by A W Wang
“You did. You said you wanted a proper welcome. I sent the guards away, so we could have a proper welcome.”
Which apparently is centered around sex.
My eyes dart toward the entrance. Happily, I find no trace of Samantha or anyone else wanting to assist with the “Proper Welcome.” I ball my hands, whitening the knuckles, and reply, “This isn’t what I thought that meant.”
“What else would a proper welcome mean?”
I purse my lips. Despite having a vast database of knowledge, I know so little about this new culture. “We need to chat.”
“Certainly, we’re ten sigmas and—”
“Not now,” I say, extending my hand, because we’re both dripping wet and completely naked.
I must be a prude.
As I shake away the odd thought, he says, “I’ll leave.”
“No, stay.”
Desire rises in his eyes.
“Not for that. Just to talk. I won’t be angry if you spend a few minutes telling me a few things. So just”—I jab my finger at his lower body—“cover that up. Get dressed and wait outside for me to finish. Then we’ll talk.”
Still flushed with embarrassment, he nods and steps from the bathroom.
“Prude.”
Not sure from where the echo originated, I step back into the shower and yank the curtain closed.
My fingers twitch as I face outward, rinsing my body.
Although I’m upset with Peter, I’m furious with myself.
What’s wrong with me? How could I not have noticed anything was wrong? As I scrub shampoo from my hair, I claw at the back of my neck, wondering where my characteristic tingles of warning are. The talent saved me in the virtual world more times than I’d care to remember.
I can’t be caught off-guard like that again, but I have no idea how to fix the problem.
When I’m clean, part of me wants to stay and let the experience wash out my anger, but I need the information from the coming conversation. I turn off the water and step over the lip of the basin, grabbing a towel from next to the mirror.
After hurriedly drying off, I search the bathroom but only find an orange-neon jumpsuit to wear. I frown at the prison garb, but given my filthy Liberation Front rags are the only other option, I pull the outfit on and zip it up.
As I fix the collar, I scratch hard on my silent nape again.
Another flaw of the download.
How many more can there be?
With a deep breath, I take a moment, struggling to compose my conflicted and heated emotions.
This world is far more complicated than winning the next scenario. If I’m to survive, I’ve got to learn enough not only to fit in but to be what everyone expects of a ten sigma.
Twenty-One
The instant my fury ebbs into smoldering anger, I put on a nice face and step from the bathroom.
Peter dutifully sits on the edge of the bed as ordered, fully dressed in his maroon ten-sigma uniform. As I approach, he rises and places his palms in a peaceful position. With eyes pleading for forgiveness, he says, “Mary, I see you’re still upset. I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Since I need information more than another apology, I tighten my lips and wave for him to sit back down.
After he does so in a rigid posture, I position myself an arm’s length from him on the mattress.
He tries again. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine.” I force something resembling a smile into my expression. “Please, don’t apologize again.”
Mercifully, he stays silent.
Water drips from my wet hair onto my thighs, and I push the stringy mass over my shoulder, knitting my brows in thought. I need to understand the thought processes of ten sigmas and, with that understanding, fit in better.
“What I’d like”—I draw a deep breath, not exactly sure what I’d like—“is for you to tell me why you think I’d just want to have sex.”
Before he answers, I push my hand out, shaking my head. That question isn’t going to yield any useful information aside from the fact I’m probably a prude, like my friend Suri called me so long ago when we swapped stories in the program.
The previous ten sigmas are AIs with completely different experiences and moral values to my own. “First, tell me about yourself and how you got out of the Ten Sigma Program. Then maybe talk about what it’s like for you in the real world.” I point toward the shower. “After that, we can discuss what just happened in there.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. As his thoughts gather, his expression blanks. A deep breath fills his lungs, and his words flow out with reverence. “At the beginning, there was a gray canvas that was me. Then pinches wrinkled the material, adding specks of color.”
The individuality sprinkled into the baseline AI model.
“Afterward winds of red and black swirled around. So many things about combat…”
I chew on a thumbnail, visualizing a cyclone of threads. The act of being stuffed with the martial knowledge and experiences from the Jackets Program is something I don’t want to relive.
Oblivious to my discomfort, Peter continues, “Everything came together to be me—X600-P8164-275P-12A.” A moment passes before he blurts, “Then I was on that round island with all those others. The directive came to kill, and I did. Everything came easily, and before long, I was the only one standing.”
“Did anything happen at that point?” I ask, letting morbid curiosity get the better of me.
“Like what?”
Like some bald giant appearing out of nowhere and beating the snot out of you?
“I don’t know. Did you die or did anything weird occur?”
The pursed lips and searching eyes of his puzzled expression remain puzzled.
No control mechanism necessary because AIs have built-in software obedience.
He shrugs. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Never mind. Just keep going.”
“Next, I appeared in a sanctuary with many others.”
“Domed barracks, cheap cafeteria, lots of tall futuristic buildings around the boundaries?”
