A-Game: The Sommerfeld Experiment #3

  A-Game

  The Sommerfeld Experiment 3

  Al Davidson

  Destiny Engine

  Copyright © 2021 Al Davidson

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  AISN: B0BKWZ6L4X

  ISBN: 979-8-9852207-3-5

  Cover design by: Deranged Doctor Design

  Interior art by Nathan Hansen

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cast of Characters

  Joshua Alvaro – Son of disgraced genetic engineer and scientist Dr. Josef Sommerfeld. Ex-Epitaph gang leader. Operator of the Maelstrom, a nanomachine weapon.

  Kevin Maitland – Joshua’s best friend. Ex-weapon designer for Helios Research. He and Joshua designed the Maelstrom

  Shelby Tucker AKA Anina Tyler – Epitaph gang’s ex hacker and system tech.

  Nevada State Military Zone (NSMZ)

  Senior Security Agent Vince Farrell – Head of the Nevada State Military Zone security unit.

  Agent Abigail Meriwether – NSMZ security agent

  Agent Gilmer Cobb – NSMZ security agent

  Agent Carmela Gonzales AKA Ximena Morales – NSMZ border security agent.

  Ginji Haru – NSMZ chief cyber security, and member of Farrell’s team.

  Cassia Karalis – cyber security. A member of Agent Farrell’s team.

  General Delfina Buchanan – two-star general and director of NSMZ

  Colonel Jafri – Head of the Maelstrom project

  Kill Nine hacker gang

  Hector Morales AKA Shaman – Leader of Kill Nine

  Lorenzo Morales – brother of Hector

  Nizhoni Deschene – member

  Hazmat – member

  Cricket – Ex-member of the Horned God gang, now member of Kill Nine and Shelby’s best friend

  Cinco Glickman – Employee of the Cloud Nine Casino and member of Kill Nine. Agent Farrell’s criminal informant.

  “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

  ―Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  1 – The Fight in the Dog

  Joshua jackknifed up, taking deep, heaving breaths while fighting a nearly overwhelming sense of panic.

  “Where the hell—?”

  He lay in his underwear in a musty smelling bed with rumpled sheets and a comforter whose pattern and color dated it to the early 20th century. The pillow beside him held a head-shaped indentation. He reached over, and the bed still retained heat underneath the sheets from someone who had been lying next to him.

  But who? And where the hell was he?

  Joshua looked around a motel room that had been upscale decades ago. Ancient wallpaper curled down in moldy strips. Brown water stains blotched decorative ceiling molding where a cobwebbed chandelier hung. Tattered velvet curtains, draping over a crooked rod, framed a dirty window, and worn areas mottled the carpet’s patterned weave.

  Joshua blinked and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. The last thing he recalled… the problem was, he couldn’t. His memories were like phantoms at the corners of his eyes, flitting away when he tried to look. He had been in Old Town, fighting Horned Gods in Soma. Emily had been there at a park. And then… why couldn’t he remember? He’d sent a Viper round into Sid’s head. And… what?

  Farrell had been there… and then, nothing.

  A large, freshly-changed bandage covered the wound on his side where Rave had shoved her titanium claws under his body armor and between his ribs. The injury was uncomfortable, but felt like it was on its way to healing. Joshua lifted his right hand swathed in bandages. He wiggled his fingers and a fleeting twinge of pain filtered down his forearm. As tempting as it was to unbandage his hand and look at the wound, he resisted, unwilling to face the damage he’d done in his drug-induced stupidity.

  “What the fuck was I thinking?”

  He dropped his head into his hands and tried to remember, but his memory felt like the thick impenetrable fog that often blanketed Old Town.

  Swinging his feet out of bed, he dressed in a clean pair of blue jeans, white t-shirt, and his socks, and located his boots at the foot of the bed. At the tall window, he pushed aside worn velvet curtains. Water sheeted down the dirty glass blurring faded neon signs advertising sex lounges, drug huts, and gambling dens along a narrow street three stories below. Automated tuk-tuks pushed through a sea of black umbrellas. Pedestrians without crowded under shop awnings. Beyond, dingy cube-apartment highrises blocked the view of the sky.

  This was not Old Town; the skyline unfamiliar.

  The doorknob rattled and opened. Joshua dropped into a fighting crouch and turned on the ball of his foot, only to stagger and nearly fall from a bout of vertigo.

  “You’re up!” said a soft, feminine voice.

  Emily walked into the room and placed a bag smelling of Chinese food on a scarred plastiwood table. She wore a pair of black leggings, a long red coat, and knee boots. Her cornsilk blond hair fell from a sleek ponytail to her midback. Even with minimal makeup, she was beautiful and perfect.

  “I called out for food while you were still sleeping.”

  “Emily?” Joshua relaxed his fighting stance, feeling foolish. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean?” Emily crossed to him and clasped her arms around his neck, giving him a smile that made his knees wobble. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I guess.” He placed his hands on her hips.

  She pressed a fleeting kiss on the side of his mouth. “The doctor said you’re out of the woods, but you need more rest.”

  “What doctor?” It made sense; the patch on his side looked like a skilled professional had done it.

