Psion Alpha (3 page)

“Walter—”

“Fine!
Yes!” Saying that last word lifted a burden off his shoulders. It was as though
he’d signed the papers already. His mother regarded him with both pride and
disappointment.

“Nothing
I can say will change your mind?”

Walter
shook his head, firm now in his decision. “I am going to become a pilot. That
has always been my—”

“I
know, Walt. I walk by your bedroom every day. Other kids have posters of girls
in bikinis, you have jets and choppers and those new ones.… ”

“Cruisers.”

“Yes.”

“You
want me to get some girls in bikinis, too?”

His
mother raised a stern eyebrow, then snickered despite the seriousness of the
moment. “No. I prefer your walls just the way they are, thank you.”

Walter
stared off at the wall while his mother looked at the floor. Several seconds
passed without a sound. Finally his mother broke the silence. “I don’t want you
to go. You’re all the family we have left. I’m sure you realize why we’ve been …
clingier than most parents after losing the twins during the Scourge. But,
Walter, your father is never going to give his consent. It flies in the face of
everything he believes.”

Head
lowered, Walter nodded. He had hoped his parents would cave, but it had been a
fool’s dream. His mother laid several documents on the coffee table in front of
Walter. “But I don’t want you to hate us, either.”

“Hate
you? Mom, I—”

“I’ve
seen the look in your eye. So, if you’re dead set and absolutely sure this is
what you’re supposed to do, then you should follow your heart. I am not giving
you my blessing, but I can’t bear the thought of you resenting me for the next
two or more years.”

“You
would give up being my mom so I can become an Elite?”

“No!”
his mother cried. “Walter, this paper doesn’t change a thing about our
relationship except that we can’t legally stop you from doing what you want to
do. It only means that you’re an adult. And the choice you have to make now is
a very adult one.”

Walter
picked up the papers and read them over in silence for almost ten minutes. He’d
thought signing them was something he could easily do if need be, but now that
the pen and papers were in his hands, it was quite the opposite. “Are you sure
Pop—”

“Have
you ever known your father to change his mind?” his mother asked. “He’s going
to be furious with me when he finds out. But I’d rather have that anger
directed at me than you. He can’t stay mad at me for too long.”

Walter
wasn’t so sure about that. He turned his attention back to the papers, noticing
now how badly his hands shook. “Commander Wu says I have been touched by God,
Mom. Do you agree with that?”

His
mother appeared to be afraid of the answer. She took a sip of her hot chocolate
and set down the mug. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then
maybe he is also right that I belong somewhere besides Wichita. Maybe the Elite
is the first step to something bigger.” He set down the papers and prepared to
sign them.

“Are
you sure you’ve thought this through? Two years, Walter. These are not going to
be fun years. They will be grueling. It may be more than you can handle. Don’t
rush this decision. Take some time and meditate. Pray about it.”

“I
have thought about it for three weeks. This is what I am supposed to do.”

His
mother wiped her eyes. “Okay. Do what you feel is right.”

Again
he paused as his hand hovered over the signature line.
I have to do this
,
he told himself.
This is my destiny
. Walter closed his eyes and made his
choice. When he opened them again, he stared at the paper, dropped his hand to
it, and sloppily signed his name. His mother gave no reaction except to smile
at him. It was not her normal smile, it was the one she gave when she wanted to
appear happy even though she wasn’t.

“I
should go to bed,” she muttered. “Good night, sweetheart.”

The
next few days crawled by. Walter’s mom still wore the same sad smile every time
they talked, but it was better than his dad’s reaction. Thomas Byron wouldn’t
speak or look at his son, no matter how hard Lara tried to make him. Commander
Wu had a long talk with Walter and his mother. He described in detail what life
would be like at the Elite Training Center. The rigorous studies, the
no-nonsense code of conduct, the various fields of instruction, the monetary
penalties for reneging on his agreement of service, and finally, he stressed
that Byron would be the youngest student there by over a year and a half. After
he finished, Walter’s mom expressed her concerns .

“Your
decision may be firm today,” she warned her son, “but tomorrow? In a month? A
year? What if you hate it? What if you have no friends because everyone is
older? What if—”

“This
is my dream, Mom,” Walter reminded her. “I know I have to work hard for what I
want. You and Pop taught me that.”

