by A W Wang
Realizing this isn’t a pressing riddle to solve, I shift to a more important topic. “I’m looking for my wife.”
“Marriage is not allowed here.”
I take a deep breath, not prepared to have my every sentence literally interpreted.
“She’s in the program. Petite, nice personality, walks with a limp, and has gorgeous red hair?”
The little knight dips his lance, the pennant still waving as the material touches the mattress. “That description does not jog any memories.”
I prop myself up with my elbows. “Who would know?”
“Your search will likely prove fruitless. Everyone here has an idealized form. This person may not look like what you remember.”
“I’d recognize her anywhere, no matter what.”
“I see. Perhaps with your new team?”
“Team?”
Once again, the golden dots crawl over my skin, and an instant later, I’m sitting upright and sinking into a comfortable chair.
Got it—gold sparkles precede teleportation.
Scents of honey and lemon float past as I study my new environment, which is a large cubic room. Glowing with hues from across the spectrum are one-meter-wide geometric shapes etched into the walls. To my left and curving across from me sit four men and five women in a semicircle, and like me, each sports an athletic body under skimpy garments. Disappointingly, Mary isn’t among them.
I roll my eyes to a yellow hexagon cut into the ceiling.
How big is this program?
Lan appears with a soft pop, floating just beyond the open end of the chairs.
“Congratulations on passing your first test, and welcome to the Ten Sigma Program,” he announces in his flat, tinny voice. “All of you”—he sweeps his lance over us—“will comprise a team.”
He pauses, expecting some reaction.
The red pennant flutters while bewildered stares wander around the semicircle.
I stand. “There are a few questions I’d like to ask.”
Lan swivels to me. “Yes, yes, all in due time. Now, if everyone would please remain seated.”
Awkward moments pass as I determine how far to push the request. When the others roll dubious glances in my direction, I decide first impressions matter and say in a self-effacing tone, “Just interested about a few things.”
I toss out a smile and lower myself to the cushion.
As several people return faint grins, a short woman, who is pretty despite her unattractive slicked-back hair, says, “Me too.”
“I’m sure you all have questions, and the answers shall be related at the appropriate moments,” Lan replies in his best monotone.
After the lance whirls, rows of characters and numbers enter my mind.
“These are the designations for this team,” Lan explains.
“That’s quite a lot to digest,” complains a slender, busty woman in a fake French accent. As she smooths her platinum hair, I wonder why she bears an odd familiarity even though I’m sure we’ve never met in person.
She brings the back of her hand to her forehead and says in a weary voice, “Perhaps, we can choose shorter, simpler-to-remember monikers.”
Lan’s metal helm dips. “The mnemonics will be easier for your minds.”
Heads across the group bob in agreement.
“Let’s go around the semicircle and introduce ourselves?” I say. “And I’m curious why everybody joined this program.”
“That is an excellent idea,” Lan replies.
Since I want to finish last, I point to a young man with a round, simple face across from me. “Why don’t you start us off?”
His brown eyes dart over the waiting audience before he says, “Joe.” He shifts and scratches his short, scruffy hair. “No wait, call me Jake. I’m not sure why, but that seems to work better. I was part of the National Guard, and I’m here because I got shot up in a riot in Brooklyn.”
“Are things that bad there?” the platinum blonde asks without a French accent.
He sends her a shy smile. “Up and down the East Coast. Actually, I think things are bad everywhere in the country, but the worst is in New York.” His lips purse in thought. “Maybe not, I’m kinda biased after getting shot there.”
The subtle humor elicits several chuckles.
Jake continues, “I don’t understand why, but I’m in the mood for my mom’s Thanksgiving dinner.” He shrugs. “I guess that’s all I’ve got.”
The next person is Margie, and she’s a grandmother who tells a cute story about her grandchildren and puppies.
A dark-featured man with a bullet-shaped head sits up and bellows a loud whoop. Startled by the piercing sound, people rub their ears as he explains, “Saya. I’m a professional adventurer, and I recorded holo-vids for my social media accounts.”
Saya acknowledges several glances of recognition before saying, “I did lots of stunts across the globe, and I was getting pretty popular. Then, I went that tad extra and wrecked a motorcycle jumping past a guardrail. Gravity can be a bad thing.” He chuckles. “I would have died on the way to the hospital, but some lab-coats with a glass ball offered me this gig. I wasn’t ready to give it up, so I guess this is one last adventure. I promise I’ll make this place just as exciting for all of us too.”
The final statement garners more than a few eye rolls.
He turns to the attractive woman with the slick-backed hair. “Your turn.”
“Wanda.” She slouches, smirking from embarrassment. “I was a quality assurance specialist for Simubotics.”
I straighten with curiosity. Simubotics is the premier maker of robotic pleasure dolls, which means she ensures the quality of sexbots. I hadn’t known that was an actual job, but it makes sense someone would have to do the testing. When I picture what the basics entail, I frown because the image does nothing to arouse me.
