He stared intently at the table, continuing to take-in and analyze everything around him, when another sight caught his eye that he couldn’t believe he’d missed. A small sign hovered at the far end of the table, over the pathway in which his platform traveled, displaying a single word: Destination.
Well, at least I know that it is indeed, a game. A sick game, but a game nonetheless, Trent let a smirk cross his lips with the realization, not one of joy, but of determination. If there was one thing he knew about games, was that they were meant to be won, and he planned to win, no matter the cost.
His first solution was the simplest. He would grab each platform and place them near the end of the table, directly before the pathway with the destination label. It should work, he thought, since the giant Trent would copy his movements. He would be able to save all the women and children and quickly be done with this revolting game.
Gathering his courage, he reached for the closest platform, finding the women and children cringing in horror.
“Guess they see the giant me...” Trent muttered as he closed his hand around the platform. A debilitating shock erupted from the platform, and he collapsed to the floor like a board.
“Program violation one, you shall now be assessed penalty level one,” the monotone voice he had not heard since it commanded him to approach the table, exclaimed. Trent pulled himself to his feet, trying to work the tingling pain out of his limbs.
“What penalty? How the hell am I supposed to play a game if you won't explain the rules?” In any other situation, the sight of three different sized versions of the same person pumping their fists in the air and screaming at an empty grey sky may have been comical, but with flames lashing from between the pathways, and the women and children crying in horror all around...it was anything but.
As if in response to his question, the temperature started to drop. At first, it was only slight, barely noticeable. But as the seconds ticked by, Trent felt the chill start to creep beneath his jumpsuit to attack his skin. He rubbed his arms, trying to keep them warm, and quickly figured out the penalty he was being assessed. He would have to work in the cold. But there was no time to dwell. He went back to work, desperately chasing a solution as one of the platforms slowly approached a gap in a pathway. It was his.
Time ticked by and Trent started shivering noticeably. With every ounce of concentration he could muster, he stared at the slowly approaching gap, knowing that there had to be a way across.
The sudden realization was like a slap to the cheek; the plastic pieces he'd found in his pocket! He pulled them free with all haste, counting out 40 or so of the thin rectangular pieces that just happened to be the exact size of the gaps. We’re saved!
Carefully, he leaned over the table, trying to ignore the tiny people cringing on the other platforms, and his own trembling hand, placing a single piece in the gap he was slowly approaching. The giant hand that appeared before him created a gust of wind that almost caused him to the drop the piece into the searing flames, but he was able to place it without fail. An audible click echoed through the air as it locked into place.
“Successful integration with path unit five. Please continue operation,” the monotone voice sounded again, not even phased by the tongue lashing that Trent, with his tiny and giant friend, had given it moments before.
Confident in the knowledge that he had solved the puzzle, he prepared to place the next piece to save an approaching platform, when he stopped midway. He must have been subconsciously counting the number of gaps present, since he realized that the number of rectangular pieces he had pulled from his pocket were well short of what was required to allow every platform to reach the end safely. He pulled the pocket inside out as a horrible thought struck him.
Will I have to sacrifice some to save the rest? He shivered, pushing away the abhorrent idea while rubbing his hands together, trying to keep his blood flowing in the now freezing air. Looking back to the table, he decided to talk himself to a solution.
“There are 10 pathways that each contain a platform. Each platform moves, at the same speed, towards the far end of the table, following the random, zigzagging pathways exactly,” explained Trent, his teeth chattering as he pointed to the tracks, hoping something new would present itself, “...Each track has......has what looks like......10 gaps between start and finish, which would add up to 100 gaps in total to fill. I only have,” he quickly counted the remaining rectangular pieces, “39 pieces left. This is enough to save four of the platforms.”
That was unacceptable, he knew, but so far it was his only option.
Time continued to tick away and Trent's stress level started to rise as the gnawing cold made thinking difficult. He turned back to the grey sky, shivering noticeably.
“Could you please give me some sort of hint? Something that would help me save these people!” Trent cried, trying not to let his frustration, and the gnawing cold, get the better of him.
As expected, there was no response.
The platform, on what he counted as pathway seven, slowly approached the next gap. It would be only a matter of minutes before it arrived. Trent, seeing no other options, made a decision, a horrible decision that no one should ever have to make. He placed a piece in the gap before the approaching platform on pathway seven.
“Successful integration with path unit seven. Please continue operation,” the monotone voice sounded. Trent, now with a small smile born of melancholy, absently wondered if anyone would ever know of his sacrifice. He was sure the people on the other platforms wouldn't realize he saved their lives. But he was ok with that; he wasn't doing this to be considered a hero. He was doing it to save the most lives.
He moved around the table to give himself easier access to the four tracks he planned on saving, trying to ignore the platforms he had left for dead...including his own. He would start with track seven and lay the pieces all the way to the end.
Trying to contain his shiver, from both the cold and possibly fear, he placed the next piece.
