Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2 Page 8

She points to islands of color sprouting across the cityscape, places where the electronics still function. “This was one of the crown jewels of the country. That’s why the President decided to hold it at all costs.”

  The high-level strategy is beyond my mission, and I reply, “We’ll rest here. After nightfall, we can steal something and get out of the city.”

  Her eyes quiver, and after the familiar mask of coldness settles over her face, she marches to the couch and sits. “Good. I’ll trust to your planning, and at least, we’re safe for the moment.”

  I pull the long curtains closed.

  For the moment.

  Thirteen

  With the ventilation off, the air thickens in the enclosed space. I wipe sweat from my brow.

  Jonathon slouches in the chair while Victoria sits on the couch. Although both look better, they need more rest.

  While my mind works on a more permanent solution, I part the curtains and peer down at Houston Square.

  A family of four runs past the hero on the horse statue, trying to escape the ruins of New Austin rather than hiding and awaiting their fate.

  Something we should do too.

  I turn and ask Jonathon, “Where do we need to go after getting out of the city?”

  “The enclave wall is ten kilometers from here. Then we have to cross some wasteland to get to a highway.”

  I frown, anguishing over the missed opportunity of blowing up the building along with everyone inside. In the current situation, even when Jonathon and Victoria are ready, we’ll only move a few blocks at a time under the pace required by combat. Given the mobility of the augments and the size of the force hunting us, the plan is a nonstarter.

  I’d have a better chance of killing all the hostiles by myself.

  My heart warms to the idea of removing Flying Eagle, the rest of the human-trafficking Liberation Front, and every last augment in the city from the face of the planet.

  A moment later, I dismiss the notion with a shiver. Aside from the flaw of having to leave my two charges alone, my cavalier attitude toward death is troublesome.

  There has to be another solution.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask. “There are a lot more vacancies than people.”

  Victoria replies, “Isn’t this in your already impressive knowledge of the research building and our escape routes?”

  “I gave her all the data about the area,” Jonathon explains, flicking a worrisome glance in my direction. For some mysterious reason, he doesn’t want her to be aware that my head contains every last thing from the database. While I don’t understand this wrinkle in our social dynamic, I refrain from adding anything.

  A silence settles before Victoria says, “This city is on the fringes of the country. The current president has the hold-at-all-costs mentality for everything left in the homeland. But the situation is dire, and we’ve been evacuating people for some time. Although not nearly enough…” She sighs. “And too few of the top-secret facilities.”

  Her answer implies there are secrets within the leadership too.

  I purse my lips at the ironies: They have secrets from me, we have secrets from her, and everyone has secrets from each other.

  And still no solutions…

  Victoria stands, facing me. “I’m sure this isn’t what you expected for your return from the Ten Sigma Program.”

  Heeding Jonathon’s warning, I reply, “I didn’t know what to expect.”

  “Normally, the coming of a new ten sigma is a cause for celebration.” She chuckles and waves around the room. “Surely, you envisioned something more than this?”

  I nod, confused by the direction of the conversation.

  Jonathon saves me from answering. “She knows the mission is the most important thing.”

  Victoria’s eyes do the quiver before she replies, “There are other important things too.”

  Rather than lie, I say, “Yes.”

  When Jonathon sends a meaningful stare, I tighten my lips.

  She sighs. “The chessboard of global politics is complex. There are hundreds of pieces and many boards with more than two dimensions. Most of the players are pawns, although several nations have knights and bishops, and even an occasional rook.

  “Do you know what piece a ten sigma is?”

  “A queen,” I reply after a moment.

  “That, and a bit more,” she says with a smile. “A ten sigma is a means to simplify the decisions that need to be made in this country’s interests. While a queen is the most powerful piece on the board, a ten sigma is superior. A ten sigma eliminates all obstacles in one move.

  “You have an incalculable value to this country and to me. I need you operating at peak efficiency. This isn’t possible if you are distracted. So I ask again, what’s most important for you?”

  “As Jonathon said, to complete my mission.”

  Her lips rise into a smirk. “That’s the ten sigma talking. What does the human part of you want?”

  My thoughts wander to my family history, which is lost in the green threads of my virtual nightmare. My heart skips a beat as I wait for the debilitating flood of information.

  Nothing comes. It appears certain personal questions are exempt from the rules governing the data in my head.

  “Maybe to remember who I was,” I mumble.

  Silence.

  Jonathon blinks and looks away.

  Victoria stares in an appraising manner before saying, “Mary, you are a special person. Your past isn’t necessary for what you need to do in the here and now. It’s not important.”

  She doesn’t understand my distress. I’m not trying to recapture my past to live in it, I need to recapture it because the existence I’ve stepped into can’t be who I am.

  After everything I’ve been through—the hardships, the awful wounds, the killing—I have returned. But what’s left of who I was?

  I think of the first horrible battle on the platform surrounded by acid and then prior to that—floating without form in the freezing void. Before those initial experiences in the Ten Sigma Program, there’s only a glimpse of the shadowy people who downloaded my consciousness into the virtual universe. Everything else is gone.

  However…

  During my showdown with Syd, I snuck a peek at the green threads. I have a husband, who I know I loved and who loved me.