“Yes.” His lips tighten into a grin, which is kind of cute. “I guess everyone starts the same. But the seeds the creators gave us for differentiating ourselves evolved in this place.
“There were so many things to do, and we explored based on our curiosity. I spent most of my time staring at things, trying to appreciate their meaning, so I could act more human.
“Others had different quirks, and they’d stay mostly in one or two places. A few devoted their days wandering the Commons or sitting in the Oriental Garden contemplating…”
“Contemplating what?”
He shrugs. “The reason for their existence? I visited those places too. I studied the flowers in the garden and walked the skylines, trying to find something deeper in the aesthetics. It was only in the museum that I found it.”
“I used to like that place,” I say, remembering my experiences there before Syd polluted the brick walls and elegant decor with his presence.
“There was a painting of a man walking on water in the classical section. As ten sigmas, that’s what we do. His name was Peter.”
I snort. After my name was taken from me, I picked “Brin” because those were the letters in my designation.
Peter plows ahead with his story. “Before I could ask if anyone discovered anything more substantial, the scenarios started. The place emptied and became quiet. I tried to befriend others after the restockings, but the same thing happened. Most never came back from the battles.” A long breath leaves his mouth while his stare shifts to the floor. “Eventually, I sat alone in the cafeteria, sipping on the blue liquid.”
The experience is close to mine. I spend a minute in his melancholy, reliving my own recollections of teammates who never returned.
“So what happened after you got here?” I say to shift the conversation into something less depressing.
He sighs and stares straight ahead. “I watched a lot of the old videos, studying how humans interact.”
Even though he’s not looking at me, I raise an eyebrow, wondering about the oblique reference.
“In the program, everything was black and white. I don’t mean as in right and wrong but as in the experience. We’d sit in the grays of the sanctuaries, exploring, pretending to enjoy things, then head into the scenarios where the action would make for splashes of color.
“Then, I reached ten sigmas. I left the blue dome and fought to get into this body.”
His face alights as he turns to me.
“Afterward… it’s like… like going into a full-color, hi-res hologram. Everything vibrates with life.” He sucks down a deep breath and gestures with each sentence. “The air. The tastes. The sights and sounds.
“Being in this body with a real thumping heart and live emotions. Everything is so different, so vivid. In the virtual world, these sensations weren’t part of my makeup. But here, it’s so primal, so ingrained in the flesh.” A boyish smile creases his face. “And there’s sex. A cocktail of all the senses at once.”
Although he’s right, I keep a stoic expression. Except for a few misguided individuals, sex didn’t exist in the virtual universe, and now that I have a real body, I’m not sure I’m ready for the change.
I force my gaze to meet the gleam in his eyes as the story continues.
“Samantha was my proper welcome. During my first night here, she came to me. I didn’t even understand what was happening. The bed was empty, and suddenly, her warmth seeped into my skin. She kissed me, and soon we were both naked. Besides being fun like I told you, she’s passionate, and there are things she can do with her body—”
Placing my hand under his chin, I tilt his gaze from my breasts. “Do you have these encounters a lot?”
“Oh, yes. All the ten sigmas have partnered, and sometimes we have groups too.”
I blush, wondering if I’m indeed a prude.
“Even though we look human, our bodies are so much better in so many ways. Our abilities even extend to sex. That first time with Samantha, we did…”
Completely engrossed, he prattles on, going into unnecessary details of different ten sigma lovers.
With each new vignette, my stomach sinks. Do they expect me to be that way? Or will the desires of this new body make me that way?
I shift uncomfortably. Neither option sits right.
The next sentence drags me back into the conversation. “And sex with our kind is more intense than being with any normal humans. Our drive is greater, and what we feel is so much more—”
“How do you know this?”
“Sometimes regulars join us.”
“Just anyone?”
“No, they have to be of a certain stature with a certain clearance.” A giggle leaves his lips. “We’re top-top-top secret.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have a choice about who you have sex with?”
“Why would anybody turn down sex? I mean, some are more fun than others, but it’s always great.”
A thought chills my spine. “Does Balthazar join in?”
“No, never. He has other interests.” Peter doesn’t sense my relief and continues, “Although I suppose he’d be welcome. But, the regulars aren’t interesting, except for Victoria. She’s surprisingly lustful and a lot of fun, even though she seems distracted at times.”
Needing an image of Victoria copulating even less than one of Samantha, I say, “So, you prefer ten sigmas?”
“A lot more. Nothing is better than coming back from a mission and being with our kind again. After dealing with death, the sex is a celebration of being alive. Sometimes, I cry with happiness.”
He misreads my dour expression, and a bashful grin comes over his face. “You’ll see after the first few missions. Violence and sex go hand-in-hand. When you start, you’ll have so much fun, you’ll never want to stop. And even though all ten sigmas are perfect specimens, you’re far more beautiful than I imagined anyone could be, and that’s—”
Not interested in accolades or something that might lead to subjects I’m not ready to discuss, I hold up my hand to forestall anything further.