  “I think you call them ripperdocs. You were injured after your fight with the Horned Gods. Don’t you remember?” She glided a hand down his side to the bandage. He reveled for a moment in the sensation of her hand on his bare skin. “You saved me from them.”

  He took her hand from his side and squeezed it. “Yeah, I remember now.”

  Joshua remembered dying. He remembered laying in a dirty puddle staring at Sid’s face, partially blasted away by a Viper bullet. He remembered the Epitaphs turning away from him as they followed Spikeware, their new leader, back into Old Town. And he remembered medics working to save his life and putting him into a helicopter. Final destination: NSMZ.

  “We’re not in Old Town.”

  Emily flashed him a concerned glance. “We’re in Seattle. This neighborhood is called Low Hub. You wanted to come here.”

  Low Hub was Seattle’s version of Old Town, but with people packed in tighter and without the Epitaphs to rein in pretty criminals and small-time mobsters looking to break into the big time. The Pharaohs were the dominant gang. Bad news, but nothing that Joshua couldn’t handle if he had to.

  Emily tilted her head and frowned. “You said we could hide here until you healed. Then we could bribe our way across the border to Canada.”

  “Yeah, Low Hub is a good place to hide—or die, if you’re a careless dumbfuck.” For criminals, low lives, and people who had to stay off law enforcement’s radar, Low Hub was worth the risk, but not for someone like Emily.

  Joshua rubbed his temples between thumb and fingers. Dissociative amnesia, Emily had said. He couldn’t remember shit, not getting here, not the doctor, not coming to this hotel room. Not how the Epitaphs had managed to get him away from Agent Farrell and his sombra team. And he didn’t remember bringing Emily with him. He wouldn’t put her in danger like this, not again anyway. He looked down at his watchcom, but it was gone.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Your gang saved you and helped me get you here where it’s safe. The doctor said you may have trouble remembering at first, something he called… ummm… dissociative amnesia.” She laid a soft hand on his cheek.

  “I’m okay. Thanks for getting food. I’m hungry.” He wasn’t.

  “Good! Your appetite is returning.” She turned and began unpacking Chinese food to-go boxes. “I got you some chow mein.”

  “I’m just tired,” he lied, and attempted a reassuring smile, but his mouth refused to work that way. “The food smells good.”

  “The guy at reception recommended it.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone out.”

  “I didn’t, Mr. Worrywart. He ordered for us, and a service delivered it.”

  “Good.” Joshua kissed her and she slid her arms around him and melted against him. She felt good, warm and soft, but something was missing. He drew back, frowning.

  Vanilla.

  Why did he think of vanilla? Emily smelled of vanilla—at least, she used to. She didn’t now. She had… no smell. He gently drew away, sat, and picked up his chopsticks, but found himself staring at the food as a sense of wrongness hung at the back of his mind. He looked up at Emily as she daintily ate a dumpling.

  “What?” she asked with a cute tilt of her head.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re weird, but adorable.”

  Adorabl
e?

  “Here, try one of these dumplings.” She held one out to him pinned between chopsticks and he ate it just to please her. “There, isn’t that good?”

  Joshua couldn’t shake an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades, the one that warned him when things were wrong, and this all just felt… off.

  “Why did you come with me?”

  “That’s an odd question. I love you, and you needed my help, and you needed someone to watch over you while you healed.”

  That love word. He wasn’t sure what to say. Emily’s gaze dropped away when he didn’t return the sentiment, her cheery demeanor fading.

  “Where’s Shelby?” And, likely, asking about another girl when one had just said she loved him was a stupid move. He sucked at this shit.

  Emily gave a little shrug, concentrating too hard on her food. “You mean your gang hacker? She’s okay.”

  Joshua didn’t recall telling Emily that Shelby was the Epitaph hacker, and now that he thought about it, he didn’t think Emily knew about Shelby. Thinking back, wrestling with memories, he recalled sitting with Emily in Ground Zero, his night club. He’d told her he had to leave, but he hadn’t said why. Had he told her?

  “How did you know about Shelby?”

  “She was concerned for you and helped us get here. I’m glad I don’t have to be jealous. Joshua,” she said softly, reached across the table, and touched his hand. “You’re acting oddly. I’m worried about you.”

  Joshua stood abruptly, grabbed his leather jacket from the back of a threadbare chair, and walked to the door, ignoring her startled, hurt expression. He had to think, had to understand the situation. None of this seemed right, and Emily’s presence changed everything, changed where he could go, and where he could run. Dodging NSMZ alone was difficult enough. He had to go places he couldn’t bring Emily, dark areas of the city, on par with Bucknutty, where he could disappear—some of those controlled by the Ghouls. The Epitaph tattoo needed to be covered until he could get it removed. He wasn’t an Epitaph any longer; it was against unwritten bylaws to keep it.

  Admitting he could no longer wear the tattoo hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge. For over a decade, his identity had been defined by being an Epitaph. He’d have to get over it. Time to recreate himself.

  “Joshua!” Emily called. He could hear her footsteps brush against the carpet as she waylaid him. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to think. Stay inside and keep the door locked. This neighborhood is bad news.”