  “My husband. I’d like to find him and let him know I’m alive,” I quietly reply.

  As the words leave my mouth, my stomach twists. I hope I haven’t just made a huge mistake.

  Victoria’s eyes soften, and an earnest smile crosses her face. “I lost my family at a very young age. I understand what you’re going through, and I promise I’ll make it my priority to find your husband after we’re rescued.”

  Muted clanks come through the thick windows, and I shift my gaze outside.

  Silver glints behind the facade of the Roman building across the way, but when I focus, the dark spaces behind the glass are still.

  Weird.

  It could be another issue with the download distorting my enhanced senses or some other type of augment is hunting us.

  I roll my eyes. Either I’m in worse shape than I thought or the situation is worse than I thought.

  Just dandy.

  An engine roars in the square, and Victoria joins me, widening the gap between the curtains with her fingers.

  A loudspeaker blares with a familiar voice, “Secretary, scientist, hot woman. Come out. Come see what I have.”

  On the hood of the lead truck sits Flying Eagle, but the sight of the pompous man is not what worries me. In the wide flatbed of the trailing vehicle stand people wearing white lab coats surrounded by fierce guards and a trio of battle-meshed augments.

  Jonathon steps past and confirms what I already know. “Those are my co-workers and friends.”

  I glance at Victoria, who curiously stares at the other buildings around the square.

  When I look, there’s nothing amiss.

  �
�What are we going to do?” Jonathon says.

  I bite my lip.

  This is an opportunity.

  Flying Eagle will expect us to watch in indecision for a few moments. After that, he’ll scream some threats then torture the hostages to induce our surrender. If we run while he focuses on the helpless people, we can leave at a sedate pace that will allow us to travel past the wall and the wasteland beyond.

  Unsure of why the idea makes me unhappy, I pull Jonathon and Victoria from the window. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We have to help them,” Jonathon protests.

  My frustration builds. The mission has only this slim chance of success. “We do what they don’t expect! There won’t be a better chance to escape.”

  Anger flashes in his eyes. “How can you be so cruel? Those are good people. People who will be hurt, unless we do something.”

  The words should mean nothing, but I avert his gaze and softly reply, “Staying here won’t accomplish a thing. We’ll get discovered, and it won’t change anything that will happen to your friends.”

  He gestures around us. “This is the real world. These are real people, not some virtual representation of something to protect. We can’t walk away.” He points a finger at me. “You have to do something.”

  “What if I don’t agree?”

  “Protecting the innocent is what you should be doing.”

  Silence falls after the comment.

  As he glances sheepishly at Victoria, who purses her lips in contemplation, I clench my jaw, unsure if we’ve said too much.

  Muffled screams drift into the room.

  Jonathon comes back to life, saying, “I have to try and help my friends. Please, get Victoria to safety.”

  Instead of replying, I march to the window, dreading the worst.

  On the flatbed, a guard holds a knife against the cheek of a defenseless woman.

  With shakes of my head, I mutter curses. Jonathon’s right. In the scenarios, I was tasked to protect caricatures of people, while in reality, the noncombatants sweat, emote fear, and need help. These combatants will torture or sell them into slavery.

  Allowing the ten sigma portion of me to take over, I say in a harsh tone, “Both of you, stay here. I’ll go rescue your friends and kill everyone.”

  Jonathon looks at me in surprise, while Victoria grins and glances out the window.

  I dismiss both reactions because if I think too much, I’m not going through with my impulsive choice. I toss Jonathon a pistol. “If anyone comes who isn’t me, shoot them.”

  So much for the lifetime vow not to arm the man…

  As I pull the couch from the door, the logic of my thinking fades into the truth. This isn’t about the hostages.

  I’m sick of running from my enemies.

  “Mary,” Victoria says, turning from the window. “There is a time to fight and a time not to fight. This is a time not to fight.”

  I pause. “So, we escape?”

  She shakes her head. “We surrender.”

  “What?” Jonathon and I blurt at the same time.

  “I can’t explain further, and I can’t order either of you to do this. I only ask that you trust me. We’ll give ourselves up to save those people.”

  When Jonathon nods, I groan. “I’d much rather go down fighting.”

  She faces me. “Perhaps something good can yet come of this.”

  Not having any idea of what good could arise from this nutty plan, I force my eyes not to roll to the heavens and chew on a nail.

  “This is a crisis, and remember, never let a good crisis go to waste,” she says cryptically.

  I frown, having no idea of how such a saying could be helpful in this situation.

  Surrender isn’t in any of the threads or training, and the ten sigma in me wants to rebel. But I can’t sit on the two of them, keeping them in the room. I can leave, but what then? I won’t find my husband, and as a ten sigma, I’ll be a failure.

  The choices are all crap.

  As I nod to Victoria, an epitaph enters my mind.

  Here lies Mary, who abandoned her mission while stupidly trying to save unimportant hostages and deservedly got herself killed.

  Fourteen

  When we step into the lobby, a sea of soldiers engulfs us.

