“Government facility?” Sibylla was confused. “Since when did the G.P.T.O. become a government facility?”
“Since we started housing the government’s information on our servers,” the doctor said, stressing the point by tapping the table with a finger. “The G.P.T.O. keeps this country safe.”
“The G.P.T.O. keeps this country under control,” Sibylla shot back, her fear suddenly replaced by anger.
The doctor pursed his lips, and she could see the hate in his eyes. Peace activists were no better than criminals to the government, especially now, that the world was on the verge of war again.
Murdock broke the tension with a cough. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he drew out what looked to be a data scroll. It was no bigger than a piece of paper, but the thin sliver of translucent material could store up to four hundred terabytes of information. Rolling the scroll across the table like a map, he typed in a passcode on the front of it, and the image of the first facility Sibylla had ever broken into suddenly rose into the air as a hologram. Blushing, Sibylla looked away.
“You’ve been quite the busy thief, haven’t you?” Murdock mused.
Sibylla gave a shrug. “I’ve never seen that place before in my life.”
“Oh no?” He swiped the page and Sibylla recognized another facility that she’d broken into. “How ‘bout now?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm…” The general began swiping the pages, one after the other, revealing every facility she’d ever snuck into. After a while, the review of her work went on for so long that Sibylla actually became embarrassed.
“Look,” Sibylla said, realizing that her cuffs were too tight to slide off. “Real estate’s not my thing. So, maybe you could shut that thing off, and we could talk about getting me out of here.”
“That simple, huh?”
“It can be.”
“Not today,” the general said, as he swiped to the last page.
Sibylla was confused as she saw the photo of a younger girl. It was from her freshman yearbook.
“According to your academic record from Eastwood High school, you were on track to graduate with honors. Why’d you drop out?”
“I had…philosophical differences.”
“With the curriculum?”
“With the law,” she said. “I didn’t think it was cool to make kids carry guns.”
“We live in a dangerous world,” Murdock pointed out.
“Which is why I felt that one less gun was needed,” Sibylla said with a smile.
The general’s chin lifted, appearing taken aback. He wasn’t used to insubordination, she could see. But she didn’t care. It had been warmongers like him who’d pressured the U.S. into passing the Citizen’s Act in the first place, a bill that forced every school in the country, both public and private, to institute an advanced R.O.T.C. program.
Now every school in the country was filled with grizzled Sergeants, salty veterans who liked to dig their fingers into the chests of frightened little kids as they made their way to their classes. It was all for preparation, of course. The Armistice between the U.S. and Russia was already rotting, and war would begin again, as it always had.
“You don’t believe that citizens have a responsibility to protect their country?” Murdock asked.
“I believe that its the responsibility of the country to protect its citizens.”
“With what, harsh language?”
“With peace.”
The general scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”
“Not yet,” Sibylla replied.
He looked at her and paused, disappointed with her defiance. Lowering his gaze back to the scroll, he began to read her file again. “It’s a shame you dropped out. Your grades were excellent. You even scored a 270 on your skills assessment exam.”
“Is that any good?” Sibylla asked, genuinely intrigued.
Dr. Bachman’s mouth slipped agape. “Why, that’s the maximum score a person can get.”
Sibylla arched a brow. “Wow, not bad.”
“Who helped you?” the general finally asked.
“No one,” she quickly said.
“She’s lying.” Bachman’s eyes narrowed. “No one could’ve bypassed our protocols—no one. At least, not while breaking into the facility. She must’ve had help, a person close by, or maybe from a remote location.”
“Or maybe your technology isn’t as great as you think it is,” she said.
The doctor’s mouth opened for a response, but the general silenced him with a raised hand.
“This little adventure of yours cost us valuable information,” Murdock said.
“Not to mention the amount of money needed for repairs,” Bachman added. “The jet alone could cost up to three billion!”
“And I’m sure your bosses are all broken up about that.” Sibylla shot the man a hard stare as she dislocated her thumb. “You know, you guys complain about costs and repairs, but you don’t care about any of that. You don’t care about the sick, or the poor, the young girl starving in the streets, the boy who can’t afford basic medicine. All you guys care about is making profit and controlling the world. You make me sick.”
Bachman’s face twisted in anger. “This is a waste of our time, General. She’s clearly not suitable for the program. In fact, I saw nothing on the surveillance video that would suggest she has any real ability. Just give her to Connor’s dogs and be done with her.”
“Humor me,” Murdock said, leveling a stare at the feeble man.
For a moment, the doctor held his gaze, stoning himself to the general’s presence. But it was no use. It was apparent that he was outranked by the decorated soldier, and after a few seconds, relented by placing the case onto the table. Turning it around to face Sibylla, he opened it up, and Sibylla saw what looked to be a gray metallic ball inside.
“What is that?” Sibylla asked.
“We call it the Enigma Sphere.” The doctor’s answer was punctuated with a strange grin. “A calculative device meant to measure a person’s ability for abstract thinking.”
