by A W Wang
As if noticing my observation, Balthazar says, “Everything’s new, and the defense perimeter isn’t fully set at this point. Eventually, we’ll build walls around the infrastructure and things will quiet down. But for now, we have to rely on an extra-large presence of aircraft and those ugly M24s.”
The ground shakes. “There’s a lot happening underground too,” Peter says as an explanation.
I nod, certain the knowledge they’re imparting lies somewhere in the data cubes floating inside my head. After the last journey, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to travel there again. I indicate the uniforms. “What do the different colors mean?”
Balthazar fields the question. “Black represents police, green for soldiers, and gray and white for leadership.”
I think of Victoria’s outfit. “I take it white is the highest rank?”
“Very astute.”
“Maroon is for ten sigmas,” Peter says. He turns to Balthazar. “She’ll be getting a uniform soon.”
Balthazar doesn’t reply, only leading us onto the main walkway to the round building.
Wide entrance doors open at our approach, and we step into a spacious lobby. Another horde of black knights surrounds us, and my suspicions jump.
When Balthazar touches my shoulder, I tense, resisting the urge to break my chains and rip his fingers off. If he notices my agitation, he hides it with a smile. “Please, down that hallway.”
His hand drops away when I step to the side.
As he leads the party inward, I study the sights and smells of progress. There are no frilly holograms or anything else that would be considered artistic. Everything is new—the floors shiny, the walls freshly painted light gray, and white light blaring from spotless panels in the ceiling.
This place is functional in the way New Austin wasn’t.
Ekton wanders past, conspicuous in his maroon uniform. When his beady eyes linger on me, I hold my breath, worried about triggering another data avalanche. Nothing comes; the debilitating flood seems to happen only once per topic stored in a cube.
If I don’t forget anything.
I manage a faint smile.
He grunts and walks away.
“Don’t worry about him,” Peter says. “As the first ten sigma, he always feels the need to set an example.”
“Great,” I say and follow them down the corridor.
After reaching the opposite side of the ring-shaped building, we stride outside and cross a concrete path to an interior five-story construct, named after someone called Hanover.
When we enter, the neutral whites and grays change into soft wood tones and metal accents. Instead of bright ceiling panels, dim gaslights glow along the walls. The flooring is a polished hardwood rather than bland industrial tile. Although the features are designed to be cozy, a coldness layers over everything.
Balthazar walks to a wall and slaps the glossy paneling. “All real. Not that fake holographic stuff they had in New Austin.”
I nod, finding a liking for real materials more than high-tech gimmicks. Just for his sense of taste, I should dislike Balthazar less, but…
“Have you noticed anything different?” he asks with a grin.
“Isn’t there any electricity?”
He laughs and does a mock salute. “You are perceptive. This is a safe area.”
We stop at a guard post. Peter checks in his battle-mask, rifle, and several other weapons with a pair of black knights and says, “Nothing using electricity in any form at all.”
When I arch an eyebrow, Balthazar elaborates, “When I say safe, I mean protected from electronics. In the past, there have been issues with faked holograms and other recordings of messy issues taken out of context. This place guarantees privacy for those who need it.”
“How?”
“There are devices that will only activate if an electric current is in the area. Shall we say very sensitive devices? So people can speak freely without any repercussion.”
My lips tighten as I force myself from wondering what happened to require such measures. “Then how do you record things?”
“This is a place where people broker deals with their word. Anything requiring more is handwritten.”
While I inwardly cringe at the lack of accountability, Peter giggles, probably because the whole idea of high-stakes negotiations lies outside of the ten sigma mode of thinking.
We travel through several more doorways and corridors, which have the same dim gas lighting and elegant decor. Finally, we enter the center of the structure, an open, cylindrical space sitting under a clear dome. In every direction, tall five-story hallways head to other parts of the building.
Balthazar guides us toward a corridor that leads into a horseshoe-shaped alcove.
My stomach sinks.
At the far end, sunlight from the higher windows glints off a cube made from metal bars.
“Is that for me?” I ask.
Balthazar smiles and says with pride, “You’re our special guest. We spent the entire day rushing to prepare this for you.”
“I’m so honored,” I reply.
Balthazar gestures to the black knight escorts, who march away and disappear into several recessed doorways. Moments later, they reappear on the different levels above us.
After the armored figures set themselves along the walkways and in the protruding balconies, Balthazar leads us to my new home.
As we near, the bars seem to thicken, past the point where even my enhanced body could bend them.
Balthazar stops at the door to the cage. “You’ll have this space to yourself. It’s not perfect, so please don’t try to escape. You’d make me look bad.”
I return a fake smile to the lousy humor.
“This is only temporary,” Peter adds, “until this mess gets sorted out.”
“Of course,” Balthazar replies, sounding anything but sincere. “Regrettable that there isn’t more privacy, but my black knights are in charge of the security, so you’ll have no trouble from them. That is so long as you don’t make any—”
“Mary will be the perfect guest,” Peter answers for me.
