The Delta Project

by Zac Strong

  The faint sound of another explosion ripples across my ears over the low hum of the cycle, but it’s too far across the city to see anything. The city alarms wail on repeat, people cry out in terror, what has this place become?

  We brake in front of the Ugly Mug. She cuts the lights and lifts the cycle door.

  “Odd time for a drink, isn’t it?”

  “Out,” Kalli.. or Iris orders.

  I reluctantly obey.

  She slams the door down and races off, abandoning me without instruction.

  From under the neon glow of the Mug, I spot Tal on the other side of the front window. He’s working some dishes behind the bar.

  “Tal?” I ask, barging into the stained, wooden doors like I own the place. “What in the hell is going on? What are you doing here?”

  “You need to hide. They’ll be here any minute,” says Tal, emotionless.

  “What’s happening!?”

  “Hide in the bathroom now.” No expression on his face.

  Woman’s bathroom. First stall. I pull my legs to my chest and position myself to be here for a while. Miraculously, the holes in my abdomen and arm have healed. I’m beginning to feel normal again. Even the scrapes from the crash have already disappeared under the dry blood they left behind. Whatever was in those pills worked. This must be how Athan feels.

  Just as Tal prophesied the front door of the Mug swings open.

  Footsteps.

  The faintly muffled voices of two men. Suits.

  “Have you seen this man?” one of them asks, undoubtedly holding an image of me.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything right now,” replies Tal honestly. His voice robotic, but I can sense sarcasm, or perhaps defiance buried beneath his words.

  “You don’t know?” ask the deeper voice.

  “Let me make this easy for you. We both know you are programmed to tell Lethe officials the truth at all times. Anything other than the truth must mean you’ve malfunctioned. Not gonna lie to you, Machina. Your model is old. What are you like Gen-1, Gen-2? No point in repair or reassembly that far out, if you know what I mean, and I know you do. At approximately 8:21 PM this man departed a ground vehicle in front of this building. Simple question. Where did he go?”

  A long pause.

  My legs start to numb trying to keep them off the ground. It’s becoming more difficult to take a quiet breath.

  “I don’t know,” replies Tal.

  “Wrong answer.”

  The loud, unmistakable bang of a firearm.

  The sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

  The patter of footsteps on hardwood for several minutes, followed by the creak of a door opening.

  “And remember, if you see something, say something.”

  The door slams closed.

  Silence.

  I wait about ten minutes to be sure they were gone before confirming what I didn’t want to be true.

  My heart breaks when I see him.

  “Dammit Tal, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

  His silicone face ripped to unrecognition. An oily black substance leaks from the bullet wound where wires from his shattered transmitter spark.

  A Machina turned out to be a better man than Poth.

  Like magic, the jukebox illuminates to life from behind, scaring the fucking shit out of me. A reggae track from the old world drifts through the still room.

  The ground from under the jukebox rises. Expanding rapidly. Transforming.

  Burnin' and a-fightin’ tonight

  Say we gonna burn and fight

  Burnin' and a-fightin’ tonight

  Exposed motorized machinery spins quickly as multiple bolts lock into position. The jukebox face swings open revealing a hidden mechanical staircase. The music still drifting from it.

  Burnin' all pollution tonight

  Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah

  Fightin’ all illusion tonight

  Cautiously, I peek into the unlit stairway leading into some type of secret basement under the Ugly Mug. How long has all of this been here?

  My curiosity drags me down. The jukebox snaps closed behind me, activating the machinery again in reverse. The stairs collapse upon themselves as the tiny metal room at the bottom moves horizontally in the manner of mine shaft elevator, carrying me with it away from the Mug, too dark to see anything, unsure of what awaits.

  The room shrieks to a stop, rocking from the cable it’s suspended from. Metallic echoes hunt the empty space around me. Then, the sudden sensation of falling is followed by another abrupt stop. The caged elevator room I’m trapped in locks into position as

  the front wall splits, opening into a bigger room. This one’s partially lit.

