by A W Wang
He nods.
A few seconds later, another person settles next to us. “Hi,” Suri says cheerfully. “I got lonely.”
My confidence should brighten because I’m with friends and I might yet live through this scenario, but my insides only contain a gnawing fear. While I’m not scared of combat, I’m scared that Syd might be right. When I die, my altruism will mean nothing if nobody else survives.
And on the path to ten sigmas, there are too many ways to get killed.
More footfalls echo in the stone confines.
Jock says, “This party’s getting crowded.”
“Hey Brin, save some for me,” Vela adds.
A new person pats my sodden armor. Ally slyly grins, which makes her freckled face too cute for the upcoming medieval bloodbath.
While I stare straight ahead, a genuine optimism rises inside me.
As the stairs below fill with enemies, another pair of boots arrives. “Move aside people, let me show you how a real soldier does it,” Rick says.
Tightening my lips into a smirk, I hold back a snarky remark as people part to allow Sergeant Rick to stand next to me.
I glance at him. His blue eyes radiate anticipation.
He says with a dry voice, “I’m thrilled with how everyone obeys orders.”
While he might get us killed, at least he has true intentions. That has to count for something.
“Well, what are you waiting for,” I shout to the crowd congregating on the landing below.
Covered in chainmail and wearing a tapered helmet, a woman who my threads tell me is a 2.9 sigma, charges up the stairs.
I rush to meet her and as we cross swords, my trepidations vanish.
The glowing shapes of the ready room appear while sighs of relief and nervous giggles erupt across the semicircle. Against all odds, everyone including Walt has returned and nobody harbors any guilt for those we killed.
Personally, being mostly bare-skinned and clean has never felt better. I rub my hands down my body and check my underwear, making sure that none of the dozens of cuts along my arms and legs nor buckets of blood and entrails that spilled over me remain.
Suri makes a face, pointing to the tip of my nose. When I wipe with my finger, she laughs.
I send her my best snort and eyeroll combination. Of course, we’re free of stains. Even though the ghostly tingle of my sodden medieval outfit still registers on my skin, I force my hands to my sides to prevent further embarrassment.
Syd doesn’t join the gaiety, instead focusing a glare on the opposite wall. While he’s angry because I won’t agree to his partnership plans, the cynical part of me believes he’s upset that everyone except for the two of us didn’t get killed.
Unfortunately, his dour attitude matches my worst fears. We were lucky the enemy did exactly as I expected. What happens when the luck leaves, or worse, when ill fortune arrives? Or we meet someone using better tactics? Those things and worse are guaranteed to happen in the innumerable scenarios required to pass the ten sigma gauntlet.
Haiku appears with a pop. “It is amazing,” she says. “During that whole day of battle, this team has sustained only a single loss.”
In my joy of returning with all my friends, I had forgotten about the replacement. Slinking into my chair, I glance at the empty seat, trying to muster a sense of guilt or at least a sliver of sympathy. There is nothing.
“And you protected the royal family. This is the greatest team performance I have ever witnessed. You are all wonderful!” Haiku finishes with a clap.
She fails to mention the other teams lying strewn in the virtual castle and surrounding virtual valley. Since Haiku bound me to secrecy over the true ten sigma odds, the only way I can impress the perils of the Ten Sigma Program upon my friends is a roundabout question. “How long do teams usually last?”
Haiku mulls for a moment, and just as I assume she is going to ignore me, her silver eyes focus. “The average lifespan of a team is 1.56 scenarios.”
Suri uncomfortably shifts. “That’s until the team is ineffective?”
“No, that is the one hundred percent killed in action median. But, you have now won six scenarios only having lost three people. I have great hopes for all of you,” Haiku says as she sweeps her gaze over the semicircle. “Everyone has added one-tenth of a sigma point, except for Syd and Brin who are now both at the 3.8 sigma level.”
Claps of optimism permeate the air.
But it will only take one mistake to get everyone killed, rendering any score increase moot. We are too far from the end to consider anything but survival.
While Rick spends too much time analyzing unimportant details, he cares about people. Syd is an excellent fighter but will sacrifice anyone to succeed. We need them both.
I need to support Rick, and despite my misgivings, keep Syd in line. Also, I promised to help Walt. “Rick, if we are going to survive, we should alter our team building to improve our individual recognition skills.”
Rick happily says, “Great idea.”
I turn to Syd. “Syd, I hope you’ll be on board with this?”
While flashing an ambiguous smile, the rest of his plain face stays expressionless.
Nineteen
My hands slam on the mattress.
The soft surface produces a disappointingly muffled sound.
Sitting cross-legged on the opposite end of the bunk, Suri repeats my actions with the same dull results. “Just like that?”
Laughing, I say, “No. The effect was more impressive. Remember, we were in this dingy room in the basement that had concrete walls. The echo was really loud. Definitely an attention grabber.”
“So, then what happened?”
