I imagine a big smile plastered on his face while he adds, “Because…”
Because there is nobody here.
Suri backtracks. “We’re falling behind. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just nerves.”
Her features harden as her dark eyes focus on me. “That’s not it, what are you thinking?”
“I haven’t seen anything.”
“They’re trained like us and very skilled.”
“The best option would have been attacking when we landed. But we’re more than halfway to the other side and nothing. Look at the peak.”
Her eyes flicker to the ominous mass blocking the moonlight.
“Anyone up there would have already fired,” I say.
After drawing a long breath and swallowing, she says, “Okay, you have a point.”
Gesturing at the mostly smooth terrain leading to the opposite shore, I say, “This is terrible for defense. There isn’t enough cover left, and they can’t be waiting to get surrounded.” I take a deep breath. “What if they aren’t on the island?”
She grabs my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To Rick.”
We abandon caution as we rush to the center of the line. Rick scowls when we arrive. “What are you two doing?”
“Rick,” I say.
Simon interjects, “Shut up. Both of you idiots get back to your position.”
Suri holds up her hand, saying in an urgent voice, “Listen to her.”
Rick says, “If we’re attacked now—”
My anger rises at his rigidity. “We won’t be. There’s nobody here.”
“What?”
I jab my finger to our front. “Has anyone heard or seen anything? Why would they wait for us to sweep them into a flat, undefendable area?”
Rick wipes sweat from his knitted brows. Too many precious seconds fly past as he processes the information.
“What do you want to do?” I hiss.
His cool demeanor evaporates, and after spewing a long string of creative curses, he says, “We reform the line for an attack from behind us.”
“We need to warn the others,” I say.
“Defense first, then the reserve team. Go get Carol and Syd. We’ll set up the rest.”
“What about them?” I point to our landing spot and our allies.
Rick says with an angry undertone, “We will protect our people first. Move, now!”
You’re welcome.
However, I’m not upset with him. The deliberate words cover his fear because our first scenario is in danger of becoming our last scenario.
Suri and I hurry in an adrenaline-powered sprint, the rubber soles of our boots thumping on the uneven lava. I should be used to it, but my speed and coordination still amaze me. My old gimpy self would have broken an ankle
by this point. When Carol and Syd come into sight, we’re breathing heavily.
“Problems,” I say as we hit the ground next to them.
Soft clicks from silenced guns and impacts of bullets on stone cascade across the landing beach. The four of us flatten.
Rick was right, anyone running back to warn the other team would be in deep trouble.
A couple of figures, possibly the people I mused were parents or grandparents, clear the beach ridge only to be gunned down a moment later.
Dead.
As experiences from the black threads fill my mind with advice, I fight a growing panic. Suri stays reserved, sucking in slow breaths, while Carol wipes moisture from her pretty face, letting her hand linger on her long hair. Syd’s eyes gleam, and he produces a vicious smile, announcing he’s ready to defy any set of odds.
“We have to rejoin the others. Rick has a plan,” I say.
Syd huffs but otherwise stays quiet.
I lead them back to Rick with a wary eye toward the beach. The sounds of battle soon still.
Suri stops. “The other team’s gone.”
“We’re alone,” Carol adds with consternation.
I’ve been in the virtual world for only a short time, but these people are the closest thing I have to a family.
“Guys,” I say, surprising myself. “The fun and games of training are finished, but stay calm. We can do this.”
Syd nods and says in a hungry voice, “Our enemies don’t know what they’re in for.”
Neither do our friends.
Unsure of the reasoning behind the last thought, I move at a faster pace, and we swiftly arrive at Rick’s position.
He’s organized the rest of the team to defend behind the mid-island ridge stretching to the heights. Except for a few rocks near the beach, the exposed ground to our rear ensures there will be no retreat.
Rick points at the peak. “Brin, cover the main part of the line from there and shore up any breaches. You’re our last line of defense.”
