Survival Aptitude Test: Sound (The Extinction Odyssey Book 1)

by Sheriff, Mike

  “With respect, Unum, do you think it’s wise to cull—”

  “I think it’s necessary! Are you going to relay the order or shall I do it for you?”

  Pyros’ skin dimpled despite the temperature. The Unum’s question conveyed a cold truth; disobeying the order would render his Primae Jiren useless, and the ruler of Daqin Guojin discarded useless objects. For Pyros, that would mean forced retirement at the wrong end of a dart gun. He grasped the door handle and cleared his throat to strip the disdain from his voice. “I’ll relay your order.”

  “Tarry a moment.” The Unum cast his gaze back up the stairway. It stayed there for close to half a minute while he hummed. “Let them hold their vigil for their kin.”

  “You don’t want them taken now?” Pyros asked, still gripping the handle.

  “Tell your men to monitor them. Don’t detain them until after the test concludes.” The Unum sketched a random pattern on the window with his finger. “Let Laoshi and Cordelia enjoy eight more hours of freedom.”

  The rationale for the small mercy escaped Pyros, but he had no desire to argue against it. “As you command, Unum.”

  He exited the levitran.

  * * *

  HEQET TURNED A giddy circle inside the Center, her senses toppled by a gyrating mass of prospects, Jireni, and Libraria. The air boiled with laments, shouts, and curses. She hadn’t expected this much turbulence, this much chaos. She’d been inside for five minutes and still hadn’t found her assigned seat . . . or Daoren.

  She stalked up the row for the second time, scanning names on the red-and-gold touch-screens while keeping watch for him. She kept her pace controlled and deliberate. There was still enough time. There was no need to panic.

  An Asianoid Jiren stepped in front of her, dart gun slung on his shoulder. The leering brute offered what might have passed for a smile if it wasn’t for his deformed upper lip. It must have been bitten off and sewn back on in the haste of battle.

  Heqet quivered with disgust and tried to step around him. The Jiren side-stepped, blocking her. “Where might you be going, my glinty Hyphenoid?”

  “To find my seat,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

  “I’m not above helping slags, especially the tasty ones. What’s your name?”

  “Heqet alum Fengsei.”

  He swiped a calloused finger over his quantum tile. “You’re two rows over.”

  He grabbed the collar of her tunic and shoved her through knots of wandering, wailing forms to a seat. The name floating over its touch-screen read Heqet alum Fengsei. Prospects occupied the surrounding seats.

  None of them were Daoren.

  Heqet gasped. A leaden shroud pressed down on her. Flutters of dread brushed her stomach. Within seconds, they grew so intense she couldn’t hide their physical signs.

  “Stay calm, my glinty. It’ll be over soon.”

  She reeled, mind flooded by a muddling torrent of questions. Hadn’t her grandfather said that Daoren would be in the seat behind hers? Had she misunderstood? How was she supposed to find him in this writhing cauldron of disarray?

  The Jiren clamped his hand around her forearm. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

  Heqet stumbled forward. Once secured by the restraining straps, she’d lose all hope of finding Daoren. Nearby prospects begged for their parents, magnifying her mental turmoil. Others pleaded for one last chance to see their siblings, their girlfriends, their—

  The solution crystallized with breathculling clarity. It bore the slimmest odds of success, but no other course of action could lead her to him. For it to work, she’d have to channel her best performance.

  She dug in her heels and leaned back, jerking the Jiren to a stop. “My boyfriend is in here!” she said. “Please! I must see him!”

  “You’ll see him after the test.” The Jiren chucklebucked. “Unless one of you fails.”

  Behind them, a snarl of shouts and curses arose. Heqet swiveled her head to the clamor.

  Four seats away, three Jireni grappled with a prospect, forcing him to sit.

  Her heart swelled. She squirmed free and dashed over. The struggling Jireni parted, unblocking a wild-eyed boy.

  A wild-eyed Indonoid boy.

  Despair crushed her heart. She spun around, scanning the seated faces, petitioning Sha for a glimpse of Daoren’s disaffected brow, his impervious cheekbones, his imperious jawline.