I tell the rest of the story about the first time I met my husband in the computer class so long ago, leaving out several unflattering details because if Suri is going to recite the whole thing back to me, my preference is having the event told the way I wished things would have happened. No dinner salad on my lap. My body not covered with old sweat. No runny nose from a winter cold. It’s cheating, but a series of white lies won’t be the worst thing I’ve done since entering the Ten Sigma Program.
When I finish, she tips her legs over the side of the mattress and leans against the corner of the metal frame. “So, the true love of your life was born out of the hatred of computer programming?”
It isn’t romantic when she puts it that way, but I respond with a slow nod.
“At least that one’s better than losing your virginity to that nerd from high school,” she says in a heartless criticism.
With two fingers, I tap my temple and wink. “Some of your better moments are in here. Be nice or maybe I’ll start mixing your stories.”
In mock indignation, she crosses her hands over her breasts, one of her many endearing gestures.
“Tell me another,” she says.
“It’s your turn. Quid pro quo.”
She huffs. “Your life is more compelling. I grew up in a strict household, and my life was planned. Take dominating but loving parents, strict adherence to Hinduism, a long happy marriage, and make up a story. The truth wouldn’t be too far off.”
“That’s just an excuse. Everyone thinks their life is boring. Haven’t you ever done anything absolutely crazy?”
Her eyes expand a fraction while her lips make the slightest of curls.
Without my senses enhanced by combat, I wouldn’t have noticed. I point at her, but before an accusation can leave my lips, Walt butts into our conversation.
“I don’t know why you want to save your memories. The more I forget, the better I feel.” Rubbing the pimple on his chin, he nervously smiles and watches his feet twitch below his bunk.
Walt tried suicide on his eighteenth birthday as a precursor to entering this world. Since I’ve known him, he’s alluded to a horrible family life but never shared any details. I can only imagine what he went through even to contemplate such a drastic solution.
However, he receives my ang
ry stare for listening to the private conversation. Telling my important tales to Suri, so she can recite them back when my memories have eroded, is one thing. Despite wanting to protect Walt in the battles, having him know the intimacies of my life is entirely another matter.
Suri picks up on my reticence. Like me, the fighting, and the acclimation process have hardened her. “Did we ask for your opinion? Or anyone else’s?” She throws a mean glance to Syd, sitting three bunks away with his head cocked in our direction.
Walt rubs his longish hair, and his agitated feet grind harder. “No, I assumed that since we were part of the same team—”
“Which means fighting together, not sharing histories,” Suri says politely. “Now, leave us alone. Both of you.” She looks to the many empty areas around the formerly full barracks. “The two of you have plenty of places to hang around without eavesdropping on us.”
I mollify them. “Walt, I think you need to practice a few things to increase your battle reactions. Syd, can you help him?”
A glare crosses Syd’s face before he composes himself. It’s the simmering part of his nature, always ready to explode, and he’s again angry with me for trying to protect my friends. “A fool’s folly,” he keeps repeating. But I’ve committed to helping Rick do the best we can.
When he doesn’t move, I add, “Unless you want to share something about yourself?”
Instead of retorting, he walks to Walt and gives him a fist bump. “Let’s leave the ladies to their gossip.” As they turn, I get an eyeful of male crotch, the shape overly enhanced by the sheer, tight material of the scanty underwear.
Despite my lack of libido, I avert my gaze as they walk away.
A snicker erupts from Suri’s mouth. “You’re such a prude.”
“Me? What about you with your strict upbringing?”
“When I joined this program, I was ninety-two, and there are no ninety-two-year-old prudes.”
“Well, I’m not prudish either.”
She taps her temple. “Remember, you told me about your love life.”
“Not all the nitty-gritty details.”
“Enough of them.”
“I’m not even sure of why you’re talking like this. Nothing is exciting here.”
Her eyes widen again and her lips tremble. It’s like in her stories where she tries to hide something mischievous from her parents.
I arch an eyebrow.
“What?” she protests.
Wagging my finger, I say, “You can’t keep anything from me. You told me every one of your tells.”
She blows out a sigh and scoots across the bed, only stopping when our bare hips touch. Then tucking her chin onto her collarbone, she softly says, “Have you wondered what it would be like?”
A moment passes before I realize her meaning. “Sex? Here?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Any desires disappeared a long time ago.”
“Because I can’t let the virtual overlords take everything from me. Being human means having a light and a dark side. Life and death. Sex and violence. Love and hate. If we don’t have sex or love, we’re not living, it’s only violence, hate, and death. What’s the point of that?”
I snort in deference to her logic. Despite the lack of desire, on certain nights after particularly violent scenarios, my hands have wandered below my waist when I’ve tired of watching my memories crumble. I’ve explored enough to know all the right parts are in all the right places, but no amount of stimulation causes any excitement. “Nobody’s horny. Or anywhere near it.”
After her eyes travel over our immediate area to ensure our privacy, she leans close.
Warm air tingles my earlobe when she whispers, “I know. But I haven’t gotten any in twenty years. Now with this hot body and all these yummy, naked men, I figured that once the fooling around started, you know, something could happen, or even the attempt might be fun.” After a pause, she continues with heavier breaths, “I would kill for an orgasm. So, that crazy thing I was about to admit to doing…”
Her eyes cautiously make another circuit, then fingers caressing my bicep and bringing her mouth close enough to kiss my ear, she says, “I tried doing it—here.”