Commander
Wu leveled his sights on Walter. His eyes were only visible as faint glimmers
behind his lids. The gaze forced home the notion that Walter stood on the
precipice of making what might be the most important decision in his life. Walter
glanced around the room. The whites of his mother’s eyes turned a slight shade
of pink, her hands twitching. Wu was the one who seemed hopeful. Walter’s gaze
went to the burning red skulls on the commander’s black boots and other pieces
of uniform.
Elite
. In those fiery flames, he saw his destiny. Walter
signed every form and document pushed at him.

By
Saturday, January 9
^th
, his mom had packed all the bags, those for
herself and her husband, who were headed back to Wichita, and those for Walter,
destination Siberia. Her behavior toward Walter had changed dramatically. For
their last week together, Walter could do no wrong and she often smiled
wistfully at him, then hurried off to wipe her eyes. His father’s attitude, on
the other hand, was exactly the opposite.

The
hour came when Walter had to say goodbye. Commander Wu had already flown back
to the school, leaving Walter to make the trip on his own. A government car
arrived at the hospital and shuttled them down to a private air hangar at
Dulles Airport. The ride was solemn and noiseless. Two planes waited inside the
large shelter, both gassed and ready to fly—one for the older Byrons, one for
Walter. The family of three exited the car and got their baggage out of the
trunk.

“Five
minutes, Byron,” the pilot of Walter’s plane announced from somewhere inside.

His
mother broke down in tears right then. Walter watched her with a mixture of
embarrassment and guilt. “You take good care of yourself, please,” she
whimpered. “Say your prayers and study your scripture. I don’t want you getting
into trouble or being lazy.”

“I
would never—”

“And
you call when you can and write to us regularly.”

“Of
course I—”

“And
do your best!” His mom pulled him into a strangling hug and pressed her wet
cheek against his. She rubbed his back in a loving, motherly way, and he patted
hers awkwardly. When she finally released him, she gained control over herself.
After a deep breath, she smiled through her tears. “Love you.”

“I
love you, Mom.”

Next
his father stepped forward and offered his hand to Walter. Walter slowly took
it and shook. Then both men moved in for a strong hug. Normally at moments like
this, Walter’s father often quoted him a line of poetry fit for the occasion.
Shakespeare, Whitman, and Byron were his favorites. Instead, he muttered, “Take
care.”

Walter
felt hot shame at his words of anger directed at his father several days ago
when he’d told him how he hated the poetry his father quoted. “Pop, I—I—I am
really sorry for—”

“I
know.”

“Okay.
I love you, Pop.” Suddenly Walter was as choked up as his mother. The
realization that his entire life was changing direction hit him with full
force. Gone would be the comfort of having his parents close by for love and
guidance. Doubt and fear flooded him and the tears spilled over his eyes.

“Hey,
hey,” his father chided him gently, “remember what you’ve been taught. For God
hath not given us the spirit of fear.… ”

Walter
nodded and wiped his eyes quickly. “… But of power, and of love, and of a sound
mind. I know. I will remember that.”

“Right,
then. You better get going, or you’ll miss the plane.”

Turning
from his family, Walter crossed the tarmac to the jet. With one last glance
over his shoulder and a hearty wave, he climbed the stairs and watched the door
close behind him until he could only see them through a small window.

“Have
a seat,” one of the pilots said without bothering to look in his direction.
“Long flight ahead. If you’re hungry, there’s some food and water in the
container under your seat. You’ll also find plenty of information on the
training center if you want to read.”

“Thanks,”
Walter told them. “How long is the flight?”

“Buckle
up and make yourself comfortable.”

Walter
took his seat and strapped himself in. The plane was a small version of a C-130
Ultra Hercules with modified jet engines for improved flight speeds, but not
fitted with creature comforts like others he’d ridden. Being inside of it made
Walter giddy. He looked all around, soaking in any opportunity to fly. The
interior was plain and had lots of gear cast around in piles: gas masks, empty
backpacks, body armor, and numerous other things that Walter didn’t recognize,
but was sure he’d learn about in the near future. He grabbed the container
under his chair and pulled it out. All the food was in small sealed packages
with typed names like CRACKERS, CHEESE SPREAD, JAM, or MEAT. None of it sounded
appealing, so he took out the information packets and started to read about his
new home.

“Are
you guys glad you chose to become Elite?” he asked the pilots on a whim. “Any
regrets?”

Neither
of the pilots answered him or even acknowledged him.

“I
said, are you … never mind.”