  The room’s vastness takes me by surprise. Through the cage I spot a metal catwalk, bridging over a dark borehole, big enough to fit a shuttle into. Darkness swallows all but a few meters around the narrow walkway. No telling how far down the hole is. I’m not trying to find out.

  Using the rusted rails to inch over to the solid ground on the other side, I find myself in the crosshairs of two automatic sentries. Giant, three times as large as a Lethe droid. Hidden behind iron plates buried in the concrete, they wield .50 caliber machine guns. Behind them, the massive chamber door of an airlock.

  “Hello?” my voice echoes.

  Stream ejects from the airlock thrusters. It rumbles open, just enough for a person to step through. The silhouette of a man takes shape in the bright light behind the airlock.

  “Welcome, Eros,” he pronounces sternly, as he walks into view. An older man, eerily resembling Archer Lethe with the same grandfather beard but braided. His white hair, long, also braided down his back. He pulls from his trench coat a golden pocket watch, checks it, and raises an empty hand towards me.

  His handshake’s firm, but warm. His demeanor is edging dangerous, but an easiness surrounds him like I’ve known him my entire life. With crystalline brown eyes, the color of honey, he looks right into my soul and speaks. “I see you received my invitation. Welcome to Kronos,” he announces, arms raised to his sides, showing off the magnificence of this place he’s undoubtedly proud of.

  A tiny voice in the back of my head begs me to turn back, but there is no chance now. There’s nothing left to go back to.

  He checks his watch again. “You are right on time. That’s nice of you. I have a great appreciation for the punctual.”

  “Sir, I’m going to be extremely honest with you. I have no idea what’s going on right now. One second I’m being chased and shot, the next I’m crashing, then there was this gir-”

  “This way,” he says, stowing the watch.

  Into the light of the vault, I follow. The airlock loudly seals behind us.

  The place is massive. Fluorescents burn white over rows of reclined surgical chairs like the ones in BioHacks, dozens of them occupied. Every chair’s stationed next to a computer with a network line attached to its occupant’s arm. Plugged manually into the system, the users slumber in a comatose state. The server lights blink yellow in pattern as they hum a constant melody.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” asks the stranger. “Every vault, like this one, operating on an entirely closed system that I designed myself.”

  This place is impressive, to say the least.

  The man smiles and formally introduces himself. ”The name’s Niko, by the way. Niko Lethe.”

  The sound of that name forces a flinch.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Not that type of Lethe,” he interjects, pointing subtly to the surface. “My brother, Archer, and I haven’t been on speaking terms for quite some time now. We no longer see things eye to eye.”

  “Your brother?”

  “He used to be. He’s something else now. The real Archer was murdered centuries ago. His beloved Machina has taken his place, acting as if it was king of the world ever since.”

  “Archer Lethe is a Machina? The Archer Lethe?”

  “Life is often not
as it seems. His creation ultimately took his body, using the catalyst to keep himself together, the catalyst that I developed from my own blood. If you made it this far, you must know by now. Some of us are born different, variations in our DNA that help us adapt and survive. The mutation was first discovered in myself long ago, a few months prior to the meteor. I noticed a cut of mine healed at an unusual rate. This, eventually, led our company to develop a cure for everything, the catalyst for life.”

  “So, how’d you end up here? What is this place anyway? Who are these people??” I ask bluntly.

  “This... is Kronos. We are standing amongst the forgotten fallout vaults of Olympia before she became Olympia. I hacked the sentries years ago and tunneled out to the Outlands, but this is it, the rebellion headquarters if you will. Our home. You couldn’t have arrived at a more perfect time.”

  “It was you all along, then? Palin? You led me here. I knew it! But why? Why me?”

  “Well, I can’t take all of the credit. Iris is mostly responsible for your recruitment, assuming you wish to fight with us. We can certainly use the numbers. As I’m sure you’re aware Lethe won’t go down without a fight.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “The decision is yours to make, Eros. Live on your knees or fight on your feet?”