Balthazar nods and opens the old-style lock with a fat key.
When he invites me inside, I comply. With Peter nearby and my hands and feet still manacled, what choice is there?
The metal cell is made in clean lines and sturdily constructed—strong enough to hold a person with an enhanced body. A gray wall partitions the area into two sections. The first has a single bed—the living space, while the second…
“There’s not much of a tour to give,” Balthazar says, walking through a makeshift doorway. “This is the bathroom. Everything you need is in here and the cubbyhole.
I lean over and stare at a shower, sink, and toilet. Three things I never needed in the virtual universe.
Balthazar studies me, his gaze focused in much the same way as Syd but different. There’s nothing sexual in his demeanor.
It’s more like…
I shake my head, not knowing what it’s like.
Peter leans against me. “Time to get rid of the chains.”
He produces a key and unlocks my wrists and ankles. As the shackles clank on the metal floor, he whispers in my ear, “Trust Victoria.”
I stay motionless, unsure of how to respond to the secret message.
After picking up the restraints, Peter says with more than his usual happiness, “Rest up, and sleep well!”
Balthazar follows Peter outside the cell.
I make sure to give them room, still mulling over Peter’s request that I be obedient and place my fate in Victoria’s hands.
“There’s food and water in the bathroom. I’m sure you’re hungry,” Balthazar says, closing the door with a clang.
An ominous click comes when he twists the fat key in the lock.
Peter wanders away, casually waving over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, and maybe, we can have a proper welcome.”
After glancing at the cold surrounding
s, I reply, “I’ll look forward to that.”
Balthazar’s eyes linger appreciatively. “I must say, the designers did an excellent job with your face and body. However, I’m not sure how you’ll be able to stay unnoticed on missions with such an eye-catching appearance.”
I reply with a flat stare, unwilling to explain the reasoning of the virtual overlords.
Uncomfortable seconds pass before Balthazar gives a curt bow and says, “Until we meet again.”
After his footsteps fade into the distance, I let out a breath of fear.
His gaze reminds me of a butcher looking at a hunk of meat.
Although Balthazar is different from Syd, whatever he is, he’s every bit as bad.
Twenty
Like a good ten sigma and without anything better to do, I spend the next few minutes surveying what could be my next battleground.
Inside the cell, the edges are all rounded, while the furniture and interior partitions are constructed from solid steel. Nothing can be broken and used to get out. The bars are thick and closely spaced—impossible to bend or slip through.
A ten-meter buffer zone lies outside. The nearby walls are smooth and offer no cover. On the higher levels, a dozen black knights stand guard, well-armed and motionless.
I sigh. Escape from the cell is impossible and getting out of the city even more so.
Whatever I expected after leaving the Ten Sigma Program looked nothing like this…
“I’ll take that pat on the back now,” I say to the guards.
They remain still, reinforcing my opinion they are some form of automaton.
Another sigh leaves my lips. There are so many things I don’t know.
The light pouring through the upper windows has softened to amber while, in the skylight at the end of the alcove, the reddish wisps of sunset burrow into grayish clouds.
Daylight is almost gone.
I sit on the mattress and plop my chin into a cupped hand, taking calming breaths and plotting my next course of action.
Despite Peter’s friendliness and Victoria’s reassurance, I can’t bring myself to place my fate in someone else’s hands.
Just like Samantha hates being a passenger in an airplane.
Before my thoughts travel too far, my stomach rumbles.
Although weariness from the day’s events is seeping into my body, I stand and head into the bathroom. Partial walls give the space some privacy, and I take a minute to poke around. Everything except for the toothbrush and shower curtain is well fastened.
There isn’t much else, and I’m too tired to clean myself and the toilet is something I don’t need right now.
I grab a small white box and return to the bed.
My dinner consists of soft red cubes and water from a tube.
I pull out a morsel and study it in the dimming light.
Although unappealing by sight, at least the real food for the real world isn’t the blue liquid.
I frown.
Hopefully, it comes without any of the psychotic side effects too.
I nibble on a corner, happily finding the substance tastes sweet and has a taffy texture. As I chew, remembrances of my virtual existence come unbidden. I push my focus from the violence and to my friends, my first teammates in the Ten Sigma Program. Suri, who I shared stories with while trying to save my erased memories. Faces appear—teenage Walt, noble Rick, fearless Jock, Ally the fun girl, and Vela the suspicious one.
Even Simon the politician, who didn’t fit in with the virtual world but might have the perfect skills for this situation.
Carol with the beautiful hair, who was the first from the team to die.
And Syd.
Now, he sits in my nightmares, guarding what was returned to me via the green threads.
I roll my eyes, thinking of the giant cubes of data overlaying all of that. So many questions I have to be careful about asking.
My gaze flicks beyond the bars. Perhaps in my database, there’s a way to escape.
I shake my head, not wanting to risk the debilitation.