He
read through dozens of pages of information, and after three or four hours
started to feel drowsy. The droning of the plane’s engines along with the
gentle rocking sensation lulled him to sleep. His dreams were of firing guns,
bleeding wounds, and deep trenches. His sleep was light and fitful,
occasionally having lucid moments where he briefly woke and thought he was
alone on the plane. Then the intrusion of alarms woke him.

Walter
jerked in his seat, held tight by his safety restraints. Blinking red lights
flooded the cockpit and cargo. A blaring noise filled his ears and panicked
him.

“What
is going on?” he asked groggily. He looked to the pilots for answers, but they
were not in their chairs. “Where—” Walter jerked his head around, searching
everywhere.

The
pilots were gone.

CHAPTER
TWO
- News

Saturday, September 7, 2086

“
AT
any
moment, the President of the Continental American Government is expected to
make a major speech concerning diplomacy and strategy for what has become
widely regarded as World War Three. For the last four weeks, all communication
between the media and White House has been channeled through the Press
Secretary. The recent announcement that President Newberry will make an address
has led to speculation that this address will be related to requirements set
forth for a treaty, the use of human clones in combat, and a clarification of the
government’s goals for the conflict.”

The
holographic woman reporting the news captured Sammy’s attention. He hardly
noticed when Jeffie’s hand slipped into his. They sat in the living room of a
small two-bedroom home with all the other Betas crowded into a space designed
for half their numbers. No one spoke or even moved much. Sammy couldn’t have
moved if he wanted to. Crammed onto the couch with him and Jeffie were
Strawberry, Kawai, and Levu. Brickert and Natalia shared the large reclining
chair next to him, and Parley, Ludwig, Li, Rosa, Miguel, and Hefani occupied
the floor in front. They were the only remaining Betas. Maybe the only
remaining Psions.

The
image switched from the female reporter to an empty podium at the end of a long,
red carpet stretching out from within the main hall of the mansion. From the
camera angle, Sammy could see the large crowd of reporters gathered to cover
the event. Almost a minute passed before President Newberry emerged to the
greeting of flashes and buzzing among the audience. He wore a dark blue suit
with a red tie over a white shirt. His gray hair stayed perfectly coiffed as he
walked and waved. A man in his sixties, President James Newberry looked to be
about forty with a slight tan and perfect teeth. Many people believed him to be
the most powerful man in the world. But after his conversation with the fox,
Sammy understood that this man was a figurehead, nothing more, a marionette dancing
however its master pulled the strings.

He
smiled, albeit briefly, and then assumed a solemn expression as he stopped at
the podium adorned with the seal of the Continental American Government. His
hands gripped the wooden sides as if the burden of addressing his people was
too great to bear without support.

“Fellow
citizens of America,” he began, “it is with a heavy heart I speak to you today.
During the last four weeks, along with my chiefs of military affairs, I have
presided over the largest military effort in several decades. Many of our
people find the concept of war to be foreign, even reprehensible. I hesitated
to launch such a strike. Fifty years ago humanity experienced the Scourge and
saw billions of our brothers and sisters eradicated. Mankind changed. Almost
twenty years after such an unfathomable tragedy, the Second Scare hit us, where
tens of thousands more died. These two events served as nothing if not a
reminder to the human family that every life upon this planet is a valued
commodity. I detest the shedding of blood, even among those who are not
citizens of our nation.

“On
the other hand, I can no longer tolerate the terrorism in our lands that has
been condoned, even sponsored by the NWG. The Mexico City bombing, the air rail
sabotages, the Lima bus attacks, the Los Angeles arsons … I could go on. Each
of these terrible atrocities—which resulted in the loss of CAG civilians,
innocents—were committed by CAG separatists and NWG sympathizers. In almost
every case our investigations revealed that funds or weapons or both were
provided by the NWG. Despite our best efforts to isolate ourselves from them
and make our land safer, we have never been able to fully remove the infection
settling into our country’s heart.

“Therefore,
in the last week, I have authorized three strikes on the NWG. The first strike targeted
Siberia and Capitol Island where NWG insurgents and spies were trained. The
second, African arms, drones, and munitions manufacturing plants. The third
attack hit the coastal city of Dakar, where fleets of drones and military
cruisers were stored. Each of our objectives has been to target military
installations where large caches of weapons and ships are stored. Thus,
casualties have been kept to a minimum. Our analysts estimate that the loss of
lives has not reached a thousand, and is perhaps less than half that number. As
for CAG casualties, we have suffered the loss of twenty-six soldiers.