“Integration failure, path piece on path unit seven placed at unacceptable distance from transportation unit. Remove immediately, penalty situation five shall be assessed until proper removal is completed,” the monotone voice sounded, accompanied by a very annoying siren. Trent attempted to remove the piece, but was stopped short by an invisible wall of pressure pressing down upon him. It took all his strength to keep from collapsing across the table, barely being able to push himself clear to fall to the floor.
Unrelenting pressure, feeling of a thousand pounds of bricks pushing down over every centimeter of his body, pinned him to the floor. He tried to stand, but was barely able to rise a millimeter, the pressure just too strong. Breathing became difficult, his breaths getting shorter and shorter, his lungs compressing further every time he exhaled. In desperation, he pushed his hand forward, and to his surprise, found that he could easily slide across the smooth floor.
As he desperately pulled himself forward, towards the platforms edge, he deduced what he'd done wrong. There must be a rule about how far ahead of a platform a piece can be placed, he cursed his stupidity. That limited his choices. He would have to save his own platform along with three others. The idea sickened him, and he knew his nightmares would never allow him to sleep again, but it was his only option. Except, before he could even think to accomplish that, he had to think of a way to escape the pressure and remove the offending piece before he was suffocated.
Trent continued sliding away from the table, hoping the pressure may lessen the farther away he moved. To his relief, his hand broke free first, reaching an area of normal pressure by the platforms edge. He continued pulling himself forward until he could once again stand freely.
He walked around the edge of the platform, catching his breath while rubbing his chin in thought. At short intervals he would push his free hand into the overwhelming pressure, and feel an apparent slap appear out of midair, knocking his hand painfully downwards.
There ha
s to be a way back to the table, he knew, the voice wouldn’t have told him to remove the piece if it had been a fatal error.
In frustration, he punched at the invisible pressure, and to his surprise, he didn't feel anything. But the moment his arm stopped moving, the sensation of a slap returned, forcefully pushing his arm down. His surprise quickly faded as he tested this newfound knowledge, throwing his arm into the pressure and removing it just as fast.
Nothing, he felt nothing and quickly deduced what he had to do.
Trent moved to the absolute edge of the platform, ignoring the searing flames that bit at his heels. He would need as much speed and momentum as he could muster, since he wasn't positive about how long the pressure would ignore his moving body...but he was about find out.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged straight towards the table. He didn't feel anything as he sprinted the few meters separating him from his goal. But as he slowed, preparing to remove the offending piece he placed earlier, the pressure returned, like an enormous slap on his back, causing him to slump. He used his last remaining strength to keep from falling across the table. Desperately, he reached for pathway seven, yanking free the offending piece that had not been properly integrated.
“Penalty level five removed. Penalty level two will now be assessed.” Trent's sigh of relief was short lived as he realized what penalty level two meant. The platforms started accelerating.
Without thinking, Trent quickly placed two pieces in gaps where the platforms were about to fall into the pits of fire. He was about to do the same with two more, that were not in immediate danger, when he noticed something so obvious that he couldn't believe he missed it until now.
The destination sign hovering at the far end of the table was only over the center track, while the other tracks came to an abrupt end about two piece lengths, or 14 centimeters, short of the end. Trent's brain again started working full tilt, having forgotten the cold and pain caused by the previous penalty. His eyes went wide...that’s it, his mind cried...he having finally figured out the solution, letting escape a grunt of joy.
Each zigzagging track came within one piece length of the adjacent tracks in multiple locations. This would allow him to manipulate the tracks to allow all the platforms to converge on track five and proceed to the goal. He could barely contain his jubilation as he realized he'd solved the puzzle, and quickly began his preparations.
First, he placed a piece across pathway one to pathway two, holding his breath with anticipation. The piece clicked, “path integration complete, path one will now follow path two. Speed phase two entered,” the monotone words that followed filling Trent with joy...then short lived relief. The platforms on tracks one and two began to pick up speed. So he continued on, bringing pathway ten into nine, while filling gaps in pathway two, four, five, and seven. Pathway two was quickly integrated into pathway three, while pathway nine was connected to pathway eight. Trent almost missed a gap in pathway six, but saved the platform with mere seconds to spare; trying to ignore the horrible screams of terror rising from the women and children huddled on its surface. Integration of pathway three and four were successful, while he barely filled a gap on his own pathway in time, flinching at the sight of the giant hand coming within a meter of striking the platform.
The platforms continued to accelerate, barely providing him 10 seconds to decide his next move. He brought pathway eight into seven, filling a gap in pathway seven, then quickly integrating pathway seven into six within a matter of seconds. He filled gaps in pathway five and four, then connected pathway four into five.
The platforms with the women and children were moving much faster than his, shown by the fact that his platform was only half-way to the end of the table, and the recently integrated platforms were almost three-fourths. Again, without thinking, Trent continued to place pieces in the gaps, saving the near plunge of the platforms on track six, while placing two more pieces on track five, one to save himself and the other, the platforms far ahead.