“Peter, I’m married.”
“Married?”
Uncertain of how much information to divulge, I cautiously say, “I have a past. I went into the Ten Sigma Program.”
“But what difference would that make? You’ve graduated. You’ve moved into a new body, and you’re beyond what you were before.”
I blow out a breath, picturing the green threads. “I need to honor my past.”
He cups his face with his hands, and his eyes fill with curiosity. “What a strange thing to have. Does it make you better at things?”
While he’s a person gaining a past from everything he does as a ten sigma, I’m someone trying to regain the past I lost by becoming a ten sigma. I reply, trying to reconcile the differences if such a thing is even possible, “Not better, just different.”
“How interesting. I will respect your wishes, and of course, I hope you’ll change your mind.”
Not wanting to make enemies with my only ten-sigma friend, I simply reply, “Anything’s possible.”
A bright smile spills over his face.
I run my hands through my damp hair. A scary thought occurs. What would happen if a regular wanted to partner with me? Not that it could happen without my permission, but if I intend to play the good role of a ten sigma…
“Have you ever said ‘No’ to sex?”
“No?” His eyes wander in confusion. “Why? I mean, I have preferences, but it’s sex.”
“Not for me.”
“Because you have a husband?”
“Because I have a past.” I remember Jonathon’s warning and quickly add, “Please keep everything I’ve mentioned as our secret.”
He claps with glee. “From one ten sigma to another?”
“From one friend to another.”
“Okay, I promise.”
Because of his idealistic nature and simplistic worldview, I know he means it.
One nagging thought remains.
My gaze shifts to my bare feet and the droplets of water scattered over the floor. “Do you ever feel anything for those you killed?”
“I do whatever mission I’m tasked with. Anything else is incidental.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
The arm’s length between us stretches. Although he’s human in so many ways, in so many other ways, he’s not.
In a quiet voice, I ask the question that was constantly asked when I was in the virtual universe, “What will you do?”
His puzzled expression returns. “I do what I’m told.”
The response I expected, but so not the one I was hoping for…
“You’ve never heard that before?”
He shakes his head, having no clue as to what I’m talking about.
“I’m a ten sigma,” he states as if it’s an answer to any question that could possibly be posed to him.
I stop my hand from rubbing my face in frustration. “I’m not sure what I am…”
“You’re one of us,” he replies with a grin. “A ten sigma is all martial knowledge, but a ten sigma is more than just the threads…”
While he chants, I wonder for a horrible moment if he’s expecting me to join in. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about my silence and continues, “… ten sigma is a perfect form entering the real world. A ten sigma is a killer of killers. A ten sigma is performance and duty. A ten sigma completes any mission.
“A ten sigma wins where no one else can…”
As he repeats the creepy mantra, I wrap my arms around myself. The chasm between us is virtually insurmountable. Peter is under no illusions of who he is. He’s an instrument to complete a mission. His surety in the face of my own predicament is frightening. I gently put my hand on his shoulder. “That’s all the questions I ha
ve,” I say, standing to end the conversation.
A moment elapses before his eyes focus. When he rises, I move toward the door, saying, “Remember to keep our secret.”
He strides past me with a conspiratorial grin. “Of course.”
“Thanks.”
After he exits and locks the door, he says, “This prison’s only temporary. Soon, you’ll be outside with us.”
I reply with the barest of nods.
His gaze wanders over the cell, and he says in a reverent tone, “It’s a pity. Such a beautiful creature cocooned in such an ugly cage.”
“Flattery is something you’ve learned well.”
He smirks. “I’ve learned many things well,” he says, no doubt imagining proper welcomes. “You’ll become one of us yet.”
I push my lips into a smile as he walks away. Although he has the best intentions, becoming one of them is the least of my desires.
Aside from killing ability, we’re not alike because of our pasts and our outlooks.
Peter is created from software, and everything human layered onto his being is a facade so he can better perform his mission—even his quirks and boyish charm. Things like the big picture or, apparently, anything beyond his mission or immediate gratification never enter his mind. He’s everything perfect about a ten sigma.
But if that’s what he is, then what am I?
Twenty-Two
Familiar footsteps shuffle on the hardwood floor.
“Mary,” Jonathon calls.
I rise from the bed, genuinely happy for the company.
As he nears, he tugs at his nose, which looks fixed except for being a dull red. Modern medicine at its finest.
“When can I get out of here?” I say, marching over and grabbing the bars.
His eyes flick to the balconies, and he leans into the barred door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.
“Why didn’t you use your virtual name instead of Mary?”
I pause at the odd question, remembering all the gory wounds I received and all the awful ways I killed people, especially the bald giant in the dungeon. “Because that’s a person and place I’d rather forget. I want to get back to my family as myself.”