by A W Wang
As I travel, none of the infinitely far away dots move closer, but other sensations pass through me. In shadows between the streaky clouds, there are people. Why are they here?
I try to blink, but my current form comes without eyelids.
More objects of varying size and intensity wander nearby.
A wrinkle in the surroundings rumbles through my form. The other beings are close.
Afraid to be discovered, I retreat as dizziness overcomes my thoughts. Despite my nonexistent lungs, my body still needs oxygen. With the gigantic forms of the virtual overlords looming close, I can only wobble helplessly.
From next to the spot where my ear should be, an unmistakably feminine voice whispers. “How did you get here?”
“I touched that leprechaun when he disappeared.”
“You’ve made a dreadful mistake. I told you to follow the rules.”
It’s the witch avatar.
“No kidding. I’m sick,” I say, slurring each word into the next.
“Yes, you don’t belong here. Your body can’t survive in this environment. We need to get you back to where you belong before anyone notices.”
An invisible force grabs my form, whipping me through countless mists. As I streak through the strange universe, tiny against the backdrop of infinity, the true nature of my insignificance isn’t lost on me.
In the Ten Sigma Program, the virtual overlords can’t be defeated. It was ridiculous to even try to be rebellious. Sex, trying to keep my memories, all were futile attempts to stop their limitless and unrelenting power. Suri was right. The only way to rebel is to win and get out of their grasp. If I’m lucky, with a modicum of my soul intact.
That can be my only revenge.
“You are a player in something far larger than yourself,” she chides.
Given the nature of my thoughts, I laugh.
“What is this place?”
“Be quiet. You have enemies here.”
Full of nausea, my mind whirls at the implications. They’re part of the worse things, the face-painters. But the turbulence buffeting my body interrupts the train of logic. Not sure what would happen if I vomit, I force my energy to maintain control of myself as the mists speed past and we travel at greater and greater speeds.
A single dot grows in the distance. Although it radiates a familiarity, like everything else, the details become more unfocused as we near.
The witch says, “I believe you’re safe.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t with any certainty. But you better hope nobody noticed you.”
“Why?”
“Because then there will be consequences. Remember, I told you, if you bend the rules, they can be bent against you too.”
“Who are you?”
There is no answer.
Solid again, I lie flat on my mattress staring at the top bunk. The world is in focus. Air fills my lungs and my heart pounds in my chest.
I move my hands and run them over my healthy body, happy to be back in my perfect form.
The whole experience was so alien it must have been a dream.
“If not, there will be consequences.”
Before I can ponder the meaning of the faint words, the entire thought evaporates.
“The whole thing was a dream,” I whisper to myself.
I hope.
Forty-Four
My celebratory battle after breaking the nine sigma level starts under brilliant sunshine with an arid breeze brushing fine particles past my face.
I shade my eyes.
The map is a parched, hilly terrain sprinkled with patches of dull green flora and crossed by tall berms of earth packed in wooden frames. On each hilltop stands a defense structure resembling a log tower constructed from cut timber. Here and there, a lonely pool of blue water under a wide-topped acacia tree interrupts the glittering sand carpeting the low-lying areas.
Another tranquil place to boost my sigma score.
A baggy robe with a loose hood rests over my body. It’s mostly white and woven from a coarse material. A pair of plastic goggles strapped over my eyes and a bandanna covering my mouth protect against the dust. Around my waist, a cinched gray sash holds a wide scimitar along with a sheathed dagger. Soft-soled slippers nestled over my feet complete the outfit.
It is desert garb designed for the modern day pirate.
Our mission is to defend a flag planted at the junction of two ramparts in a shallow valley below my position.
Although nothing threatens, the familiar spiders tap dance over my nape.
There are ramifications. This will be a disaster.
Troubled by the strange premonition, I survey the features of the landscape, but besides the usual map idiosyncrasies and scenario details, everything is normal.
My teammates shuffle their feet in the sand, awaiting my instructions.
Deciding not to be indecisive, I signal to meet with the four other team leaders.
As the teams trickle toward me, my blue-liquid-freed emotions spew out a stream of happiness. Instead of fighting it, I rejoice in the long-lost feeling as a familiar figure runs to me. While part of me is stunned he’s still breathing, all of me is ecstatic. I wrap my arms around him and whirl in a circle. “Walt,” I scream.
“Stop squeezing so hard, I can’t breathe.” He giggles, a truly strange sound to hear before a battle.
The rest of my team sends us dubious glances.
What? Can’t I be happy?
Apparently not. I surrender to their dour mood and put the teen down. Then pulling my bandanna under my chin, I force aside the excitement and assume a stately pose. “How have you been?”
His wide eyes stare as if I might be a mirage. After he catches his breath, a smile lights up his face. “Not bad. I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t think I’d get this far.”
That makes two of us.
“You took Rick’s training to heart,” I say before the moment becomes awkward.
“I’m only a 4.6. I’ve got a long way to go.”
