Ten Sigma

by A W Wang

  Vela says, “That sounds like Simon talking.”

  I blow out a listless breath. “It isn’t Simon, it’s me. I know myself and my limitations. Being in charge and making decisions that get people killed is something I’m not ready to do.”

  Jock says in a confident voice, “Brin, you need to lead us.”

  Before I respond, Haiku says, “Brin cannot be coerced to be the team leader. Is there anyone else?”

  Syd sends me a mysterious smirk then lifts his hand. “I would volunteer myself.”

  “That is an excellent suggestion,” Haiku says. “Syd has the highest score and did kill the seven sigma from the last scenario.”

  Suddenly, being in charge isn’t a horrific idea. Syd’s planning would most likely be limited to “Kill everyone you can!” And we would only last one or two scenarios.

  Suri stands and looks to everyone. “Brin, I’m not sure anyone is ever ready for this kind of responsibility. However, I’m sure this is something you will grow into.”

  Jock rises too. “You’re the most qualified and I promise we’ll make it work.”

  I can’t remember the stories from the real world that make me unfit to be the leader, and the alternative is Syd. I accept with a woeful nod.

  Syd laughs. “I withdraw my candidacy.”

  Haiku says, “This is wonderful. Now that the leadership position is settled, we can go on to the debrief.”

  While she spends the next few minutes in her usual gleeful post-scenario chatter, my eyes wander over the semicircle as I ponder how I can possibly save all my friends, and even Syd, from a certain death.

  Except for me, everyone straightens in expectation when Haiku begins announcing the sigma score increases for the team.

  With each new number, I slump further into my seat, the enormity of my task weighing on my shoulders.

  They are all light-years from reaching the magical ten sigma goal.

  But now, it will be my decisions that get them killed.

  Twenty-Six

  Thoughts of failure disturb my nights. An uninformed choice leads to Suri’s death. Ally, Jock, and Vela get butchered from a tactical mistake. I’m indecisive and Walt dies. These aren’t nightmares; a week has passed since I’ve slept for more than ten minutes, a period encompassing four scenarios and twelve training sessions.

  Although we’re on the third set of replacements, everyone from the original team has survived.

  I hate myself for being happy about that.

  Command isn’t easy, and worse than being worn out, I’m second guessing myself. Given the lethal nature of the program that’s a state that can’t endure. Just one mistake or less than optimal decision and one of my friends will be dead.

  Rick was right: I have to be bigger than my misgivings.

  I really need Syd’s help.

  However, he’s more detached than usual. We’ve won the last two scenarios because I’ve accounted for his random rampages across the battlefield. That’s not a recipe for continued success.

  As I cross under the portcullis to the museum, I chew on the corner of a thumbnail.

  The serenity of the artwork amid the rustic red brick and oiled wood interior used to bring me pleasure. But then Syd decided he enjoyed spending his spare time in my favorite place.

  This is a stupid idea.

  But the only option I can choose to save my friends.

  As I enter the main courtyard, a tall woman and a round-faced man brush past me. Resisting the urge to lash out at them, I raise my head and search for my reticent teammate.

  He isn’t hiding. Directly in the middle of the central viewing area, he sits on a bench built from polished rails of wood, facing a massive landscape painting. A skylight shines a broken halo over his spiky hair.

  I stop chewing my thumbnail and wipe my bleary eyes. With conspicuous movements, I walk and stand behind him.

  Ugh.

  Even though he knows I’m waiting and why I’ve come, his attention stays riveted on the artwork.

  Placing my hand over my mouth, I clear my throat.

  His head slowly twists to look over his shoulder. “Hi Brin, I didn’t notice you there.”

  I edge around the bench and interpose myself between him and the painting. As I stand in a loose posture, his eyes linger on my body while a bland smile creases his face. Although a flush rises on my cheeks, I resist an urge to fold my arms.

  “That’s my favorite thing here,” he says, pointing through me. “For some reason, the dark clouds of the onrushing storm and the flashes of lightning feel like home.”

  Not wanting to discuss the finer points of culture, I say, “Let’s talk.”

  He pats the polished wood next to his thigh.

  I shake my head. “Someplace private.” Looking past the main hall, I locate a secluded nook obscured by hanging vines and gesture for him to follow.

  When I enter the confined location, although low stone chairs with inviting leather cushions sit against opposite red-bricked walls, I stand near one of the small sunlit windows, preferring to keep the conversation in a serious tone.

  On the other hand, Syd marches straight in and plops into a seat. “So, how’s the integration going with John, Brine, and Catty?”

  “Jack, Brie, and Kate,” I reply with irritation. It figures Syd wouldn’t care enough to know everyone’s name.

  Giving a dismissive wave, he leans into the back cushion. “Whatever. They won’t be around that long anyway.”

  I resist the urge to smack him. “They might survive if you were on board with the teamwork.”

  A vapid grin appears on his face. “I thought Walt and Suri were integrating them nicely with your standards.”

  His dragging out the conversation hints at a past life involving some aspect of sadism. Or maybe being a professional torturer. “If you worked with us, everything would be better and smoother.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “What about this situation has changed that would cause me to alter any of my behavior?”