As the sunlight drifting through the overhead windows and the far-off dome yields to night, the glows of the gaslights battle the settling darkness.
Fatigue from the battle and its aftermath creep over me, and I rest my chin in my hands.
A spider crawls across the barred shadows near my feet.
Part of me wants to get up and kill it, while the other part wants to rest.
I snort.
This morning, I killed dozens of people without a trace of remorse. Now, I’m debating the merits of squashing an insect.
I force away the timid thought and lie down, staring at the blackness overhead, sorting through the day.
While I’m not sure what I am, I’m sure I’m not like any of the other ten sigmas.
A melancholy descends over my mood, and I blow out a breath.
I’m also not like a regular person either.
Would my husband even recognize me or, given that I’ve become a cold-blooded killer, accept what I’ve become?
I close my eyes, letting exhaustion overtake me.
Somehow, for the sake of my family, I have to get back to being who I was.
Without disturbances from virtual nightmares, I wake rested to the brightness of a new day. When I crane my head and push my arms out, stretching, there isn’t a hint of fatigue or injury in my new body.
Amazing considering the events of the prior twenty-four hours.
Angled swathes of sunlight leak from the circular skylight while, through the windows high in the walls, long clouds drift across the blue sky. Lower down, reflections from the glossy floor swallow the warm glows of the now needlessly lit gaslights.
Low rumbles of construction filter through the vicinity, rattling metal.
My contentment fades.
In the daylight, the bars look thicker than they did during the depths of night, and without shadows, the buffer space to the walls feels broader.
Movement comes from past the barred roof of my prison. The statue-like guards swivel and march away, leaving the upper walkways and balconies empty.
I shove myself upright.
Only the steel rods stand between me and freedom. I purse my lips. That and an escape route from this location and ultimately from the building that doesn’t involve meeting any of the black knights or, worse, a ten sigma.
And that’s also presupposing that being left alone isn’t some trick.
Not needing to be paralyzed by getting facts for the impossible riddle, I force my thoughts from further questions.
My nose wrinkles from a heavy, tangy odor. Stains from everything one would expect to accumulate during a two-hour pitched battle—blood, dirt, smoke, sweat, and death—cover my ratty Liberation Front clothing. I sniff under my collar and run my hands through my matted hair, frowning. The filthy material isn’t the only thing owning an awful stench.
Personal grooming—always returning from a scenario in a fresh body under clean but albeit skimpy garments—happened automatically in the virtual universe.
And we didn’t have to pee.
Unfortunately, the real world isn’t so convenient.
I roll my eyes.
Being responsible for one’s hygiene is a minuscule price to pay for not having anything to do with that accursed place.
Without an audience of black knights, I head into the bathroom, happy for the privacy. Holders along the side of the sink contain everything necessary for personal cleanliness, and after stripping, I take care of my bladder requirements and brush my teeth.
The only form I’ll have in this world requires all the maintenance of a real body.
Probably by design to appear more human.
I blow out a breath.
Instead of the mundane, I should be making my plans to return to my family. When I see my husband, I’m not even sure how to explain my magical reappearance, especially given all the secrecy shrouding the Ten Sigma Program.
My
reflection stares back from the mirror, and I rub my temples.
And how to explain my added height, new athletic body, and perfect, classical features.
I frown, annoyed with the man in the broad-brimmed hat for giving me this eye-catching look.
Through the ever-present growls of construction comes the padding of feet.
I hurry into the shower and pull the thin curtain closed, rushing to finish my personal chores before the guards come back. If somewhat bland, the metallic gray, meter-wide enclosure holds everything for getting clean. When I twist the handles, hot water cascades over my body. As a wave of relaxation sweeps through me, I shampoo my hair and let the heat wash my current problems away.
Trust Victoria.
Suds, discolored by grime and blood, swirl down the covered drain while I soap up.
I close my eyes and lose myself in the forgotten pleasure of getting clean.
Something that’s not water or lather rubs against my back. An arm reaches around my side, and fingers touch my breast.
My eyes pop open, and I slam an elbow backward.
A forearm blocks the strike.
I twist the hand grasping at my chest and half-step forward, getting enough room to maneuver in the confined space. Ready to pummel one of the guards or Balthazar, I swivel and face my attacker.
Beyond the hot jets spraying from the shower head is a surprised face.
“Peter?” I scream.
His eyes widen as he raises his hands for defense, stammering, “W-what?”
I reach and grapple his arm. He doesn’t resist as I shove him through the curtain.
His foot catches on the rim of the basin, and he tumbles backward. While anyone else would lie sprawled from the slipperiness of the soap and slick floor, he twists and lands gracefully near the sink.
Fuming, I plant one wet foot on the bathroom floor. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His erection fades while he says in a bewildered voice, “You wanted this. You know, to unwind.”
My hands wave in fury at everything. “What would make you believe that?”
“Because—”
“I never said I wanted to unwind like this.”