While his low score indicates a lack of risk-taking, to survive as long as he has, he’s certainly had to have more than his share of luck. But he’ll need more than good fortune to reach ten sigmas. For an instant, I consider mentioning the secret of the blue liquid. However, when I weigh that against the near-disastrous consequences of my foray into its clutches, and its still hovering presence, I say with a straight face, “You’ll get there.”
“Well, it looks like we’re having a reunion,” says the familiar voice of a man owning a staggering 9.82 sigma score.
My warm feelings for Walt evaporate, reinforcing the temporary nature of anything scenario-related.
“Hello, Syd.”
The plain-faced man joins us, holding his fist out to Walt. The teen removes his eyes from me and sheepishly completes the fist bump.
After Syd pulls back his hand, he faces me. “Brin. It’s wonderful to be in your company again. You seem to be doing well.”
The politeness is chilling. I expected a harsh greeting after our last parting. “I’ve been doing fine, Syd,” I reply, omitting the suspicions from my voice.
A woman, pale but attractive with dark eyes and sporting streaks of red in her long, Goth-like hair, sexily wraps her arms around him. “Is this her?” she asks with a hungry stare.
“Brin, meet Belle, my second,” Syd says in his gentleman persona. When another pretty girl with a narrow face attaches herself to the couple, he adds, “And Syrin, my other partner.”
“And so much more,” Syrin purrs as she gathers me in with leering eyes. “I love her hair, and she’s quite fetching.”
Belle chimes in, “Although not as beautiful as you said she was.”
I ignore the catty remark, maintaining a cool gaze as the other four men and three women of his team approach in silence. While none of them look exceptional, they are not in the least intimidated by my sigma score and project an indescribable confidence into their arrogant postur
es. And underneath each of them lurks the blue liquid’s dark insanity.
What I would have become if I had stayed with Syd.
In their presence, the ever-present cloud of evil pushing at the edge of my thoughts calls for me to join them.
Clenching my jaw, I shove the malevolence away. The horrible temptations won’t be a part of my existence.
Syd breaks the tension with a chivalrous grin then makes quick introductions. Unlike my teammates, I remember each of their names. And unlike everyone else, they throw appraising stares at my body.
Not giving a damn one way or the other about their attention, I hold my ground with an indifferent expression.
However, Walt and the others shy away from our passive-aggressive standoff.
Syd says, “Come, Brin, let’s meet with the team leaders and formulate a plan.”
I do a double take. While Syd caring is out of character, Syd strategizing is really out of character.
He smiles. “I’ve evolved since we were last together.”
Belle shoots him a glare.
From the glint in his eyes, I know he’s imagining the failed sex act between the two of us succeeding, and I want to scrape the skin from my body.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s do this as fast as possible.” Even if it would be great to catch up with Walt, I’m not spending an extra minute here.
Despite Syd’s charming words, I most certainly do not trust him. He caused the death of my friends, and I broke up the team because of him.
However, his presence is comforting because it explains my unease. As long as I don’t let him screw me or anyone else over, everything should be okay.
Hopefully…
Under the broken shade of a watchtower, Syd and I gather with the other three leaders.
The last one to join us, a dark complexioned 4.23 sigma, pulls off her bandanna, revealing a mouth gaping in shock. As her eyes dart between Syd and myself, she says, “Never thought I’d see one let alone two nines!”
“This should be an easy scenario,” adds a lanky man with a 3.1 score.
Don’t be so sure.
Maintaining the gentleman persona, Syd says, “The pleasure is all ours, isn’t it, Brin?”
I stupidly nod, struggling not to roll my eyes. While I understand everything about Syd and his possible treachery, I have no way of explaining this to the others in the few minutes before the battle starts.
“You can if you want to sound paranoid,” my annoying internal voice chimes.
To prevent my hand from smacking my head, I tighten my lips and let my eyes roll.
The 4.23 sigma sends a puzzled glance.
Syd speaks, saving me from having to make an embarrassing explanation. “The best approach is for me to lead my team on a killing mission outside the perimeter while everyone else remains on guard.”
It takes a moment for the others to override their respect for Syd’s sigma score.
“The victory condition is the flag. Wasting resources hunting for them doesn’t make any sense,” the 4.23 sigma protests. “They have to come to us, and without projectile weapons, we can mass to meet them.”
The other two leaders nod vigorously in support.
“Nonsense,” Syd says to more groans of disapproval.
While their tactical assessment is correct, my opinion differs. I’m encouraged because the lack of sophistication means Syd hasn’t really changed, and if he and his people are outside the perimeter defense, he can’t betray anyone else.
Before the argument gets heated, I raise my hand and say, “It’s an unorthodox plan, but Syd has more knowledge than we do, so this is for the best.”
I maintain a straight face to their incredulous stares because technically, the different parts of the statement are truthful.
Unconvinced by the tenuous logic, the 4.23 shakes her head. “But—”
“We’ll make this work,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.
An awkward moment passes before she replies, “I guess if you made it past nine sigmas, you must know what you’re doing.”