  “Then you shouldn’t go out.”

  “Em,” Joshua said with a tiny smile. Love. Relationships. That shit wasn’t him. Not that he didn’t want it to be. Danger. Peril. Death felt as familiar as his own name. “It’s me.” He held up his arms, then let them fall back to his sides.

  “Yes, but you’re not completely healed.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  He brushed his knuckles against her soft cheek and gave her a quick kiss. “You need to go back to your parents. Finish school.”

  “What? Why are you saying that? None of it means anything without you.” She grasped his hand and leaned her head against it.

  Joshua struggled with confusion. What he needed fought with what he wanted. She felt so real, so warm. Was this a dying illusion? Were final thoughts speeding through his head as he bled out?

  “When I get back, I’m going to buy you a ticket on the maglev back to San Francisco. You can’t stay here with me, Emily. It’s too dangerous.”

  “You said you would never leave me. Did you lie to me?”

  “I honestly don’t remember what I said, Em, but this isn’t a place for you.” He gently pulled his hand away, turned, and walked out of the motel room.

  In the middle of a dark laboratory, Joshua lay submerged in a tank of blue nanomachine liquid, a Virtual helmet covering his face. A large holoarray across the length and height of the room displayed Joshua, life-sized, walking down a dingy, dimly-lit hallway, wallpaper blackened and stained by mold and water.

  “He’s fighting the scenario,” said a tech. Virtual goggles were implanted into his head and silver circuitry traced over his shaved skull. The tips of his fingers had been replaced with cybernetics and his fingers danced across a system console only he could see. His avatar inside the simulation, a bland male, cautiously followed Joshua, remaining in the background. “Dr. Sommerfeld, what would you like to do?”

  “How does he know?” Dr. Sommerfeld moved close to the holoarray and frowned at the image, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Since he hasn’t gone through a memory reconfiguration, I think some of his memories are seeping through.”

  “It should still be impossible.” Sommerfeld watched Joshua take an old-style elevator to the lobby floor. Canned jazz music played over hidden speakers.

  “We know he’s never been to the Seattle Low Hub district and our simulation of the area is flawless, so we’re not sure what is making him question the simulation. Perhaps other senses that are amplified have found something that is out of place.” The enhanced tech turned his face to Sommerfeld.

  “Excellent observation. We could have omitted an important sensory detail. Replay opening scene.”

  A separate screen replayed Joshua waking up in bed. Emily walked in, placed food on the table, then embraced Joshua.

  “Stop,” Sommerfeld said, and the image froze on Joshua kissing Emily, pulling back and frowning. “There; that expression on E42’s face. A detail is missing. Something about Emily.”

  “Should I continue?” asked the tech with the Virtual helmet on.

  “Affirmative.”

  The tech’s avatar disappeared from the dingy hallway with a flicker of static and reappeared in the lobby next to a glitching advertisement hologram, the attractive female AI peddling sightseeing tours that no longer existed.

  Another large overhead holoscreen displayed an image of Joshua’s brain activity, areas of the brain a cool blue, others yellow and red. A third holoscreen monitored physical responses.

  “Doctor Sommerfeld,” said a second tech monitoring physical feedback; a young woman with red hair in a tight french braid. The image of Joshua’s brain activity displayed on her screen. “Scenario baseline has only reached 35%. I recommend more stimuli to help distract E42’s scenario resistance.”

  “Very well, then. When he steps out of the hotel, switch to alternate scenario RS5.2-4 and put physical and chemical responses up on sub holoscreen five.”

  As Joshua reached the middle of the lobby, the team watched him stagger a few steps before catching his balance and pressing a hand to his head, giving it a little shake. Composing himself, he walked across a lobby of bygone splendor, chandeliers coated with dust and cobwebs. The receptionist sat behind a bulletproof shield, laughed at a sitcom on an old television tube set, and drank from a to-go cup. An old model, seven-foot-tall DeLuca security mech stood by double front doors, cracked glass held in place by duct tape.

  “Start at level one, mild threat response to security mech,” said Sommerfeld.

  The mech’s domed head moved, lights strobing across its face, moving from green to yellow.

  The second tech brought the amygdala of Joshua’s brain image to the forefront. “We got his attention.”

  Joshua stopped as the mech focused on him, and his right fist tightened. He walked by, body alert for any aggressive move by the mech.

  “Continue to boost threat level in gradual intervals,” Sommerfeld said.

  Joshua stood under the awning over the hotel entrance. A short, fan-shaped set of chipped marble steps flanked by two graffiti-covered lamp posts curved down to street level. Rain pelted down, and seagulls flew screeching through a dull gray sky. Water smelling of rotted trash and oil puddled in the narrow streets. Overhead, traffic streamed along the skylane grids running north and south across Seattle. He hunched his shoulders and stepped into the water-puddled street.

  Maybe it would be better just to keep walking away. He could make an anonymous call on a burner watchcom to Emily’s family. Her father would dispatch law enforcement to bring her home. If NSMZ questioned her, there wouldn’t be much she could tell them. He hadn’t told her his plans.