Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3 Read online

  A temporary one.

  Valerie places her briefcase on the alcove chair while Jonathon clears off the nightstand for his black box.

  After Frederic closes the curtains to the bay window, he says, “Let’s get started.”

  I get comfortable as Valerie pulls out a glass tablet and sets a professional smile on her face. When she leans over the bed, a pleasant perfume floods over me.

  “This contains the basic contract for you to enroll in the Ten Sigma Program,” she says in a lawyerly voice.

  “Just show me where to sign.”

  Unwilling to break with procedure, she swipes her finger to advance the yellow text glowing above the screen. “You’ll see that everything is in order.”

  As she explains the mundane details of the contract, I alternate my gaze between Jonathon making large shakes of his head and Frederic stoically standing with arms folded.

  When Valerie finally reaches the acceptance sheet, she says, “In exchange for downloading your consciousness you shall receive no compensation.”

  “Then why the hell are you doing this?” Jonathon screeches.

  Although Frederic glares at the scientist, he doesn’t intervene.

  “This is my choice. I’m going after my wife, and I’m going to find her in this program of yours.”

  “His wife was the special one,” Frederic adds.

  “But her scores were off the charts. What are his?” Jonathon replies.

  I ask, “What are scores?”

  “Wait.” He faces Frederic. “This man has never been evaluated?”

  Frederic shrugs.

  Jonathon swivels to me, “Then why are you volunteering?”

  “I just told you. I’m going to be with my wife. She’s my soulmate, get it?” I say, letting anger march into my tone.

  “Just do your job,” Frederic says.

  Jonathon’s not finished. “It’s called the Ten Sigma Program for a reason. We take people with no alternatives. And you haven’t even been vetted. Do you understand what you’re getting into?”

  “Nothing more than what my wife got into.”

  Frederic jabs his finger at me. “What my esteemed colleague is saying is that you are a fool, which is something I mentioned too.”

  Even though my stomach sinks, I refuse to believe anything could be as bad as they’re saying. With some bluster, I reply, “All I need is a chance, so I can come back with my wife.”

  “Only if you pass all the tests,” Frederic answers.

  “Fair enough. Now, can we get on with this?”

  “This is a program for people without any choice. You don’t have any debts, and you’re healthy,” Jonathon says.

  “My wife is in this program, and I intend to be with her.”

  “You have no idea of what you’re getting into!”

  “As long as there’s a chance we can get back,” I reply with the last word falling barely short of a shout.

  Frederic steps between us. “There is, but it’s small. On the other hand, if you return, both of you will have healthier, better bodies waiting. Jonathon, that’s enough, the man’s made his choice. Respect it.”

  Fingers tap my shoulder. “Excuse me, Nick. How would you like your wealth to be distributed?” Valerie asks.

  “Put everything into a trust.” I look at Frederic. “I’ve got one other request. You talked about two years for making me go away. Give me your word that this cottage stays intact. We’ll be coming back. That’s the only thing I want.”

  Frederic nods. “You have my word.”

  “Fine. Now can we get on with this?” I say, pressing my thumb onto the glass tablet. “I accept this contract.”

  Valerie says, “You are now the property of the United States of America.” She steps to Frederic, who accepts the contract on behalf of the government.

  While Valerie returns the tablet to her briefcase, Frederic indicates to Jonathon.

  Jonathon frowns as he puts a sleek metal band around my scalp.

  “Any last words?” Frederic asks.

  Although I want to give a speech about people crapping on my dreams and how I’ll win in the end, I settle for something more direct. “Keep your promise and have this place ready for when we get back.”

  A snort comes from Valerie.

  “And lock the front door on the way out.”

  With a faint smile, Frederic nods while Jonathon starts a countdown. “Ten, nine…”

  My gaze wanders to the bookcase where neat shelves of trinkets remind me of the line of AI caricatures used by the hacker. As I wait, I try to remember where Mary bought the various pieces. I only reach a porcelain figurine of a woman holding a parasol on the second shelf before Jonathon says, “Two, one…”

  The world freezes.