Laughing, Saya twists his head. “I get it. That’s awesome!”
“Well, don’t get too excited, I only worked with the male ones.” Her lips scrunch. “I’m not sure that skill will be terribly useful here.”
Everyone nods, acknowledging the lack of excitement our perfect bodies generate.
The platinum blonde goes next. “Cheri feels right,” she says, exaggerating her fake French accent.
Jake’s eyes widen, and he points. “You’re that actress.”
Cheri flashes a broad smile as other gawking stares spread across the semicircle.
I tilt my head up, opening my mouth. No wonder she looks so familiar. I’ve seen her holo-movies. But her name isn’t Cheri.
“Oh, I know you. You do all those romantic comedies, and your name is…” I hold up my finger to signal I need another moment. The letters of her real name flutter in my mind before evaporating. I sigh. “Sorry, I had it on the tip of my tongue. When I remember, I’ll tell you.”
“That’s no problem, darling,” she replies in a husky tone. “Remembering me is more than enough. Although when you do recall, please let me know what it is.”
I nod.
Cheri brushes her voluptuous hair past her earlobe. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not narcissistic. But I’m thrilled to be young again. I’m sure, in due time, things will come back to me.”
Jake bashfully says, “Even though I can’t remember your name, I’ve always been a big fan.”
The popular actress makes her accent more French, saying, “C'est la vie, darling.”
Ann, a mousy woman on her deathbed from heart failure, goes next, followed by Whip, a caricature of a musician with goofy dreadlocks, who actually is a musician. The two on my left are Miri, a factory accident victim and a shy accountant now calling himself Bill.
When Bill finishes rambling, my turn arrives.
M243-U9860-000D-74D
If I take only the letters, the result spells ‘MUDD.’ I frown, wanting something with more optimism.
My purpose or, at least, achieving my end goal would be better suited for the task. Although Victory has a nice ri
ng, perhaps the connotations would be a bit much. However, the word shortens to Vic, which works great.
“Everyone, call me Vic.” I send out a confident smile. “It’s only a temporary name. I’m sure we’ll get our real ones back.”
Lan shifts. While he’s as unreadable as ever, I pick up a dry chuckle rattling inside his armor. Then I shake my head, crediting an overactive imagination for the odd notion.
After I refocus on my new team, I announce, “I’m here because I want to be.”
Jake snorts while a few others snicker. Saya’s bellows of laughter roar over everything.
“Let me explain,” I say, holding up my hands.
A minute passes before the ruckus fades, and my teammates sit quietly, regarding me with varying expressions of bemusement.
With as much sincerity as possible, I say, “My wife joined this program, and when I found out, I volunteered to come here. I love my wife, and I need to find her.”
As the disbelieving smirks turn into appraising stares, Cheri stands. “How wonderful is it to have a sacrifice made from true love. And I know a thing or two about that from my acting. You’re quite the romantic. Don’t listen to the naysayers. Follow your heart, and that will lead you to your dreams.”
Her charismatic flair adds more weight to the words, and the rest of the group takes notice.
I jump into the opportunity and say, “So, if anyone sees a wonderful woman with amazing red hair, who likes to chew on her fingernails, please tell me.”
Saya lets out a piercing whoop. “I thought I did some crazy shit, but you, my friend…” He slaps his leg, laughing. “You, my friend, are in a league of crazy by yourself.”
The déjà vu of the words isn’t lost on me. At least from the portion of my memory that still works.
Saya finishes, saying, “But hell, since this is part of the adventure, I’ll help you.”
Jake claps. “Okay, I’m in. I’ll look for redheads too.”
The others nod in agreement.
Saya says, “Whatever everyone’s reasoning for joining this program is, we’re a team now and we should elect a leader.”
Lan says in a droll tone, “That’s very nice and will make all the difference in the world.”
As Lan starts the vote by dipping his lance at Jake, I wonder why anything said in an English accent can always be interpreted as sarcastic.
When Bill announces his choice, Jake, Saya, and I are in a three-way tie. However, before I cast the deciding vote, Jake switches his selection to me.
Although surprised, I smile. The leadership role is appealing.
“Lan, what comes next?” I ask.
“You’ve all had arduous journeys, and your minds need an acclimation period.”
“What’s that?” Saya asks.
“It will be told to you at the appropriate time,” Lan replies.
“What do we have to do?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I scratch my head at the unexpected answer. “When does this acclimation period end?”
“This period shall continue until you are suitable for the next phase.”
Before anyone can ask for more specifics, Lan raises his lance, saying, “Now, I will take you on a tour of your new home.”
As the golden sparks flow over the group, internal me says, “I don’t like any of this. And neither should you.”
Twelve
The fruitless search for my wife starts after a lengthy tour of my new home, which is conveniently called Home and is the size of a minor city.
Jake whirls, staring at the grandiose structures in the distance. “This place is awfully big. There might be a better way to do this.”
I purse my lips, understanding his point but unwilling to concede defeat.