  “Where’s Athan? I’m not doing anything until I know he is safe.”

  “The last sighting of the boy was with your old friend, Oriyen. He was delivered to Lethe Tower shortly after the explosion. This is about more than him now. How many more like him will suffer and perish? How many more will they torture? The war for freedom will not win itself. Do you want to stop the Lethe Corporation or not?”

  “I do.”

  “Actions are greater than optimism. Join us and we will destroy Lethe together.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “This way,” orders Niko again, leading me through the symmetry of slumbering Kronos towards the rear of the vault. I spot Sophia among the sleeping.

  The back wall of this colossal concrete room is lined with computer screens, each displaying different feeds from the surface. A tatted datarat types furiously on one of the keyboards underneath. Two piercings for every tattoo and wired in at the eye. He’s too linked in to notice us.

  Above him, a loft made from the same industrial metal as the elevator room that brought me here. The bustle of conversation above ceases when they hear us clanking up the stairs.

  The cool blue glow from the holotable grabs my attention first. A 3-D miniature of Olympia rises from it, with highlighted buildings glowing red, and pulsating white arrows leading to Lethe Tower. Around the table sits a half-dozen swivel chairs, three of them occupied.

  “We’ve all been expecting you,” announces Niko. “Let me introduce your team.” He points to a dark man, bald, wearing some sort of breathing device strapped over his face. It covers all but his cold, grey eyes. Muscular build. Both arms, titanium. “The quiet one is Hector. He was the Pankration human division champion for over sixty years before he was defeated and brought back. Arguably the strongest man in Olympia.”

  “I believe you’ve already met Vulcan. He’s a genius and our private gunsmith. A little high maintenance, but personally responsible for hacking your eye upgrade and feeding it to every screen and display in Olympia at the perfect time. The city saw everything tonight, the kidnappings, the murder, the wreck that sent your shuttle into a building full of innocent civilians. We’re expecting hundreds, if not thousands, to join our cause because of you, Eros. You’ve already given us so much.”

  Vulcan slides his circle rimmed, tech goggles up over his wild, uncombed hair, gives me a wink and an energetic nod.

  “And, of course, you’ve already met the beautiful Selene.”

  “You never fail to amaze me,” I speak in disbelief.

  Her pearlescent purple hair bounces a few inches above her shoulders as she tilts her head smiling. Her lips now the same shifting violet as her hair. Her tits, still perfect, even through her blouse.

  “Welcome to the team,” she smiles.

  “So, you downloaded Palin to my computer after we hooked up?” A sense of betrayal slams me. I feel used, stupid.

  “Oh, you thought I was only there for the sex?” she laughs, petting a calico house cat nestling on her lap. “No offense, you’re cute, but not really my type, E.”

  Ouch.

  “She’s in all ways a cat person,” chimes Vulcan.

  “Ha. Ha. Cute,” Selene retorts over Vulcan’s high-pitched laughter. Rolls her eyes. “Speaking of, where is she?”

  “Now before you go worrying yourself to death, I’m sure Iris is fine. She was being tracked and had to improvise back at the Mug. She’s due back any moment,” replies Niko as he checks his pocket watch again.

  “And Tal?”

  “Tal didn’t make it,” I answer. “They shot his transmitter. He died protecting me.”

  “As we all would have done. We are a family, here. Once you are part of Kronos, you are family forever.” Niko’s words, omniscient and authentic, his tone, deep and inviting. I find myself beginning to respect this man out of reflex.

  “Where do I start?”

  “Vulcan, let’s get Eros strapped into Lotus, shall we? It’s time for his initiation.

  “Initiation?” I ask, not liking the sound of it.

  “Before you can overcome fear, you must first overcome yourself,” Vulcan answers in riddle, smiling like a psychopath.

  “What the fuck does that mean? What’s Lotus?”

  “Lotus is our virtual home away from home, a place where time has no meaning. More importantly, a place to train a thousand troops without Lethe knowing about it. Think of it as a better daughter to the Delta.”