  My eyes dart over the space, wondering where my midnight visitors have gone.

  I snicker.

  The footboard and headboard of the bed are under and over the bookcase. The room has been peeled backward and sits flattened just past my feet. It’s hilarious and just like being on some potent hallucinogen, only ten times worse than anything I tried in college.

  Lines crawl from the bottom of the tidy picture, traveling upward and outlining the furniture, bay window, and hand-carved door. Some veer into the bookcase, wrapping around each of the trinkets. When others reach the top and have nowhere left to go, they widen into cracks with crinkly noises. A moment later, the flattened space shatters, and the porcelain figurine falls away among the other pieces of bedroom spinning into oblivion.

  Guffaws erupt from my throat.

  The center of a featureless gray backdrop, which I never knew resided under reality, pulls away, rocketing into the distance. The bed tilts, and I’m tipping over and sliding down the mattress toward the lengthening abyss.

  Maybe this isn’t so funny.

  Although I stop making sounds of hilarity, the bubbles of good humor continue to echo around me as I tumble into the gaping hole.

  It’s going to be a wild ride.

  Eight

  The mocking giggles follow my naked, falling form. Somehow, I’ve lost my clothing, but that’s the least of my problems.

  As my speed increases, waves ripple over my skin and into my tissues.

  Although a surprised wail escapes from my mouth, I revel in the discomfort instead of panicking and enjoy my recently discovered screwdriver-inspired sadomasochistic streak.

  My eyes widen as my flesh softens. The uncomfortable sensation grows, vibrating through my bones.

  When my form liquefies into blobs of goo, I reach my pain threshold and my carefree attitude ends.

  However, no sounds come when I scream. My mind processes the nonexistence of my lips and lungs as the disintegration marches onward. The larger masses of my body split into droplets and, moments later, smaller granules of matter.

  Mercifully, the agony fades when the last vestiges of my physical being disappear, leaving only my falling consciousness inside an accompanying bubble of laughter.

  The receding end of the tunnel meets a gray sphere, promising a horrible outcome for the trip.

  I’m rocketing toward certain death.

  Doubts about the wisdom of joining the Ten Sigma Program spike through me.

  They wouldn’t download me just to kill me…

  Fear overcomes the rationalization as the barrier spreads across my vision.

  To keep control, I focus on my wife—my purpose for entering this crazy place. Nothing will prevent me from finding her.

  Before I get too anxious, a black speck appears on the surface and, a moment later, my consciousness flies through a tiny opening.

  The thrill ride abruptly ends when the mysterious forces dissipate. Soon after, the accompanying sounds of hilarity die, leaving me in a dark space without form.

  As I reflect on the path my life has taken, the strange circumstances somehow feel right.

  My resolve hardens.

  This is only the first step for what I need to
accomplish.

  Time passes, and boredom leaches into my thoughts. How long I wait in the nothingness is anyone’s guess. However, I survive by focusing on the happiness of being reunited with my wife.

  I’ll prove all the doubters wrong.

  Entities appear on the edge of my perception.

  The virtual overlords.

  Why that title comes to me, I don’t know, but instead of grandeur, these beings feel more like introverted scientists rather than computer gods.

  “Inadequate,” they murmur.

  As their first impression of me rumbles across the space, my fury rises.

  More doubters…

  I holler, “Where’s my wife?”

  But without a body, much less a mouth, the fading echoes of “inadequate” remain undisturbed.

  The presences recede, and once again, I exist alone.

  At least temporarily. A whirlwind rises, bringing gold specks, which brighten like fireflies around my awareness. With each circuit, the winds increase in violence, while the glows lengthen, turning into luminous strands. Abruptly, everything stills, and the fibers coalesce, weaving and binding my essence into a shimmering form.