Sibylla squinted at him in suspicion, then turned her attention back to the sphere, admiring the awe-inspiring design. It was soft, smooth, a beautiful work of precision that could only be crafted under the most exacting of milling machines. Its only defects were the slanted grooves running down the sides of its frame.
The doctor lifted it from the case and set it gently on the table. “Do you like to play games, Sibylla?”
Sibylla shot him a bemused glance. “You know, I thought you looked like a pervert.”
The doctor gave an awkward cough, embarrassed, then began again in a deeper, more professional tone. “Games can tell a lot about a person: how they win, how they lose; but most of all, how they struggle.”
“Your point?” Sibylla asked.
“We would like to see how you do under a period of duress,” the doctor answered.
Duress? Sibylla felt a muggy warmth along her skin. That was a strange word to use. “From playing a game?”
“Not a game,” the doctor corrected her. “The game; one that has never been beaten before.”
Murdock’s face darkened with uncertainty. Was he hearing this information for the first time as well? she wondered.
“So, what makes you think I can beat it?” Sibylla asked.
“I don’t,” the doctor said. He turned to face the general. “He does.”
“If I do this,” Sibylla began, “if I play this…game, what do I get in return?”
“You don’t go to jail,” Murdock said.
Sibylla stared at him in doubt. Was he telling her the truth? Would he really let her go? The nerves of her body tingled as she weighed the matter in her head. Everything told her that he was lying, that he was a military man, a pragmatist, a person who did horrible things only to rationalize them later. But if there was a chance, if she could get out of this from playing a simple game, why not try? “Fine,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
“It won’t be as easy as you think,” the doctor warned.
“Nothing ever is,” Sibylla replied.
The doctor, seeming pleased with her answer, nodded his assent at the general, and with a grunt, Murdock rose from his seat.
The general took his time as he walked around the table. There was a hesitation to his gait, a reluctance that Sibylla quickly picked up on. What was he concerned with?
“What are you doing?” Sibylla asked.
“Unlocking your cuffs.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sensor key. It was a gray card with a magnetic strip, no different than the credit cards from the early 2000’s. But just as he was about to reach behind her back to unlock her cuffs, she lifted her hands to show him that she’d already freed herself.
“What the…” the general muttered as he took the cuffs from her hands.
Ignoring his amazement, Sibylla scooted her chair toward the table and leaned into the sphere. What was this thing? she wondered, angling her head to the side and staring at it closely. It was so beautiful, yet so intimidating. Was it really a game? It couldn’t be.
“Remember who you are,” the general whispered in her ear, and Sibylla felt her skin tighten with uncertainty. The words, no, the sincerity of his voice, had caught her off guard, and she was now more worried than ever. What was he trying to prepare her for?
“Are you ready?” the doctor asked.
Sibylla looked back at the doctor. He was staring at her, anxious for her to begin. Not a good sign. Him wanting to play signified that he was going to win; or rather, that she was going to lose.
Suddenly, the sphere wasn’t as beautiful as she’d first thought. Suddenly, it looked dangerous, like the quiet shell of a sleeping dragon, one that didn’t want to be disturbed.
But what choice did she have? If she refused to play, her future was guaranteed. But if she played, there was a chance that they’d let her go free, as doubtful as it was. With a nervous swallow, Sibylla gave the doctor a shrug. “Sure. How do we start?”
“By pressing this button right here.” The doctor motioned to the top of the sphere where a small circle had been engraved.
Reaching for the button, Sibylla frowned as she saw that her hand was trembling. Thinking of Dillon, she pushed through the fear, telling herself that she would see him soon. Her hand hovering over the button, she shot the doctor a leveled stare. “Get ready to lose, asshole.”
He grinned. “We’ll see about that.”
Pressing the button, Sibylla winced as she felt something sharp poke her in the finger. Pulling her hand back, she glared in horror at the red microchip pulsating beneath her skin. “What the hell is this?”
“A shock implant.” The doctor said, smiling. “It connects your heart to the sphere. After three shocks, you die.”
4
A Reason
The sphere glowed a menacing red through the slanted grooves of its frame, hinting at the danger Sibylla had just awoken.
“Why?” Sibylla asked, looking up at the doctor, frightened.
“Because,” Bachman answered, “there are things in this world more important than you and me. And sacrifices must be made to keep them safe.”
“Tread lightly, Dr.,” Murdock growled.
“I have my orders, general. As do you.”
Sibylla turned back to the sphere. It was still glowing, still waking. Suddenly, it brightened, and the slanted grooves of its surface separated farther, expanding the size of its frame and sending an electrical jolt through Sibylla’s finger.
She jumped in her seat, shuddering at the sudden volt. It was like the shock from an electrical socket. Glancing at her finger, she looked up at the doctor in horror.
“It’ll only get worse,” Bachman promised.
“How do I beat it?” Sibylla asked.
“You can’t. You can only identify its true meaning.”
Sibylla’s fear was extrapolated by the perplexing statement, and she felt her mind clouded with questions. Was this a riddle?
“Determine the meaning,” Bachman said, “and you’ll live. Fail and you’ll die.”