  The question is rhetorical, and although my eyes narrow, I stay silent.

  “The game is whoever reaches ten sigmas. It’s not how many and it’s not how you do it. Whatever happens, the overlords will keep putting us into battles and keep restocking the team with replacements. The lesser talents will die while the greater ones will advance. This is simple evolution.”

  “If we work together, we’ll do much better. Haiku keeps saying we are the best team ever. And that’s because of our teamwork.”

  “No. That’s because of me and you. Without us, they’d die like every other team. An average lifespan of 1.56 scenarios. And no matter what you do, they won’t get to ten sigmas.”

  “Winning isn’t only about how vicious you can be. Everyone has something to contribute.”

  “Mostly, they contribute as extra targets for our enemies to kill.”

  “You like Walt, don’t you? And I see the way you glance at Ally and Suri. They’re our friends and deserve to make it out of here just as much as you or I.”

  He snickers. “Deserve has nothing to do with anything.”

  I grind my teeth, hating the truth of the statement.

  “Don’t get angry. You came to me because I’m better at killing than you.”

  “I’m not sure why that makes any difference.”

  “Just say it.”

  My lips tighten.

  Leaning forward, he says, “I’ll consider your offer if you say I’m better at combat than you are and that’s why you need me.”

  “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re better at combat than I am and that’s why it’s important for you to be part of the team.”

  “I don’t care about your accolades. I merely wish for you to see reality. And reality doesn’t give a damn how hard you try or how much you care.”

  “If we all get killed because of you, then one day, you’ll be alone against a horde. What will you do then?”

 
; “I’d win. But fine, if you want me to assist with your strategy, I want something too.”

  “What?”

  As he pauses and licks his lips, a feeling of dread rises in me.

  “I want us to be partners—in every sense of the word.”

  “You mean sex?”

  He nods.

  “Nobody can have sex in this place.”

  As a response, he squeezes his eyes closed. Deep lines crease his forehead and his cheeks puff as he concentrates, reminding me of the first time when he made his offer in the foyer of this building. After an uncomfortable minute, he stands. “Look at it.”

  Once again, my eyes betray me and trail down his body. Instead of being flaccid, it’s poking from the top of his underwear. “How did you do that?”

  “Touch it.”

  “I am not touching it.”

  He grabs my hand. Not resisting enough, I let him move it to his privates. Although not fully erect, it’s enough for intercourse.

  “How?”

  “I have my secrets. But if we were partners, I’d share everything with you.” He completes the statement with a lecherous stare.

  “No!” I spin and brush past the vines.

  His fingers leech onto my shoulder and as I twist away, his hand slips to my breast.

  Cringing from the clammy touch, I leap backward.

  “That’s too bad for you and your friends. Poor Suri and Walt. Ally and Vela. And what about Jock?”

  I snap a right cross into his smug face.

  He staggers and falls against a stone armrest. As he glares, I step into the entranceway, taking a defensive posture. But instead of attacking, he laughs.

  “Why are you fighting the inevitable?”

  Slowly shaking my head, I reply, “I should call Haiku and break up the team.”

  He rises and wipes a sliver of blood from his lip. “But you won’t. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

  I frown because he’s right. Given the life and death scenarios, Syd dashing off and killing anyone he finds has a significant value for winning. And if I disband everyone, the others won’t have either myself or Syd to protect them.

  Pointing my finger, I say, “Get the whole idea out of your thick skull. We will never be together.”

  A haughty smile crosses his plain face. “You came to me. The next time you ask for my help, make sure you come begging.”

  I turn and stomp away from the nook, hoping he comes to his senses before someone I really care about gets killed.

  The callous statement should stop me, and as I exit the museum, I add that to the list of how I should feel.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Then, you slam your palms on the desk,” Suri says. She raises her hands high above her head. After a dramatic pause, she fires them into the mattress. The huge slap produces a disappointingly muffled sound from the soft surface.

  Exhausted, I give a bland smile.

  Suri continues recounting a story that should help restore my memories because if nothing else, the stress of leadership has accelerated their destruction.

  However, her words wander past without triggering any reaction, partially because of my lack of sleep but more due to the distant nature of the topic.

  I barely even remember what I used to look like.

  Struggling to prop my eyes open and keep from yawning, I say, “This is exactly how I told it?”

  “Yes. This is the first time you and your husband meet.”

  I shrug. The words evoke none of the images or feelings that should accompany an actual experience. The whole effort is more akin to a crappy attempt of inserting myself within a trashy romance novel. Or at least the way my fading memories recollect trashy romance novels.

  Suri taps her chin. “I can see this isn’t ringing any bells. What if I recount your first time with your husband?”

  Ugh, so not excited about sex.

  Although I’m forgetting my life in the physical world, the incident of touching a semi-erect Syd is seared into my brain. I rub my fingers, cleansing them from imaginary grime.

  Her eyes widen. “I promise, this one’s exciting.”

  Hoping the excitement is contagious, I blow out a long breath. “Okay.”