“What! With who?”
While the warmth from her body increases, she tightens her grip on my arm. “Be quiet. With a guy who had a 2.7 sigma score three rows to our left. He’s gone now.”
Gone is the nice euphemism for killed. But I’m so calloused, it’s unimportant.
“How was it?”
She shakes her head. “Not very enjoyable. He was completely soft, and I was completely dry. The experience was more like a weird kind of grinding than sex. And the whole time he kept apologizing. Which was so distracting.” She straightens, sucking in an exasperated breath. “We tried every trick you can imagine, but nothing worked.”
“Everything?” I say, hiding my disappointment.
“Yes, everything. The Kama Sutra would be proud. It was a ton of effort for no results. Not even a tiny spark.” She pinches her fingers to emphasize the futility. “And the problem’s not physical. Our anatomies are correct.”
We join sighs. This I know although I don’t offer any information. She has enough of my secrets from the real world.
My husband is a widower. While a loyalty to his fading memory lingers inside me, I want to do something different outside of the life and mostly death scenarios we face. If I had any sexual drive, or if there was any golden pot at the end of the rainbow, I’m pretty certain I would try it too. Now, it’s not worth the effort. “Well, let me know if things change for you.”
After rubbing her chin and frowning, she states the obvious. “I don’t think it will.” Then the corners of her mouth rise into a mischievous grin and her eyes sparkle. “But, you can be sure I’ll be trying again. And again.”
I laugh, and although our uncomfortably close bodies rub together, the contact is more sisterly than anything else.
“At least the trying broke the boredom,” she says.
I wouldn’t mind trying something new to fill the monotony between the extreme violence either. “Having real food—even horrible army rations—would be great.”
A dreamy stare glosses over her eyes. “Anything would be better than the liquid diet. My imagination is running thin, and I miss eating. If this keeps going, I might look forward to the scenarios.”
“Don’t be a killjoy. Every time can be the last time.” While I can’t mention the meaning of ten sigma or my fears of the bald giant, I take every opportunity to impress upon Suri to be careful.
She shifts to create space between us and chuckles. “That’s why I want a last orgasm. Or five. Or ten. I wasn’t kidding too much when I mentioned I’d kill for one.”
I snort. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do anything that drastic. But whenever it happens, you have to promise to tell me the secret.”
“Deal,” she says, leaning and putting a friendly arm around my shoulder. “There are a lot of empty bunks now. A restocking is coming soon.”
I turn to her, tilting my head in puzzlement. When the surviving population of the sanctuary gets too low, we’re combined with other sanctuaries in what’s called a restocking. “What does that mean?”
She smirks. “That means there’ll be a lot of new yummy hunks running around.”
With a faint chuckle, I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Let’s keep going. Tell me another story about your husband. I love those quirky romantic tales.”
“Quirky?”
“You’re right, we’ll skip the mundane parts. Tell me about the first time you had sex with him. What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“Your spouse.”
My mouth opens but nothing follows. Then my heart skips a beat. While I can visualize his face and our first time, his name draws a blank. After further searching my memories, I’m horrified.
The people I still remember have no names.
T
wenty
Walt purses his full lips and squints his grayish eyes from the midday sun. Aside from the teen, I stand in the bright sunlight with Suri and Syd on the path outside the barracks’ entrance. We’re practicing determining someone’s sigma score, the skill Haiku said would manifest as we moved into the scenarios.
“2.8?” Walt says, guessing the level of the bearded man walking into the museum.
The guesstimate’s close enough, and I give him a pass, while Suri shows an encouraging smile. Syd, however, stands with arms folded, tapping his foot.
Not helping…
I reply, “That was a simple one.” Almost everyone is between 2.5 and three. “What about that skinny guy sitting by the pool?”
After a few seconds, the frustrated teen says, “How is this important? I mean, don’t we all have the same skills because of the threads?”
Exasperated, Syd rolls his eyes and blows out a long breath.
These are the times I think Syd helps solely to show me the folly of helping others. Despite the outward pleasantness, his pestering about pairing up is only growing worse.
Trying to save the teen’s waning confidence, I compose a constructive response.
“This isn’t about having the knowledge or experience. It’s about how correctly it’s used. And how quickly.”
“I’m not even sure how this works,” Walt says.
“Reading a sigma score is a virtual skill. Call it a gift of the threads. Everyone has a score associated with them, and it’s only a matter of allowing yourself see it. Stop thinking so hard.”
Walt nods, understanding the gist of my words without being able to make use of them.
“And you’re right—anyone you meet in combat is dangerous. But a person who’s won a lot of scenarios is more so because they’ve proven themselves repeatedly. This is an indicator of true talent, not theoretical skill.”
“What about that woman with the bob cut?” Syd says. “Or that guy with the hooked nose? Or the two exiting the museum? You have to know instantly.”