  Although the golden body isn’t what I expected, if I had any expectations at all, I’m not displeased by the results.

  A dome of the most perfect blue appears, and the fabric of my being stretches, struggling to embrace its glory.

  More gusts arrive, and the vortex reappears with a hundred times the force.

  The shiny material of my being ripples, then pieces rip away, feeding the maelstrom. Despite my newfound affinity for pain, I tremble.

  What’s happening?

  Anger rises from the darkness inside me. None of this painful, bewildering process matters. If Mary endured this, then so can I.

  While more shreds of gold fly into the whipping winds and fall apart, I imagine seeing my wife again and embrace the experience.

  At the height of the disembodiment, as I worry not enough of me will remain to reassemble into a person, red sparks and black specks join the chaos.

  Startled, I watch helplessly as the intruding material stretches to match the length of the golden threads.

  A red thread wraps around my consciousness and…

  Under a beating sun, I stand in a brown, parched field. A mound of stones sits at my feet while my hand holds thin ropes tied to a leather pouch. The contraption is a shepherd’s sling and what David used to defeat Goliath. How such a weapon could make a difference on a modern battlefield I have no idea, but my body leans down and my fingers choose a round stone. Surprised at being reduced to an observer, I watch as I place the projectile into the leather cradle. The air fills with a whirring sound after my arm jerks upward and whirls the sling above my head. My focus shifts to a wooden pole ten steps away.

  I release the knotted end of one of the strings, and the stone rockets through the air.

  It barely clips the top of the post.

  Not good enough.

  The sun heats my neck and shoulders as the lesson repeats. My aim improves with each effort, and when I become proficient, the target moves backward and the process starts once more.

  After I’ve mastered every nuance of slinging rocks from every position, even while running, the dry field vanishes, and once again, gusts of red and black engulf my existence.

  At least for an instant.

  A black thread grabs my consciousness…

  Engines rumble from C-47 transports as searchlights slice through the night. A cross-breeze ruffles my parachute while I scan between the scattered fires dotting the dark ground. I’m falling into Normandy on D-Day. Fear swells in my gut and sweat trickles down my back. Flashes erupt and red tracers rise. A man floating nearby spasms as the bullets punch into his chest. I desperately twist and spill the chute, almost plunging from the sky, until a few terrifying seconds later, my boots sink into a marsh.

  Shocked, I tumble from the World War Two nightmare and into the clutches of another do-or-die situation.

  A switchblade waves at my face. A hoodlum has me cornered in a dank alleyway, reeking of dead rats and old garbage. As the stocky man shuffles his feet, my body shifts into a defensive posture. He lunges with blazing speed. Pain, dull for the size of the gory slash running across my bicep, registers. I reply with a lightning strike, and my knife rockets past his arm and into his chest with a wet thud.

  The experience changes, and wearing high-tech armor, I charge down a long, gray corridor with a squad of soldiers, hating the confined environment. A whoosh comes from an intersection, and the world explodes in a blinding flash. White phosphorus shreds men, who scream as they go down. A nugget of the blazing substance rips into my shoulder. The unforgettable stench of my burning flesh fills my nose. As pain from the seared tissue overwhelms my newfound sadistic streak, I twist into a side passageway and run down a set of stairs, plowing into my enemies. Elation spreads throughout my being as my rifle pumps rounds into their midst.

  I fall back into the storm, not understanding if the strange feeling comes from me or the thread.

  A knotted mess of red plows past and drags me into archery lessons. After I’m proficient with short bows, long bows, and every type of bow in between, I’m returned to the maelstrom.

  They’re stuffing me with every bit of information about combat.

  I laugh and force myself into a tangle of black. In rapid succession, I duel with a katana in true samurai fashion, fight as a shiny knight protecting a king, and ride in the Charge of the Light Brigade.

  When I pop out, I embrace the storm and slam into a bunch of red threads that teach me the lethal dances of hand-to-hand combat in all fighting styles.

