Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2 Page 6

  An undertone of chemicals underlies the dank air.

  I study the space, waiting for some threat to leap out, but everything conforms to the design layouts crammed in my head.

  After Jonathon and Victoria settle behind me, I inch forward.

  Rectangular panels flicker from the ceiling, pushing grayish light into the bleakness.

  Something is wrong.

  I sweep the room with a wide arc of my pistol.

  The narrow walkways between the pallets remain empty.

  Victoria steps in front of me. “Are you okay?”

  Without a logical answer, I suppress my suspicions and holster the pistol. I head to a maroon-covered pallet near the center of the space and remove the thick tarp.

  High explosives, shaped like rectangles about the size of my forearm, sit in neatly packed rows. From the next pallet, I grab a satchel and remote control. After I stuff a few of the red-colored explosives inside the canvas bag, I rip open a box of detonators.

  Several of the long metal tubes spill out and tinkle on the floor.

  “Be careful,” Jonathon says.

  I frown, annoyed an amateur is giving me combat advice and more annoyed he’s right. However, the combination of my headache and creepy feelings isn’t a recipe for amicable conversation, and I roll my eyes as a reply.

  When I jam the detonators into another pallet full of explosives next to the support column, Jonathon says, “Wait, what are you doing?”

  He’s located by the curtain hanging from the wall.

  I eye him with suspicion and say, “I’m going to blow up the building. Or at least a gigantic chunk of it.”

  “There’s no need for that. I already scrubbed the computer system.”

  Although we’re wasting valuable time, I explain, “If we blow this place up, then escaping will be easier. The Liberation Front and their friends won’t know if we’re dead or not. Besides, we’ll kill some of them, and in the confusion, there will be less of them to chase us.”

  He rubs his forehead. “There are others, staff and scientists, who are still hiding in the building. Civilians are in the area too. I can’t allow you to kill them.” He adds a defiant glare for emphasis.

  While part of me is relieved to not have to blow up innocent people, the ten sigma part of me snorts. “Are we adding avoiding collateral damage to the mission profile?”

  He nods. “Yes, avoid killing anyone you don’t have to.”

  “You realize that your goodwill is increasing the chances of us being killed.”

  Victoria brushes my arm.

  I glance over, mildly surprised at how silently she can move.

  “We’ll take the chance,” she says.

  I grind my teeth.

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  “Fine, I’ll just have to kill a few more people on the way out.”

  “Make sure they’re the right ones,” Jonathon adds.

  Just to correct the naivety of his combat assumptions, I want to challenge the rhetorical statement, but time is of the essence. I head to the far wall with the satchel in tow.

  Jonathon shuffles, keeping between me and…

  I whip my pistol out.

  “What’s wrong?” Victoria says with concern.

  Instead of responding, I drop the bag of explosives and focus on the pudgy scientist.

  He averts my stare.

  My eyes narrow.

  His hands fidget, and he’s positioned at an odd angle.

  As the silence stretches, I study the tarp behind where he’s standing.

  No, not standing. Guarding.

  The thick sheet is shielding something I’m not supposed to see.

  I holster the gun and march to him. When I move to step by, he shoves his arm across my path. “No,” he pleads.

  If he still had his pistol, I swear he would shoot me in the leg.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “You don’t want to see what’s behind there.”

  I grab a fistful of his lab coat, tired of half-answers and creepy warnings.

  He yelps, but I don’t care. I need what’s behind the curtain, and if necessary, I will do him bodily harm.

  Jonathon sets his lips in a line, and although I admire his stubbornness, I tighten my grip, raising him to his tippy-toes.

  Before my actions escalate into something I’ll regret, Victoria intervenes, saying in a soothing tone, “Mary, please.”

  I frown but set him down.

  “Jonathon, let her by,” she commands.

  Even though a grim expression crosses his face, he steps aside.

  I march past and pause.

  Whatever lies behind is in my data dump, but I didn’t ask for this specific detail. It’s not important for the escape.

  Yet, I needed to come here.

  In a swift motion, I yank the tarp down.

  A cloud of dust erupts as the heavy material piles onto the floor.

  I blink, not wanting to believe what’s in front of me.

  Stacks of clear coffin-sized containers crawl to the ceiling. Inside each, a gelatinous mixture holds a long nude body in suspension. The nearest one draws my attention. From behind the glassy surface, beautiful blue eyes return my gaze while vivid strands of red hair float past her perfect features.

  When I lean forward, my dusty reflection appears on the clear material.

  A gasp leaves my mouth.

  Under the soot lining my face, we’re identical.

  I stagger backward, forcing away a flood of ten sigma memories.

  From every coffin in the wall of coffins, long naked forms of Brin stare with accusation.

  I sink to the floor, my eyes darting to the sides and upward, trying to figure out what crime I’ve committed.

  Did some underlying guilt guide me to this place?

  My eyes drop to the crumpled tarp as remembrances of dead friends and awful deeds crawl into my mind.

  Cupping my hands over my forehead, I force away the information overload. While not as terrible as the stinging flood from the cubes, this revelation is crippling in its own way. “It’s not me. It’s not me,” I whisper to myself under deep breaths.