  Strong hands remove my weapons and yank my arms behind my back. A man with a smushed nose slaps my wrists in manacles and pockets the key. Kicks to the back of my legs drive me to my knees. After my armor is ripped off, I’m happy to have thrown on the dirty clothing of my first kills. Being naked might be a distraction, but my modesty has markedly increased from the virtual universe.

  Less care is taken with Jonathon and Victoria, who are shoved to the floor and searched for weapons.

  Many of my captors glare at me, not accepting the loss of their friends as the fortunes of war.

  I smirk back. They should all be dead; their flaws as fighters are that many. Most carry a disheveled appearance, and although appearing well-fed, few are in fighting trim. Their rifles are held at wrong angles, and their movements are anything but fluid. On the whole, these men resemble scavengers with high-tech weapons more than a trained combat unit. This force is meant for bullying, not engaging in a pitched battle.

  And now, I’m their prisoner.

  Great.

  When I’m hauled to my feet, the barrel chest and thick neck of Flying Eagle with his namesake tattoo fill my vision. A faint smile sits over his bearded chin.

  I loathe facial hair.

  While I process why that is, he taunts, “You aren’t as tough as you think you are.”

  “You needed to grab hostages. In a fair fight, I could kill you and all your men. And you know it.”

  “Then, it’s a good thing I don’t fight fair.”

  I chuckle. Behind the bravado of the cliché answer, the man’s eyes are rotten with insecurity. “Forced to cower behind people in white lab coats by a girl,” I say, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

  The smugness on his face melts, and his fingers squeeze my cheeks. While the pressure of his grip forces my mouth into an impersonation of a guppy, he leans close enough to kiss me. “We all know you’re not any ordinary girl.”

  I force my lips into something resembling a smile. “I’m going to devote my life to making you miserable.”

  He scowls but doesn’t reply.

  When his men drag Jonathon and Victoria to their feet, he lets go and shifts his attention to the pudgy scientist.

  “Shoot at me, will you?” he screams and punches Jonathon in the face.

  While blood spills from Jonathon’s nose and over his chin, I tug at the hands holding me, shaking my shoulders free.

  Blows land on my stomach and back.

  I grunt from the impacts but remain standing.

  Flying Eagle yanks out an oversized pistol and shoves the muzzle into Jonathon’s face.

  As the scientist’s eyes widen, a hand flies in and wrests the gun from Flying Eagle. The female augment steps between everyone and wags her finger in a “No” motion.

  Flying Eagle grumbles but offers no dissent while she ejects the magazine and clears the barrel.

  I snicker when he takes the empty weapon back.

  The woman shifts her attention to me and whispers in Flying Eagle’s ear.

  He grins. “She wants you to know her name is Princess, and she’s glad to make your acquaintance.”

  Princess fires a fist into my solar plexus.

  My breath pours out in a whoosh, and I grimace, willing my sagging body to remain upright. This one really hurts.

  Flying Eagle chuckles.

  I really need to kill every last one of these people.

  While I struggle to breathe, we’re dragged outside and past the majestic hero on the horse. At the long truck, the man with the smushed nose shoves Jonathon, Victoria, and me onto the metal platform.

  The grimy container bed is larger than I expected. Within the bounds of the wooden railings, the s
hallow space comfortably holds Flying Eagle and six guards with drawn weapons in addition to all the hostages.

  A woman whimpers as a large guard with muscular arms draws a knife and drags the point lightly down her throat. She has fresh cuts on her face while her tattered clothing hangs from her shoulders.

  My anger rises, and I clench my jaw.

  When Princess and another trio of augments leap onto the vehicle, the engine growls and we lurch forward, heading toward Government Plaza.

  As we move through the rubble of the battle-torn streets, augments pop out of different locations and join the convoy until I count more than twenty in total.

  Victoria better know what she’s doing.

  Several minutes pass before we enter the wide expanse via Presidential Way, and the truck jolts over the curb and plows into the south end of Congressional Park. A half dozen of the M24s smolder across the battered area. Many trees are smashed, while ugly, black craters blossom over the grass and colorful walkways. Sprouting here and there, thin stalks of holo-emitters stand in blackened flower beds, dark and silent.

  When we skid to a stop near the central fountain, sad stares come from nearby civilians, who are waiting for their fate under the watchful eyes of guards.

  Engines rumble as a column of trucks filled with prisoners and loot head south and out of the city.

  I grit my teeth. The whole setting is as if Syd and his people had arrived in this world.

  Laboring to breathe through his mouth, Jonathon stares blankly, overwhelmed by the spectacle, while on the other hand, raging eyes and tight lips have replaced Victoria’s usual cool demeanor. The dark emotions create a powerful halo around her persona, and I make note never to be her enemy.

  Now that I, the grand prize, am in their possession, more black-clad augments leap from scarred buildings bordering the battle zone.

  How many did they bring?

  I shake my head. The number doesn’t matter.

  It’s win-or-die time.

  A familiar person moves past the shallow boards of the truck. He’s the teen I spared from the alley, looking unhappy and touching a bruise near his temple. When he notices my stare, he walks to another pair of youngsters, eyes downcast. One of them has a conspicuous birthmark on his face. He glances sadly at me then turns away.