For a moment, Sibylla was tempted to reach out for the sphere, to slam it against the floor and stomp it with her boots. But Bachman apparently noticed, and he waved a finger at her in warning. “Any tampering with the hardware elicits the maximum shock level.”
Damn it, she thought. They’d placed a failsafe, a guard to keep the subject from overriding the rules of the game. She was going to have to beat this with her mind.
Already her finger was tickling again. She had to think quickly. Okay, if she wanted to stop something, she needed to determine what it was first. Closing her eyes, she rushed to replicate the sphere in her mind.
“What’s she doing?” Murdock asked, his voice like a distant echo in her ears.
“I’m not sure,” Bachman answered, his voice tight with confusion.
Sibylla thought hard, drawing on her skills, working it out as best she could. The walls of the sphere were thin but solid. Inside, a single power source fueled the motion. Mechanical? Had to be. There were no hissing sounds, no pressurized exhaust. Just simple metal joints powered by electricity.
Sibylla gritted her teeth as another wave of electricity passed through her. It was much worse this time, and she felt as if her teeth were going to shatter from the pressure. As the pain fled, she was left trembling, frightened.
“Time is running out,” Bachman warned.
To his left, Murdock was watching her, gripping the end of the table with paling knuckles.
Okay, she thought, trying to pull herself together. Her eyes were flickering, and her lower lip was numb, but she could still feel the saliva pooling in her mouth. I can do this, she told herself. I can beat this.
The plates of the sphere had enlarged enough that she could see the interior more closely now. There was a delicate web of thin limbs, a system of fragile joints straining to support the erratic growth that had enveloped it. It reminded her of.... “It’s a metaphor,” Sibylla managed, drool slipping from her mouth.
“How so?” the doctor demanded.
“The sphere. It’s the earth.”
“And the growth?”
“An unwelcome force.”
He leaned across the table and balled a hand into a fist. “What else?”
Another wave of electricity sparked through her, and she felt the veins in her arms threatening to implode like ruptured hoses. It was unbearable. Her chest lifted, and she screamed.
“You’re killing her!” Murdock growled.
“Just a little bit more,” Bachman said coldly. “We have to know.”
“Not if she’s dead, we won’t. I need her alive!”
Sibylla fought through the hollow ache in her chest as she retreated once more into her mind. What was the sphere’s purpose? Why was it growing against its own structure? Population? Climate change? No. That would only be considering the sphere by itself; not the electrical charge it was emitting. This thing was dangerous, violent. It could kill.
“War!” Sibylla screamed out. “It’s a metaphor for war!”
“Now, Goddamnit!” Murdock screamed.
Bachman reached for the remote in his coat pocket, but his hands were clumsy, and the device fell to the floor. The tickling in her finger was rising now, deeper and hotter, sharpening into a painful scratch. This round would be the worst of all.
“Out of my way!” Murdock dove beneath the table as he reached for the remote, and Sibylla closed her eyes. Expecting to go into full cardiac arrest, she clenched her fists and crossed her arms. If it was going to come, she’d face it head-on.
When nothing happened, Sibylla opened her eyes to a silent room and saw that both Bachman and Murdock were staring at her in silence, their eyes wide with fear, their chests heaving in exasperation.
“No one’s ever gotten that far before,” Bachman whispered.
Sibylla’s head fell back, exhausted, and she gasped for air. A c
hain reaction of spasming muscles and tightened skin crinkled along her arms and legs, crawling over her chest and neck like stumbling crabs. She was alive. She’d made it.
“I’m going to make sure you’re removed from this project,” Murdock told the doctor.
“What I did was necessary.”
“Perhaps,” Murdock agreed. “But it’s over now. So get your stuff and leave.”
Bachman glared up at the old soldier, beaming him with bitter eyes. Whatever excitement the doctor had garnered from Sibylla’s results had quickly soured, and he began to pack up his things with an exaggerated guardedness, careful as he made sure that he wasn’t leaving anything behind.
“Don’t forget this,” Sibylla said, flipping him off with the finger that had he’d used for the shock implant.
The doctor made a frustrated noise, as he pulled a razor from his suitcase, then, cutting through the epidermis of her skin, he removed the implant. Sibylla grimaced.
“Happy now?” he said.
“Loads.”
Sibylla fell back against her chair as the doctor finally left the room. Her body was weak, nervous. Resting her eyes, she let herself drift into the calmness of the moment, trying to regain her strength.
“I’m sorry about that.”
Sibylla opened her eyes. Murdock was still on the other side of the table, his gaze averted to the corner of the room. He looked like a scolded child filled with regret. She’d never been apologized to by a military man before. Not after her father yelled at her in a drunken haze, or when she’d been hit in the head by a National Guardsman at a rally. Apologies had no place in war.
“It’s alright,” Sibylla managed. “He was an asshole. Like most people.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Sometimes.” Sibylla was too weak from the shocks to lie. But there was something sincere about the general, something about his presence that made her feel safe. He seemed…different. “I like to think people are good.”
“Is that why you do what you do?”
“I do what I do because no one else will.”
Sibylla of Earth: Book One of the Anunnakiverse Page 3