  He signals for me to follow, leading me downstairs to a vacant chair. I have no idea what to expect.

  He plucks a hair from my head and with a crooked smile, he guides the network cable into the glowing port in my arm, presses a button, and I’m gone.

  Lotus.

  From a dark, smoky preset of obvious virtuality, something evolves from the floor in front of me, surrounding me. It’s soundless. Alive. Metallic liquid like altered mercury rises from a vibrating pool, shaping into something huge. It grows taller, expanding to where the night’s stars should be. Its edges and surfaces stretch into the smooth, fluid walls of a colosseum, gathering more detail each fleeting second. Silver bleachers rapidly manifest around the elevated and bubbling octagon tile I’m standing on. Then, the cage springs from the floor like metallic vines, growing and twisting around me.

  With a loud snap, the spotlight fixtures overhead flitter on, sending the shadows and the liquid away, leaving behind solid structure anchored into existence, indistinguishable from the real thing. Pankration. I’m center ring.

  My frantic eyes find Niko sitting behind the cage in the front row of the arena. He nods reassuringly. Between us, my opponent begins to pixelate into form. A shiver of chemicals run through me. I can feel my entire body begin to sweat.

  His feet spawn first, barefoot like me. Then his legs and chest. We’re wearing the same clothing, a white cloth kimono. His shoulders form, then his chin. Then, his face, and I realize what Vulcan meant. My opponent is me.

  Niko teleports to the corner of the cage. “This isn’t some artificial intelligence program, Eros. This is a virtual reconstruction of you, created entirely from your memories and your DNA. Every thought you have, he has. Every instinct. Every reflex. Being part of Kronos means you adapt and overcome anything that’s in your way. You must always be ready. You must always be smarter. Only one version of you can survive. You have ten minutes. Good luck.”

  With the click of his pocket watch, a massive countdown appears at the peak of the arena. My opponent and I both are caught staring at it in dismay.

  Our eyes lock. Neon lights strobe over us as the virtual crowd goes wild. The energy is overwhelming.

  He charges first.

&n
bsp; Knowing he would go for the takedown; I step left and throw everything I have into a fight-ending uppercut.

  He sees it coming and rotates into a leg sweep that sends my head bouncing off the canvas.

  Immediately, he takes the mount. He’s fast, stronger than I expected. The virtual copy of myself shoves his knees into my throat and swings.

  I block the first hammer fist from my back, but his next three land even quicker. Little specks of white and purple hinder my vision, but not enough to miss the elbow he’s looking to close with.

  He overextends.

  I curb his blow to the mat and use the momentum to flip over him, swinging my legs around, pinning him to the floor with a reversal.

  My first strike splits his eye. Bright red blood spills from it to the canvas like paint stuck in the clouds. He parries my second and squirms out from under me as we scramble to our feet and face off again upright.

  The only way I can beat him is to stay one step ahead. Think about what I would do and do the opposite. Of course, he’s probably thinking that too.

  He wipes the blood leaking from his eye as we circle each other, panting and pacing under the heat of the spotlights. There is an anger in him that pains me to recognize. He’s hungry. Desperate. Fed up.

  I lunge forward, closing the short distance between me and my virtual copy.

  He does the same.

  Our fists strike each other mid-flight, deflecting back to our sides, as shockwaves power through us from the impact.

  We fire again with the other fist, faster.

  Another collision. Even more powerful. Our punches meet again and crumble astray.

  The bones in my hands burn. In pain, I attack again, and again. With each block, I swing more erratically. Every strike is parried. Every movement’s countered. How can you defeat someone who knows you as well as you know yourself?

  I spin, slinging my extended heel around with deadly force, but it too crashes into his kick at the same time.

  Reposition.

  Exhale.

  Kick.

  The same fate as before.

  Sinking in frustration an idea floats by, something that might just give me the slight advantage I need to finish this.

  He lands his fist across my jaw and I taste blood.