“There.” Cheri points into the yellowing daylight. “I saw a redhead go into the Oriental Garden.”
“Follow me,” I say, charging in the direction of her finger. My heart pounds with anticipation as I rush across a central rectangle of grass called the Commons.
After running by several smaller support buildings, I run under a leafy archway and enter the huge circular space of the Oriental Garden. As I step onto the black band of gravel defining the boundary, I slow and search for any movement among the manicured flower beds, sculpted hedges, and peaceful walkways.
A minute later, I cross a decorative footbridge and stop, not finding anything even resembling another person.
When Cheri and Jake catch up, I ask, “Where?”
Cheri takes a deep breath, letting her eyes wander past a row of ferns. “Well, I was sure I saw her walking near that Japanese Maple, but it’s so hard to tell in this place.”
I frown. When she feels stressed, her French accent fades into an American one.
“This is so difficult,” she says with a hint of New England in her tone. To emphasize her delicate state, she rests the back of her hand against her forehead as if gauging her temperature.
More than annoyed with the theatrics, I roll my eyes.
“These problems might be from what everyone went through to get here,” Jake says.
Cheri gives a dramatic sigh. “Perhaps, that’s the issue.”
“We still know what a redhead looks like, right?” I ask, raising my hands.
As an answer to my rhetorical question, a bobbing cloud of red hair wanders into the Commons.
“Quick, this way,” I say, darting back over the footbridge. My steps thud as I retrace my path, rumbling over the border of black gravel and through the leafy arch, frantically dodging casual strollers.
When I reach the middle of the grass rectangle, I pause and scan for redheads. After I expend a few moments finding nothing, a huffing Jake and Cheri catch up.
Jake says between pants, “Searching for her in the morning would be easier than all this running around. The whole place only has one barracks.”
“I’m not waiting,” I reply, overruling his common sense with my impatience. “She was here, somewhere.”
Jake steps in front of me. “There’s something more important we need to consider. My memories are getting worse.”
“What could be gained by doing anything like that?”
“I’m telling you, something’s going on. It’s not just forgetting our names. I’m losing bits and pieces of my childhood.”
Again, Cheri places the back of her hand over her forehead. “That could be the problem.”
I roll my eyes, wondering why everyone on the team is full of ailments. “Getting rid of our pasts makes no sense. How could this be a good thing?”
Jake blows out a breath. “In the military, they try to break you down and rebuild you. Besides combat, my basic training was devoted to melding me to be part of a greater whole. This could be part of the process.”
Not wanting to take time from the search, I reply, “We already have all the training. If the overlords wanted us to be part of a greater whole, they would have us doing team building, instead of letting us relax.”
Jake concedes the point by pursing his lips.
Cheri says, “We need the rest period because going through the storm of threads was such a traumatic experience. To help even further, the overlords gave us that wonderful blue liquid in the cafeteria, so you can remember your finest meals.”
While I ponder how her mind can meander so much, Jake replies, “That stuff exists because eating is important to keep us grounded in real life. Using your imagination is a smoother experience than having food appear in front of you, and besides, only the avatars and overlords have access to magic powers.”
“How do you know this?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I asked Lan.”
In the distance, a feminine leg disappears behind the base of an egg-shaped building.
I sprint to the edge of the grass and stop, grinding my teeth in frustration. It’s only a brunette walking toward the museum.
As Jake and Cheri wander over, a whoop comes from above.
I crane my
head skyward, disbelieving my ears.
A long triangle sweeps over us.
Jake steps next to me. “Looks like Saya got himself a hang glider.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“To help you look for redheads. He said it would be easier if he flew around.”
Although fuming at the overzealous and useless effort, I let out a wide smile.
Not fooled, Jake frowns. “It’s a really idiotic idea.”
As we watch, the glider swoops north and approaches the skyline, not veering to stay inside the walls.
Cheri taps my arm. “Can he go outside?”
Right on cue, Saya dips and curves west toward the sunset, bisecting two of the tall towers and…
Golden sparks flood the air, and Saya stands nearby with Lan floating above him.
“Please endeavor to remain within the boundaries,” Lan says in his usual monotone.
Saya stifles a grin then gives up, his dark features exploding with glee. A long whoop erupts from his lips. “Didn’t find her yet, but I’ll keep trying,” he says before bounding off.
I turn to Lan. “I can’t find my wife anywhere, and I think we’ve seen every redhead. Can you help us?”
“Perhaps she is in another sanctuary.”
“Another?” Jake asks, surprised.
“There are many sanctuaries exactly like this in the Ten Sigma Program.”
“Which one would she be in?” I ask.
His lance wobbles, being the equivalent of what I imagine is a shrug.
“You have to know something?”
“I am not privy to such information.”
“How many sanctuaries are there?”
“Countless. My attention is solely devoted to this group and this instance of Home. I am not privy to anything else.”
“Why would you need that many of these places?” internal me asks.
“What difference does it make?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll just add it to the list of things I don’t like about being here.”