Psion Alpha (2 page)

“I
see. You do not like NWG. Loyal American? Even after eight years of world
peace?”

Thomas
folded his arms across his chest and stared at the commander. Walter had seen
the look on his pop’s face, and hated it. It was the “I’ll never budge” look.

“We
have many Elite from former American Territories, Mr. Byron. They serve well.
Your son would serve well, too. He could develop his … ability—his remarkable
ability. I know of no better place to train him. Is your loyalty to your dead
government so strong you would stunt your son’s growth?”

“‘Breathes
there the man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, “This is my
own, my native land!” ’”

Commander
Wu smiled faintly. “You know poetry. How nice! Walter Scott also said, ‘But oh,
my country's wintry state, what second spring shall renovate?’”

Walter’s
father stood. “Scott wasn’t talking about the NWG, and you know it.”

“Nor
was he American, Mr. Byron.”

Walter
had never seen someone throw poetry back at his pop so effortlessly. It didn’t
sit well. His father crossed to the door and opened it. “Get out, Colonel.”

Commander
Wu
locked
eyes with Walter in a silent exchange
. Walter could almost hear the
commander’s thoughts saying,
If you want to go to Siberia, it’s up to you.

“Thank
you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Byron.”

Walter’s
father closed the door roughly behind the older man. His wife went to him.
“Dear, you’re overreacting. He came to us with an offer, nothing more.”

“Who
knows what they’ll force us to do?” Thomas Byron complained. “I can’t trust
this government—not since they neutered us with those weapons laws! Forcing us
to stay here in this place, trying to brainwash us. And I’ll be darned before I
let them get their hooks in Walter.”

Walter’s
parents comforted each other while he looked on with a sick feeling in his
stomach. It felt like a big ball of hot black tar had been jammed inside him.
Say
something
, he told himself.
Open your mouth!

“Pop—”
He immediately stopped himself.
Not the right time.

“What?”
his father asked. The tone in his voice had softened, but not much. Knowing his
pop, the bad mood could last for a week or more.

“Nothing,”
Walter said. “Forget it.” He left his chair and made to go to his room when his
mother touched his arm.

“Wait,
Walt,” she said. Then she let go of her husband and put her arm around her son.
“You—you want to go, don’t you?”

“Don’t
be silly, Lara.” Walter’s dad snorted like he’d been told a bad joke, and sat
back on the small, uncomfortable couch. “Like there’s a chance Walter would want
that.”

“No,
I really think he does.” She locked eyes with Walter. “Don’t you?”

Walter
headed for his bedroom. He had one hand on the doorknob when he stopped and
looked back at his parents. He felt a rush of gratitude toward his mother. She
understood. Not always immediately, but she always understood. It was so good
to have a parent who “got him.”

“If
you do, say so,” she pressed.

“Pop.…
” Walter began.

“No!”
Thomas Byron shouted, bouncing to his feet almost comically. “I don’t want to
hear another word!”

“But
I could be a pilot,” he pleaded.

“Piloting
for the New World Government.… ” His father spat out the words like a bitter
grape. “Would you have piloted for Hitler?”

“Hitler?”
Walter asked. “Are you kidding me? You want to go to that extreme?”

“Don’t
talk like that!” Lara Byron told her husband. “You promised you’d tone down
your rhetoric.”

“That
was before they dragged us all off to this prison disguised as a hospital—and
without giving us a choice! Now that they’ve run every test known to man on my
boy … I’m through with this regime. Haven’t I been begging you to let us just
disappear? We need to go off the map! Instead, what have we done? Paid taxes to
them! Sent our son to their schools where they fill his head with New World bull—”

“Don’t
you dare use that word in front of me or your son,” Walter’s mom warned. The
icy chill in her voice and the stern stance she took caught her husband off
guard.

Walter
tore out of the apartment before his parents started to fight. Already wearing
his basketball gear, he headed to the gym. He didn’t have to think about how to
get there. Besides the cafeteria, it was the only place to go in his free time.
He hadn’t gotten very far when the door opened behind him.

“Walter,
wait!” his father called out.

“Leave
me alone, Pop!”

“Wait
up!”

Walter
sprinted to the gym, hoping to lose his dad along the way. When he got there,
he peered through the large glass windows and saw a pickup game of several
older doctors and nurses. Most of them wore scrub pants and t-shirts soaked in
sweat.

Walter
banged his forehead against the glass. “You gotta be kidding me.”

One
of the players noticed him and waved him inside. Walter hesitated for only a
moment before opening the door.

“Hey,
kid, you want to jump in for me?” a tall black doctor with short gray hair
asked while wiping his face on his sleeve. Walter recognized him as the
internist who’d given him his physical. “I just got called in.”

Even
though being called
kid
rankled Walter, he wasn’t going to let it stop
him from joining his first pick-up game in weeks. “Yeah, sure.”

He
jogged onto the court and thanked the doctor for the opportunity. His teammates
didn’t look so excited to have him. A fat, balding man with purple scrubs put
his hand on the small of Walter’s back and said, “Listen, kid, play the point
and pass it as soon as you can.” Then he stepped out of bounds and passed the
ball inbounds to Walter.

Walter
dribbled across the court until he came to the top of the three-point line
where he met his defender, a short Asian man in his forties wearing every
basketball accessory imaginable: ankle-protecting socks, sweatbands, expensive
sneakers, and a wrist-straightener for shooting accurately. The older man
dropped into a low defensive stance, eyes wide, and spread out his arms to swat
away the ball from Walter.