Before he knew it, he was almost finished, only four gaps remaining, two in front of him, one in front of the goal and one to integrate pathway six into five. He was about to shout for joy when he glanced down into his hand and found only three pieces remaining.
The choice was clear, his decision having already been made. But he still hesitated.
He would do what he planned to do from the beginning, sacrificing himself to save the others. But now the thought felt more permanent, since he believed, since he discovered the solution, that he would be able to save everyone...including himself.
It would be so simple to place the three pieces on track five, wouldn’t it? His mind explained, thereby saving himself and the four other platforms that now traversed its surface.
He placed a piece at the end of track five, guaranteeing the safety of at least four of the platforms, then placed another piece in front of his own, delaying the inevitable. As he placed the piece, he found himself sinking into his thoughts, thinking about his horrible past and lost future, and became careless.
When he pulled his hand away, he accidently bumped his platforms, knocking himself to the floor, his head smashing on its unforgiving surface.
“Program violation three. You shall now be assessed penalty level three,” the monotone voice laid down its judgment, barely audible to the now semi-conscious Trent.
The world spun before him, making it impossible to stand, muddling his racing thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he rolled himself into a sitting position and felt the side of his head.
Red; the warm, sticky fluid that covered his hand told him what he already knew, that he hit his head, and hard.
He started crawling back towards the table, dizziness and fatigue overwhelming him as he gripped the last piece of the puzzle in his right hand with all his strength. His mind screamed that he was running out of time and he had to place the last piece, he had to save the final five platforms.
Reaching the table, he pulled himself to his feet, completely out of breath and unable to catch it, like the oxygen was being pumped from the room. His vision swam, and started to blur as he looked at the track, trying desperately to locate the gap for the last piece. Finding it, he lunged forward, ignoring the alarms and the quaking caused by his body falling across the table. He threw the piece in a desperate attempt to save the platforms, save those innocents trapped within this most deadly of game. A faded click was muffled by the rushing water in his ears and he thought he heard the monotone voice say something about success.
But that no longer mattered.
The last ounce of strength fled him and he slid to the floor, landing on his side with his gaze facing his approaching end. He watched, his vision fading, as the flames lashed at his platform’s edge, hissing greedily at the meal to come.
His last thoughts as he tumbled over the precipice were of fear and relief. Fear of his imminent death, and relief that he was able to save them all.
Live on and do great things, he let his last thought fly to the distant platforms as the final darkness overtook him.
*********
Unbelievable, why would he sacrifice himself? Daniel wondered from his place within the lobby outside the programmable matter training room, waiting patiently for phase three of Trent's recruitment trial to conclude.
Daniel, like all other TSB officer recruits, faced a similar command test during their placement examines for the TSB Officer Training School. He had done well, saving himself and five of the platforms carrying the robotic civilians. But Trent had performed the ultimate self-sacrifice, giving up his own life to save the lives of all the robotic civilians.
No matter how hard he tried, Daniel couldn't accept or understand it; the mere idea of sacrificing his life for a few no name strangers a concept beyond foreign, a concept that was just plainly wrong.
The projection faded, being sucked back into the ceiling PDU as the last transport carrying the robotic civilians vanished to be disintegrated back into liquid programmable
matter. He peeked towards Knight Captain Quinn, current commander of the Terra Space Battalion, hoping to glimpse how the large, grey bearded man, would react to the self-sacrifice. But his expression, like always, was iron, hiding all emotions.
Now that phase three had completed, it was time to move onto the final interview phase of the recruitment trial. Responsibility for interviewing new recruits always fell to the current TSB Commander, Knight Captain Quinn, the current TSB Vice-Commander, Commander Daiyu, and the current NHA Liaison to the TSB, Sir Simwa.
The two highest ranking officers, and what most TSB officers referred to as plainly, the spy, were an interesting bunch. Knight Captain Quinn stood close to 211 centimeters tall and was pure muscle and could easily have been mistaken for a mountain. His age was unknown, at least to Daniel, but he'd been commander of the TSB for the last 30 years, the images of him from that time revealing he hadn’t aged a day.
He was an NHA noble, which was why he had the prefix knight before his rank, though nobody knew exactly why he would choose a position within the TSB over the more respectable NHA fleet positions. There were many rumors about his past, however, though few facts, most speaking of Sir Quinn having been disgraced in some faraway court, banished to babysit the backwards world of Earth.
Standing in complete contradiction to the towering TSB Commander, was the TSB Vice-Commander, Commander Daiyu. She was easily the shortest woman within the entire TSB, or so Daniel thought, standing a mere 152 centimeters tall, with short cropped black hair and a hawk like face. She appeared no older than 18, but Daniel knew better then to rely on looks, since the NHA’s aging gene modifications and advanced medical science could keep people looking young for hundreds of years.
Standing apart from the pair of TSB officers was the NHA liaison to the TSB, Sir Simwa, covering a yawn and looking beyond bored. He was of average height and noble perfect looks, having no distinct features that Daniel could discern, besides a few cosmetic white locks in his bowl shaped, wavy brown hair.
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