  The split-lipped Jiren snatched her tunic. His friendly demeanor evaporated. “Take your seat, slag!”

  Heqet needed to summon the performance of a lifetime. It required a gesture she would never, ever have dreamed of making to his kind.

  She placed a hand on the brute’s face. “He’s going to fail!” She swiped away a conjured tear and caressed his cheek. “I want one last kiss. That’s all, I promise!”

  The Jiren scowled, unmoved.

  Her chest tightened. Unbidden sobs gushed from her mouth, amplifying the atmosphere of misery. The sobs were genuine—and a genuine surprise.

  The Jiren’s flinty jowl softened beneath her hand. He muttered a chain of profanities and raised his tile. “What’s this boyfriend’s name?”

  “Daoren al Lucien,” she said, stunned the performance had worked.

  The Jiren input the name. After a few seconds, he pointed. “This way.”

  He dragged her to a seat eight rows east of her own. Heqet composed herself and reached into her grooll pouch, palming the glass vial. They came up behind the seat, where another Jiren poised to place a halo on the head of a male prospect.

  “Tarry, comrade!” the split-lipped Jiren called out. “This one here wants a final noogle with her doomed boyfriend.”

  The other Jiren rolled his eyes. He set the halo on the touch-screen. Heqet rounded the seat while the two Jireni traded gripes and grievances.

  Daoren glanced up at her, his expression a blend of infinite confusion and unfettered relief. Chest and legs straps anchored him, but the chains that had bound his hands were gone.

  Before he said a word, Heqet tipped the vial and doused her finger. She leaned over and touched her forehead to his, working the liquid over his temple like she’d practiced with her grandfather. She repeated the process on his other temple, using up the last drop of glass.

  She pulled her head back—the glass’ sheen disappeared. So did her sense of dread; it eased off her shoulders like a flexglass quilt. “I had to see you one more time,” she whispered.

  Daoren’s smile revealed blood-flecked teeth. “I’m so glad you did.” His gaze flicked over her cheeks. His smile dissolved.

  Heqet ran her fingers over the scabs still healing from their encounter outside the Librarium. “They don’t hurt anymore.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he said.

  She peered into his clouded eyes, looking past the purple bruises and their many arguments, and glimpsed genuine sorrow. In that instant, his sterile surface crumbled, uncovering a part of him that had always laid buried. In that instant, he was human.

  Without thinking, without hesitating, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  Daoren gulped, no doubt caught off-guard by the kiss, but he pressed back.

  She let her lips part, let her tongue find his. A sublime glow flushed her core, filling what had for so long been a numb void. For a delicious moment, the Center, the S.A.T., and the Jireni melted away. For a delicious moment, she felt human.

  “All right, leave some for me,” the split-lipped Jiren said. “Let’s go.”

  Heqet slipped her right foot out of her sandal. She pulled away from Daoren and dropped to her knees. She yanked the sandal off his right foot and smothered his instep with kisses. “No!” she said, channeling another performance. “I can’t live without you!”

  The Jireni’s hands tightened on the back of her tunic, two on either side. She donned Daoren’s sandal, leaving hers next to his bare foot. The Jireni hauled her off the floor. She locked onto Daoren’s baffled gaze and nodded a
t the sandal.

  Daoren caught the signal. He edged his foot into the sandal and gave her a hint of a smile.

  The split-lipped Jiren hip-carried her away, muttering more profanities. Daoren called after her. “I’ll see you again, Heqet!”

  Her heart swelled. Now that they were both protected from the stun shot, she knew that he would.

  Heqet smiled when the Jiren heaved her into the seat. She smiled when he cinched her chest and leg straps, extra tight. She smiled when he loomed over her with murderous intent in his eyes.

  His nostrils flared. “Give you prospects a finger and you gobble the entire hand!”

  She gave him a defiant grin.

  The Jiren clamped both hands around her cheeks. He crouched so they were eye-to-eye. “Now you’re going to give me a taste for my trouble.”