Walter
performed a double crossover dribble that made the ankle-protecting socks look
like wet noodles as the guard hit the floor. He took three steps inside the arc
and used a moderate push from his powers at the free throw line. With the extra
help, he soared through the rest of the defense to slam the ball through the
hoop.

“Holy—”

“Mother
of—”

“You
gotta be—”

The
fat balding man in purple smacked Walter’s backside. “Nice moves, kid. You
don’t have to pass if you don’t want to.”

Walter
grinned as he ran down the court to get ready on defense. Then he noticed his
father watching him through the window. All traces of mirth fled from his face.

“Where
are you going, kid?” Purple Pants asked as Walter jogged off the court.

“Sorry,
I—my father—I have to go.”

His
father held the door open for him and his eyes followed Walter as he walked
past.

“What,
Pop? Are you going to get after me now for dunking?”

“They
told you not to use them, Walt. You’re around other people.”

“I
know what they said.”

His
dad ran his fingers through his thick white hair. “Then—geez—what’s wrong with
you? First you beat up your best friend in school and get landed in here. Next,
you’re telling me you want to be a pilot for the government. Now you’re
blatantly disobeying your doctors?”

“I
can touch the rim without using the power. I only helped it along a little.”

“A
little?” his dad cried. “From the free throw line?”

“What
about you? What is your deal lately? Why do you have to be so crazy?”

“Crazy?
How so?”

“The
things you say. About guns. About America. About … always quoting dead poets.”

His
father took a step back. “I thought you enjoyed me teaching you poetry.”

Walter’s
head was filled with steam. Everything wrong in his life was his father’s
fault. He saw a chink in his father’s seemingly impenetrable armor and all he
could think about was attacking it.

“Poetry
is crap. I hate it. I hate the way you tell me what to do and use poetry to
make your point like Whitman is scripture or something. I want to get out of
here. I want to go to Siberia so I can be an Elite.”

“Son,
it’s hard to explain. These people are quacks.”

“I
am fifteen, Pop, and—”

“I
don’t want them indoctrinating you.”

Walter
laughed out of frustration. “Indoctrinating … Pop, listen to you! What is the
difference between you indoctrinating me with your views versus what they have
to say? Sometimes
you
sound like the quack.”

“Maybe
I am a quack, but at least I care about you.”

“If
you care about me, let me go to Siberia!”

His
father’s face turned bright red. “That’s why I don’t want you—”

“Kids
my age are never accepted into the Elite Training Center. Never. I have a once
in a lifetime chance to do something I normally would have to wait two more
years just to apply for and hope for acceptance. Please let me go.”

His
dad shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Pop—”

“No!
Not in good conscience. You’ll understand someday. You’re young. You’re eager.
Everything seems like it has to be now, now, now. Slow down. What do you need
to go halfway around the world for? Three weeks ago you would have laughed if
someone suggested you become an Elite. This colonel—”

“Commander.”

“Whatever.
This guy dangles an airplane in front of you, and you turn into the Elite’s
biggest cheerleader.”

Walter
stared out the window and observed the older men playing hoops. He looked
anywhere but at his dad out of fear that he might start crying. “You know, the
commander also said that if push comes to shove I can sign away your parental
rights.”

“Don’t
talk like that!” Shock and pain laced his father’s words. “How dare you,
Walter? Why would you ever do something like that? Even say such a thing?”

“If
nothing else, to get away from you.”

Unable
to bear his father’s presence any longer, Walter dashed into the gym before he
could be called back. He didn’t care if his father watched; he didn’t even
bother checking. He played his heart out on the court, dazzling the hospital staff
with his dunks. After three weeks of being ordered around by doctors and other
officials, showing them all up in a game of basketball felt good. When the game
ended, everyone shook his hand or gave him a high-five, even those he’d embarrassed
with his moves.

Not
wanting to return to the apartment anytime soon, Walter stayed behind in the
empty gym, practicing his shooting and dunking. Being able to soar through the
air like his basketball idols—better than his idols, in fact, exhilarated him
beyond words. Any kind of dunk he imagined, he could do it. Of course, he
wouldn’t try all his ideas because he knew how stupid he would look injuring
himself.

It
wasn’t until the end of the day when Walter finally felt he could face his
father again. He told himself on the walk to the apartment from the cafeteria
that all these problems were happening because of stress.
Living in a tiny
apartment for three weeks, my weird new powers, huge life-altering decisions …
yeah, this is all just stress.

He
opened the door and the first thing he noticed was not the stale smell of
hospital cleaners like usual, but hot chocolate. His mother sat on the couch,
huddled under a blanket, and frowned at him with a worried expression.

“Hey,”
was all he said to her.

“Sit
down, sweetie,” his mother said.

Walter
slid into the seat. His mother’s frown deepened and the lines and faint
wrinkles on her face seemed heavier and darker than before. “If your father
puts his foot down on this Elite business, what are you going to do?”

“What
do you mean?”

“You
know what I mean. The forms you told your father about.”

Walter
shrugged. He knew what he wanted to do, but how could he say it to his mother?
It would crush her. “I think—maybe—I want to do this, Mom.”

“You’re
telling me that no matter what we say, you’ll sign the papers and go?”

“No,
but I know this is the right thing for me. But signing away you and Pop? Not so
sure I can do that.”

“What
if it’s the only way?” his mother pressed. “You know your father will never
give his permission.”

“If
that is the way to become a pilot, then.… ” Walter threw his hands up. “How
should I know?”