  Jonathon says, “Sorry, I was trying to protect you. Seeing this many versions of yourself is disorienting.”

  I raise my head.

  There are a hundred of them. No, that’s not right. The top-left corner is empty. Only ninety-nine lie stacked against the wall.

  I’m in the hundredth.

  My voice croaks as I say, “When I was leaving the ten sigma universe, there was a ten-by-ten grid of lights I was fighting to reach. Was each one of these bodies representing one of those lights?”

  After pulling in a deep breath, he replies, “Yes, it’s difficult to reintegrate the human essence with a fully formed body and then animate it. We allow the essence to choose the body that will be the easiest for the transition.”

  “What if it fails?”

  He shrugs. “Besides the resources involved, it’s one reason why there’s a ten sigma constraint. Because a ten sigma finds a way to win every battle. Even the impossible ones. That’s why I’m always confident in your ability.”

  Although the words make sense on the surface, I spend a moment digesting the implications.

  “When you look at them, what do you see?” Victoria asks, suddenly at my side.

  I push off the dusty floor, battling the dizziness. After steadying myself, I edge closer to the stacks, only stopping when my reflection again reappears on the glassy surface.

  Except for the mane of red hair, there isn’t a trace of my former self. I’m stuck in the same perfect form and the same classically beautiful face I had in the virtual universe.

  “I see a lot of bad memories,” I reply to avoid discussing why the Ten Sigma overlords gave me a different body from my real one.

  “Is that all?”

  Although I try not to look, the coffins span to the edges of my vision, sending recriminations for everythin
g I did in the program.

  This can’t be who I am.

  I twist from the wall, saying, “I thought I’d be more of my old self.”

  She tilts her head. “It’s difficult to imagine anybody going through hardships of the Ten Sigma Program without changing.”

  I reply with a shallow nod, tightening my lips to force back my conflicted emotions.

  Muffled sounds come from the hallway, and an ominous clang rings from the doors.

  Happy to return to the mission priorities, I straighten. “We don’t have all day to sit here. Let’s go.”

  Victoria smiles. “Lead the way.”

  My gaze trails back to the wall of Brins. “Are there any other uses for these bodies?”

  Jonathon replies, misunderstanding my reasoning, “No. Like I mentioned, you should get used to this one.”

  Because this is the one and only one I’ll get in this world.

  “Great,” I reply and head to a corner pallet.

  Thermite bricks and other things that burn at high temperatures lie under the covering.

  I grab several of the items and run back.

  Time to break from the nightmares of the Ten Sigma Program.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathon asks as I toss the flammables on top of the coffins.

  I motion my charges back and light a flare. “Just something I need to do before we leave.”

  After they retreat, I throw the burning stick onto the coffins.

  A searing flash rushes over the top as I step back.

  “Destroying the physical evidence is an excellent idea,” Victoria says with admiration.

  Rather than divulging the truth, I stay silent, transfixed by the intense heat melting through the clear material and falling into the suspension mixture. As the highest layer of bodies burn, oily wisps of black rise and crawl over the ceiling. The process repeats to the next levels down, the stacks shriveling inward in a molten mix of burned flesh and melted container.

  When the hollowed-out coffins collapse into a macabre pile of flaming goo, I say, “I think most of the Liberation Front are downstairs now, so there will be fewer when we get outside.”

  Jonathon wrinkles his nose from the bitter odors but grits his teeth, steeling himself for what’s coming.

  I smile. In the end, he’s just an out-of-his-depth, nervous scientist.

  As I turn away, Victoria winks, ready for more action. She always surpasses my expectations, but this time, I frown, unsure of why it bothers me.

  Another clang comes from outside.

  I toss the satchel over my shoulder and march to the outer wall. There, I leap onto a pallet of wooden boxes and pull myself higher using a metal rail. A moment passes before I find a suitable location and flip the bag over a blue pipe.

  It nestles against a water-stained brick in a perfect position.

  I jump down and drag Victoria and Jonathon behind a tall pallet. Our feet touch as I sit opposite them.

  “After the explosion, follow me out of here as fast as you can. Don’t wait for anything.”

  I stare until they bob their heads in understanding, then I grab the detonator, tuck my head down, and hold my hands over my ears.

  As they mimic my posture, I thumb the remote control. My mind clears at the prospect of battle. Even my neverending headache diminishes. When the fighting starts, I will be absolutely at home.

  This is the best I’ve felt all day.

  And that makes me sad.

  My lips twist in irony as I press the button.

  Ten

  The floor trembles and the pallets jolt as the concussion rips across the storage space. Water and chemicals spray from ruptured pipes. A heartbeat later, a roiling cloud of soot spills over our hiding spot, raining slimy black specks.

  Sunlight pokes through the murk.

  While Jonathon and Victoria cough, I wipe loose particles from my hair and spring from cover. With a final glance at the smoldering pile of Brins, I turn from the horrors of the virtual universe and head toward the outside world and my family.