  His rough fingers scuffed her cheekbones. She jerked her head back. “Don’t!”

  He tightened his grip. His thumbs rubbed back and forth across her temples.

  “No no no no no no!”

  He leaned closer, aligning his grotesque lips with hers. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, knowing full well he’d condemned her.

  “Come now,” the Jiren said, “it won’t be as horrible as all that.”

  His lips met hers, his breath an open sewer.

  Heqet screamed into his mouth.

  * * *

  EIGHT HOURS LATER, Daoren skimmed through the proof for the final question, ignoring as best he could the incessant whimpering of the prospect seated to his left. The Africoid had been crying for an hour, moaning no . . . no . . . no . . . at intervals random enough to create a distraction. At least the group of taunting Jireni had moved on; they’d spent a solid fifteen minutes asking the boy what he tasted like.

  Daoren completed the proof and tapped his touch-screen. A new screen opened.

  Submit Answer?

  He hesitated, tapping his lips. The mass-gap derivation was by far the most difficult question on the test. Its quantum-field calculations encompassed thirty-six screens, its solution dependent on forty-one variables and worth twelve-hundred points. He was sure he’d derived forty of the variables without error. He glanced up at the nearest chronoglyph.

  00:00:53 . . . 00:00:52 . . . 00:00:51. . . .

  His gaze returned to the question on the touch-screen, but his mind returned to the Unum’s threat in the Rig.

  Should you score one point less than thirty thousand, your lovely mother will be mounted in her own rig before you receive your stun shot.

  The meaning couldn’t be clearer. It wasn’t enough to write an S.A.T. that would guarantee Narses’ ascent to the Cognos Populi. It had to be an S.A.T. that would grant him the irrefutable right to be named Unum Potentate.

  It had to be perfect.

  The Submit Answer? screen waggled, vying for his attention. No time remained to review the final variable; he had to trust his instinct. “Yes,” he whispered, voice clotted with angst.

  A new screen opened.

  Response Not Understood. Please Repeat.

  He tensed his abdomen. “Yes.”

  The screen refreshed.

  Response Not Understood. Please Repeat.

  He rocked forward, stretching the flexglass chest restraint to its limit, and placed his lips inches from the touch-screen. “Yes! Yes! Yes, you useless piece of—”

  A new screen opened.

  Test Complete.

  Daoren rocked back and released a whooshing breath. He craned around in his seat, twisting his torso as far as the restraining straps allowed. The effort made him wince. After six days in the Rig, every joint throbbed. He could just make out Heqet in the corner of his eye.

  She sat with her arms crossed, head lowered as if weighted by her glass halo. She’d held the same pose throughout the test, announcing her complete surrender. Compared to her brashness and confidence before the test, the contrast was unsettling.

  What had affected her mood? Maybe the Jiren who’d lugged her away had been taunting her. Maybe the countdown to their appointment with the grooll mill had sapped her spirit. Whatever the cause, she’d need to tap into every ounce of brashness and confidence she possessed to survive the coming challenge.

  If that weren’t enough, he’d have to find a way to get to her. Laoshi’s plan to have them sit together hadn’t worked. Instead of eight feet separating them, it was eight rows. He’d spent at least an hour of the eight-hour test puzzling through the problem.

  He gazed at Heqet for a few more seconds, but never made eye contact. She never looked up. A few seats in front of her, however, Narses stared at him through a tangle of red bangs, emitting an air of idle smugness. Not once had Daoren seen his fingers on the touch-screen; he’d spent the eight hours focused on anything but his test.

  Daoren knew coming into the Center that his final score would reflect Narses’ effort and intelligence. He knew now it would be a resounding null. Daoren repressed any sign of concern; he wouldn’t give the smug fid the satisfaction of seeing worry.

  The automated voice swelled. “The Survival Aptitude Test concludes in five, four, three, two, one . . .”

  The touch-screens turned black, triggering a collective groan throughout the Center.

  “Now tabulating scores.”

  Though he knew what was coming, Daoren had to confirm it with his own eyes. His touch-screen flashed to life.