  “Amazing dinner, plush sheets, romantic candlelight.”

  None of the phrases stimulate any recollection, but I politely return her stare and nod as if I’m interested in hearing the rest.

  “This was your third date on a warm summer evening. He took you an Italian cafe where you drank sangria and had the porcini mushroom ravioli while you talked about the future. Afterward, you invited him back to your room, where at the door, you gave him a sultry kiss.”

  As the story progresses, Suri’s eyes burn brighter as if she, not I, was reliving the tale.

  I cover my mouth, stifling another yawn.

  “Then each kiss becomes more passionate as you push yourselves toward the bed.”

  As she relates the lurid details of our first time, the words revive nothing. However, my cynicism increases with each perfect happening within the story. I want to accuse Suri of embellishing things, but from her earnest expression I know she’s being honest.

  How many white lies did I tell?

  Not only do the details mean nothing, the story is so clean and idealized because I’ve added or subtracted things to make myself better, more desirable, more passionate, and more exciting, that I don’t have the foggiest idea of what I exaggerated and what’s the truth. But the overall effect makes everything worse since the parts that aren’t true undermine those that are.

  By the time she gets to the climax and moves on to the pillow talk, my legs are fidgeting and I’m impatient for the ending.

  When she finally finishes, I sigh quietly in relief.

  “Do you want me to tell another one?” Suri asks with more excitement.

  The truth smacks me. The strangeness underlying her demeanor is arousal, which leads to a single awful conclusion. Suri’s had sex recently and her most likely partner is Syd.

  “No,” I reply sharply. If she recites another tale from my sex life, I’m going to superimpose her as myself and Syd as my husband. The thought of my best friend writhing with Syd is too much for my weary brain to handle.

  She raises an eyebrow.

  I tighten my lips. The stories aren’t making me want to remember and even as we engage in a stare-down, her words fade from my mind. I’d have trouble repeating the most basic parts of what she just said. And that was before polluting the entire tale with images of an excited Syd. At the last thought, I once again rub my fingers clean of imaginary grime.

  The mattress in the bunk across from us shifts. Walt sits up, saying, “I wish I had a story like that in my past.”

  “We’ve had this conversation on not eavesdropping before,” Suri replies.

  For some reason, now I don’t mind him listening to the intimate details of my prior life.

  Because the stories mean nothing.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  Walt explains, “I mean, it amazes me you put so much trouble into trying to save the memories of your family.”

  “Because I loved them, Walt. More than my own life,” I reply, a little surprised to have lasting feelings of people I barely remember.

  In a quiet voice, he says, “I killed my neighbor’s dog.”

  Both Suri and I turn to him as much from the unexpected sharing as the horrible content.

  Walt continues in a monotone, “I liked him too. Big shaggy dog with a wet nose. Always stupidly friendly. That family was so perfect, and I hated them for it.

  “One day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was the middle of summer, a really hot afternoon, and I had on a long sleeve shirt to hide marks on my arms. I got some rat poison and wrapped it in a hunk of meat and fed it to that dog. They took it to the vet, and a day later, it died. I’d think I would have felt bad, but I don’t remember anything of the sort.”

  Despite the shocking nature of
the words, his voice remains level, even calm.

  “That’s awful,” Suri says.

  “I know this makes me sound like a horrible person, but I had my reasons.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “That’s it. I don’t remember. That or anything else from the real world. Except for this one thing. One big shaggy dog. I hope I forget soon.”

  “Walt, for better or worse, our memories define us,” I whisper.

  Suri picks up from where I stop. “Even the rotten things. It’s how we handle them and go forward that makes us who we are.”

  “You both grew up with a loving, supportive family. I don’t remember mine, but I know that wasn’t my upbringing. You can’t understand what I went through.”

  In that respect, although I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. He’s experienced horrors I can’t imagine. “If we don’t remember what we did wrong, how can we learn to do what’s right?”

  “This is my last memory. Without any past, don’t I become my true self? Aren’t we all decent at heart? That’s why even though I wanted you to understand my decisions, I’ve never shared a shred of my past with you. I don’t want any of it—the anger, the humiliation, anything—to come back and haunt me.

  “I’ve done terrible things, but I’ll change who I am. I know it. With both of your help, I can create new memories from here on out. It won’t be hard to be a better person than I was. I’ll be like both of you.”

  Suri nods with watery eyes. “I’m sure you can be virtuous.”

  I wonder about my own lost memories and if I’m better without them. Somehow, my skill set is improving. It might be from the confidence I’ve gained from winning so many scenarios, or because of the sheer amount of practice from the fighting. Even now, I don’t want to admit that, maybe, the things I’ve forgotten were holding me back.

  “Brin?” Suri says, returning me to Walt’s issue.

  For his sake, I hope he can shed his past and become a better person, just as for my sake, I’m counting on staying a decent person without my past. Now, unless he was a good person, harmed by unbearable surroundings, Walt needs to change who he was. But it’s hard to justify causing pain by killing an innocent animal as a means to feel better about yourself. No matter what the justification.