  The tarps are slick, and I use caution leaping from pallet to pallet. When I bound close enough, I jump for the hole. Even though the pipes and broken blocks are slippery, my fingers find purchase on the rough edges of the opening, and I yank myself up and out of the building.

  Acrid air stings my nostrils as I crawl onto rubble-strewn pavement. Although the sun shines overhead, dust limits my visibility to a bricked sidewall five meters away, which stretches into the haze.

  A shadow stumbles nearby.

  I crouch and close the distance. With a quick step, I slam into a stunned figure, wearing Liberation Front armor. When I rip his helmet off, young eyes send a bewildered stare. He’s a teenager and reminds me of Walt. Instead of breaking his neck, I smack my palm into his temple.

  He collapses.

  Hoping the youngster isn’t hurt too badly, I sling his rifle over my shoulder and nab a few of his pistol reloads.

  Shuffles come from within the hanging cloud.

  I draw my sword and squeeze the hilt to trigger the nanobots. With the gleaming edge behind my back, I move down the alley with quiet steps. To avoid mistakes that might make Jonathon unhappy, I spend a moment circling a mob of silhouettes, who I identify as five Liberation Front soldiers impaired by the explosion.

  Advantage to me.

  I leap into the milling men.

  As usual, the non-augmented react with glacial speed, and since I’m among them, they avoid shooting and try to use their rifles as close-quarters weapons.

  Their feeble efforts yield nothing, and the enhanced sword flies through metal and flesh. Five seconds after my first strike, the last body crumples into the crimson puddle widening around my feet.

  I wipe soot from under my eyes and sheathe the blade.

  When I turn, Victoria stands nearby, black sprays of dust streaking her white outfit and shiny blonde hair. A smirk pokes from under her grime-covered face. She’s seen the fight and approves of my speed and skill.

  I shrug. What transpired is barely a skirmish, not even close to the challenge of winning a Ten Sigma Program scenario.

  Her cool demeanor returns along with her regal posture. She glances at the unconscious form of my first victim and says, “You let him live.”

  Rather than explaining my unwillingness to kill teenagers, I change the subject by offering her a rifle.

  She politely answers, “You are my protection.”

  Although my experience tells me it’s always best to rely on one’s self, this isn’t my decision. I return a shallow nod, tossing aside the weapon.

  Jonathon flails from the smoky opening.

  I run over and pull him out. As he stands, wiping droplets from his dirty face, I remember the almost disaster with Flying Eagle and stick to my vow of not letting him have a weapon. After I send him off to join Victoria, I stare at the hole, fighting the urge to dive back inside and set off the rest of the explosives.

  This is only the beginning of our rush to safety. With the explosion broadcasting our location, we still have to escape from Flying Eagle, his Liberation Army, and a host of augments, who are almost impervious in their battle-mesh.

  Destroying the building would be so easy and solve so many future problems.

  But, aside from my promise to minimize civilian casualties, I’d have to go face my ghosts too.

  I mutter a curse and rejoin my charges.

  While Victoria stands ready to move, Jonathon leans against the wall, winded.

  I give him a moment to catch his breath while I plan our next moves from my data dump. We’re in the northern enclave of New Austin, and several promising escape routes present themselves.

  However, the journey will encompass at least twenty kilometers on foot and probably hostile actions unless we secure transportation.

  I study Jonathon’s red face and sagging body, pondering how to get him to do the impossible.

  A breeze wanders through the alley, pushing a
way the haze.

  From nearby, the lifeless eyes of my last victim stare at me.

  I walk over and kneel next to him. Like the four others, his blood has mixed with dust and coagulated into the cracks of the pavement. It’s thick, with a metallic odor, and more detailed than anything I remember in any scenario.

  These were real people.

  Although they were awful, my lack of remorse for killing them bothers me more than ever.

  Heavy steps pound from nearby.

  As much as I would like to stay and fight, I have to get the two in my care to safety.

  “Come on Jonathon, we have to move.”

  He pulls in a deep breath, and we hustle away.

  “Faster, faster,” I say, glancing up and down the alley, equal parts worried about what we’re going to run into and what’s going to find us.

  Jonathon slips, still disoriented from the explosion.

  I stop and grab his arm to support him. “Victoria, hold up.”

  She turns. “What’s wrong?”

  “We can’t escape with him like this,” I say with exasperation. “We have to find a place to hide.”

  It’s not the ten sigma way, but we’ll have to wait until reinforcements arrive.

  Before she or Jonathon answers, a crowd of soldiers dashes around the far corner. A man shouts, and a hasty shot splinters a brick next to my head.

  I return fire. After the enemy scatters, I grab Jonathon, and we sprint away.

  As we near the end of the alley, more pulses sear past, and I realize there’s one major flaw to my strategy.

  It will only work if help is coming…

  Eleven

  Jonathon ducks and Victoria flinches as pulses carve superheated tunnels of air around our fleeing forms. When we slow near the end of the alley, a blast singes my shoulder plating with a sharp hiss, and pain flares over my skin.

  Grimacing, I twist and reply with a barrage.

  Packets of energy pepper the pursuers, and the lead man tumbles in a crash of armor, screaming from a burn across his neck. The others scurry into hiding.