  A blood-red FAIL strobed above a flickering score.

  0.

  Daoren rasplaughed at the pathetic result. He rotated back to Narses, eager to show him his amusement.

  The fid gaped at his own touch-screen. His glass halo projected a white globe; its scintillating light pulses vaporized his hair. If Narses’ cringing face and bunched posture were any indication, the procedure frightened the living wits out of him.

  The reaction earned a chucklebuck from Daoren.

  The globe encasing Narses’s head vanished, but his halo didn’t stay dormant. Its luminance intensified, projecting a majestic purple shaft so bright it tinted the entire ceiling.

  Jireni and Libraria bathed in the light, mouths flapping open. An Indonoid Librarian clasped her hands, voice tinged with awe. “He’s attained a perfect score!”

  Throughout the Center, restraints unlocked with syncopated double-clicks. Close-cropped denizens crept toward Narses.

  He clambered out of his seat, his halo still beaming its brilliant purple shaft. The denizens, Jireni, and Libraria before him bowed. Narses folded at the waist, returning the salutation. His halo clattered to the floor and winked out.

  A cry rose from the gathering. “Behold the Unum Potentate!”

  Frenzied cheers punched the air. Two burly Jireni hoisted Narses onto their shoulders and carried him toward an archway. Within a minute, the Center was empty except for twenty-thousand screeching failures.

  The shock generator spooled up. Its whir floated over the seats, as delicate as whisperglass, but the volume doubled each second. Power drained in tandem from the interior lights.

  Daoren reefed himself around. His gaze found Heqet in the waning light.

  She raised her head. Below the halo, her eyes channeled infinite hopelessness. She mouthed a phrase, but he couldn’t decipher its meaning.

  The lights extinguished. He lost her in the gloom. The wails of the prospects sank beneath the shock generator’s shriek, lost as well.

  The whir peaked, its intensity equal to a thunderclap. The stun shock was seconds away.

  Daoren voiced the one thought left in his head, knowing full well she’d never hear it. “I love you, Heqet!”

  An almighty zap pierced the darkness. . . .

  About the Author

  Mike Sheriff writes accessible science fiction for readers with curious minds and a taste for tension. Besides The Extinction Odyssey series, he also publishes short and snappy sci-fi stories under the LIGHTBURST imprint. When he’s not writing, you’ll find him mangling Rory Gallagher riffs on his Fender Strat or fending off hig
h cholesterol through (yawn) diet and exercise. He lives in London, Ontario.

  * * *

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  Want to Get in Touch?

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  www.mikesheriffwrites.com

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  Bonus Chapter #1

  Survival Aptitude Test: Fury

  Chapter 1

  The Grooll Mill

  LAOSHI HEARD THEM before he saw them—a medley of shouts and cheers that issued from the archway at the top of the southeastern stairway. Beside him, Cordelia craned her neck, expectant, as if she hoped to see Daoren leading the exodus.

  She must have known it was impossible, just as he knew Heqet’s fresh face wouldn’t be emerging under a freshly cropped scalp. They’d spent the last eight hours climbing the stairway and preparing themselves for this moment. They’d held vigil at the base of the upper flight, tarrying to see Narses emerge from the Center. Laoshi wagered it would be worth the risk.

  Eighty feet above, a glut of Jireni, Libraria, and newly anointed denizens burst from the archway. One denizen strode much taller than the others.

  Narses straddled the shoulders of two Jireni. Other Jireni, Libraria, and denizens circled him, whooping and waving. The unrestrained admiration led to one inescapable conclusion.

  “He’s received a perfect score!” Laoshi said. “They’re paying tribute to the Unum Potentate!”

  “Did Daoren write a perfect S.A.T.?” Cordelia asked, reddened eyes rimmed with awe.

  Laoshi glanced at her. “Yes, Cordelia! Your son is—”

  A distant flash caught his eye.

  Forty feet away, shadowy forms crept through the crowd, crystalline dart guns sparkling in sunlight. The Jireni’s stooped posture suggested they were hunting someone.

  Laoshi scanned the other side of the flight.