With tight frowns, the other two leaders begrudgingly follow with their agreement.
If they only knew Syd like I know Syd.
Yanking out his sword, Syd smiles, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. The bladed weapons ensure the killing will be face-to-face, perhaps the type of combat he loves most. My heart races at the remembrance of fighting him during the training session.
“Well, that settles that,” Syd says. His gentleman persona vanishes as he offers a twisted smile. “Good luck to everyone.”
I remain in contemplation as the others respond with good lucks of their own.
As Syd rejoins his waiting team, Syrin casts a final appraising leer while Belle uses one corner of her mouth to send me a half smirk.
While my skin crawls, I return a confident smile.
They’re all just creepy extensions of Syd.
Syd marches his team away with Belle and Syrin somehow inflecting sexy strides through the puffiness of their desert garb.
Everybody relaxes when the strange people disappear behind a curving berm.
I’m not the only one with uneasy thoughts.
Since the highest remaining sigma score belongs to me, I direct the other three teams to guard thirds while holding my team in reserve. It should be a flexible enough plan to handle any contingency from the opposition during the battle.
As the desert-clad figures disperse behind the berms and scattered dark green flora around our flag, I rub my neck. Something is still bothering me.
Then the enemy attacks and everything is put on the back-burner as I shift my concentration solely to defense.
As the scenario progresses, my hands get metaphorically full. Like in the swamp where Jock and Ally died, the opposing leaders are formidable, combining incisive attacks, clever feints, and diabolical ambushes to create a gigantic crap sandwich.
The problem is the stupid map and weapons. Because the enemy only needs to touch our flag and we can’t shoot them, we have to defend in depth. This faulty strategy allows them to gather in strength and destroy us in pieces, and I’ve had to use every bit of my skill to stay one step ahead of disaster. My concentration on staying alive and not losing has been so complete, it’s even drowned out the cries from the ever-present cloud of the blue liquid.
While I’m intact, only losing my goggles and having huge swathes of blood staining my white outfit from several desperate fights, the scenario has savaged the rest of my side. The other three leaders are long gone, and only a few exhausted stragglers remain.
Mercifully, although he’s solely alive because of my best efforts, Walt crouches near me, his clothing bloodied and torn, but none the worse for wear. While I can’t drag him to ten sigmas, and still don’t believe he’s survived this long, the least I can do is get him through the remainder of this battle.
On the other hand, similar to most scenarios, the opposing side has taken a beating during the ferocious fighting too. Especially from me.
I pull down my bandanna. “Where in the hell is Syd? Having a picnic?”
Walt responds to the rhetorical question with a nervous shrug. Of course, he doesn’t know, and of course, he wants to give Syd the benefit of the doubt because he naively believes the best in everyone.
However, as an adult with firsthand experience, I’m free to think the worst of my blue liquid tainted former teammate. Without his team, the enemy outnumbers us five to four. I haven’t seen anything from them since the fighting started, but I’m sure they aren’t dead, and, worse, they’ve contributed nothing. We’re being completely screwed by their inaction.
I roll my eyes to the blue dome. Escape is so close.
Wishes don’t win scenarios.
Grinding my teeth in frustration, I listen to distant clangs of heavy scimitars, my over nine sigma experience warning that the fighting is reaching a climax. From opposite our flag, a swirling battle rages near a wooden d
efense tower. Other sharp noises come from my right, drawing attention to a huge cloud of dust rising over a sharply crested hill.
Both are decoys.
After a day facing these opponents, I finally understand their strategy. Both signs of obvious strength lack decisive action. No danger is coming from either threat.
Their plan is to sneak a single person to the flag from the tranquil part of the map.
For the hundredth time, I curse at Syd. This scenario should already be won.
I point at a wide earthwork slightly taller than myself, which curves along the rear of our position, and most importantly, rests in a quiet area opposite the fighting. “Let’s go this way.”
Walt glances behind us. “Isn’t the fight over there?”
“That’s a diversion. The breach point will be near that berm.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There isn’t time to explain, just trust me,” I say with urgency.
After he nods, I lead him away from the sounds of clashing swords. Crouched and with careful steps, we wend our way down a shallow slope and around the twisted trunk of a huge acacia tree. After we leave the broad shadow of its flat crown, I increase the pace, hustling over the damp sand skirting a pool of water.
With our soft shoes silent, we sprint past some bodies and to a collapsed portion of the earthwork. I scramble up the crumbling dirt with my hands grabbing at the exposed wooden frame.
When Walt follows, his feet slip while his arms flail and I have to reach past my ankles to drag him the final way to the top.
After we flatten ourselves on the three-meter wide surface, we peer over the wooden lip and wait.
Our timing is none too soon. A moment later, a female form clad in a dark gray version of my pirate outfit approaches.
I’m right!
As she disappears from view under the rim of the embankment, I slither forward and raise my head.
Situated at the edge of my vision, the lithe figure hesitates against the wall of dirt. Her movements are strangely familiar, but her face is buried under the bandanna and shrouded by the loose hood.