  Drunk with power, I dive into the swirling cyclone of knowledge until I can’t comprehend the lessons being stuffed into me.

  But discomfort is nothing next to my goal of finding my wife and soulmate. Each hardship will be worth the struggle.

  This is the best path my life could have taken.

  The fragments pile on. As a member of Parthian cavalry, I fire arrows at Romans. Surrounded by stalks of rice, I battle a sniper in Vietnam. At Fredericksburg, I charge into houses rooting out Confederates. I fight Caesar’s legions from a giant earthwork.

  My mind withers under the unrelenting assault until all the whizzing bullets and clashing swords and flying fists intermix into a single long smear of blood, sweat, and death.

  Everything quiets.

  I squint into midday sunlight while a gentle breeze blows dust past my face. Raising my hand against the glare, I blink, shocked to have control over my body.

  Bandits riding huge horses and wearing wide-brimmed sombreros thud down a dirt road. The thatched huts of a small village lie in their path.

  I could dive into a ditch and let them pass or fight for the safety of innocent people.

  “What will you do?”

  The question isn’t spoken; the words flow into my mind.

  I answer by pulling out my six-shooters and stepping in front of the marauders. I fire three shots before the leading bandits ride over me, crushing my body into the dust.

  The world drops away in a whirlpool of brittle beige and dripping red.

  I’m placed into an ancient Chinese castle. Fires and shouting erupt beyond the end of an exquisitely decorated corridor as packs of black-robed court eunuchs flee past. I can run with them or uphold my oath to protect the Emperor and his family.

  “What will you do?”

  The answer is simple.

  With the power of the threads, nothing will defeat me.

  I draw my sword and dash to aid the imperial family.

  A wall of shields greets me as I round the corner.

  Undaunted, I charge into the enemy ranks. We meet with a clash of metal, and many spears thrust into my body. I fall as torrents of my blood spill over the wooden floor. While my enemies stomp over my dying form, I curse the virtual overlords.

  A moment later, my eyes open to anot
her dire situation. This time, a platoon of Nazi tanks, swastikas boldly painted on the sides of their turrets, bears down on a column of refugees.

  What will you do?

  As the ground rumbles, the women and children cry for help.

  Frustrated and furious, I grab my rifle and attack the gray machines. My brazen assault lasts for a few seconds before a tank takes aim and ends my world in an explosion of dirt and gore.

  As the experience falls away in a swirl of green leaves and gray uniforms, I sense the shaking of heads.

  A new jungle backdrop appears, presenting similar circumstances. I make my choice to defend the innocent and achieve similar results.

  More situations unfold with the same question asked. Each time, I do as any good man should and get annihilated for my efforts.

  The vicious cycle stops.

  “I want another chance!” I shout into the void.

  The sound echoes.

  I look down, surprised.

  The golden strands have woven back into a body. Only this time, the red and black threads have embedded themselves within the material.

  I scream with fury, “Why? Why give me the knowledge and put me in a place where I can’t help?”

  Silence.

  “Let me try again!”

  “What will you do?”

  I pause, not understanding the meaning.

  “What will you do?”

  “You want me to hide? I won’t do that!”

  Murmurs of disdain fill the space. “No chance.” “Incompetent.” “Inadequate.”

  “I’ll prove you all wrong.”

  My words trail away, unanswered.

  “I will find my wife!”

  Panic erupts in my being; I don’t know her name.

  What else is lost?

  Terrified, I search my memories, only to discover they’re in fragments.

  There was a cottage. Did I live there?

  A sister and a niece.

  I think of my parents and anger rises. Afraid of what that means, I hunt further. Many fractured images later, I find a redheaded woman standing in front of a sunlit bay window. Her name is Mary, and she is my wife. Relief floods through me as my other memories bind around her.

  However, no matter how hard I try, my name doesn’t resurface. Instead, there’s only a series of numbers and letters.