“I
wish to reinforce, as has already been reported, that our soldiers in this
effort are clones, not conscripted citizens. Not one lost life has been a son
or daughter, nor a father or mother of our nation. Some have questioned the use
of clones, but the overwhelming response of our people has been positive. I
find this progressive attitude to be encouraging. It is a blessing from our
Creator to have grasped the science which allows us this power, the power to
create an animated replication of life. These clones are the result of decades
of research and effort from the greatest minds of our time.

“Now
I wish to lay out my aims for this war. I do not desire to annihilate our
neighbors. I do not want to conquer them. I look at our efforts in a similar
light to the United States’ bombing of Japan in August of 1945. Such an act,
while devastating in the short term, brought years of peace and friendship between
those two nations. It also saved millions of lives. I, too, wish only to save
lives from the horrible effects of war and violence. Because of this, I have
reached out to President Marnyo in the spirit of diplomacy. I have told him
that our objectives are threefold.

“First,
I will declare a ceasefire if the NWG will publicly admit to and apologize for
the nefarious attacks on our soil through their funded terrorist program.
Second, they make reparations of these damages amounting to eleven billion dollars.
Finally, they begin to make steps toward adopting the CAG constitution. Our
hope is that over the course of the next ten years, all NWG territories will
accept limited, and then full representation in our government. It is my hope
that they embrace the concept of an American World Government!”

“Turn
it off,” Jeffie told Levu, who sat closest to the holo-screen. “I don’t want to
listen to that liar anymore.”

A
few of the Betas protested.

“I
don’t care!” Jeffie told them. “Nothing he says is true.”

“I
want to watch it,” Ludwig said. “You’re not in charge.”

The
hologram of President Newberry disappeared. Levu held the remote. Ludwig and a
few other Betas glared at her.

“Jeffie’s
right,” Levu stated, brushing back her long dark hair from her face. “All we
hear from him is lies.”

“It
doesn’t matter,” Ludwig responded. “Some of us want to be informed about what’s
happening out there.”

“This
isn’t being informed, Ludwig,” Brickert said. “Don’t act like you didn’t see
the footage from the NWG news station last night. President Newberry just said
they’d only made three strikes against us. Try six. He conveniently left out
Tokyo, Taipei, and Lisbon. You can’t trust this government. Those terrorist attacks
he mentioned were orchestrated by his government, not us, I’ll tell you!”

“Relax,
Brick,” Ludwig said. “I don’t need you telling me what Sammy’s already said.”

Brickert
looked like he wanted to hit Ludwig. Instead he turned to Sammy. “Tell him,
Sammy. Tell him what the—”

“I
never said I don’t believe Sammy.” Ludwig shot Sammy a nasty glance and then
looked away. “But like I’ve been saying for the last week, I get the feeling
that we don’t have all the information about what’s going on.”

“Like
what?” Li asked.

Ludwig
ticked off his fingers. “Why were there clones of Sammy in Orlando? Why would
the guy who runs the whole government want to play a game of chess with Sammy? Why
did he want to kill all the Betas and Alphas except Sammy? And most of all, why
does everything keep pointing back to
Sammy
?”

Sammy
felt several eyes on him. Obviously Ludwig wasn’t the only one with these
questions. Despite not knowing what to say, Sammy felt he owed his friends a
response. Only a week ago, his friends snuck out of Beta headquarters, flew with
him to Orlando, and fought Aegis and Thirteens in an underground parking garage
while he sat in a lavish penthouse and played the fox in two games of chess.

“Commander
Wrobel gave the CAG a sample of my DNA when I first arrived at Beta
headquarters. They needed someone with—with more than one anomaly. They used it
to engineer the Thirteen-Fourteen Hybrids.

“It’s
not your fault, Sammy,” Levu said. “They’re disgusting. They should all be
killed for what they did to Antonio and Kobe and Kaden.”

A
moment of quiet swept over the group. Sammy knew his friends were reliving the
awful battle they’d survived in the garage of the N building in Orlando. Aegis
and Thirteens had tried to trap and kill them, but his friends had broken
through the ambush and escaped, losing Kobe, Kaden, and Antonio in the process.
Sammy, on the other hand, heard Levu’s words echoing in his head:
They’re
disgusting. They should all be killed
.…

Thirteens.

Me.

“So
you’re saying,” Ludwig said to Sammy, “that this fox guy—the most powerful man
in the whole world—used your DNA to create an army. Okay, that I can buy. But on
the evening of this massive, world-altering strike, this same guy hacked into
our coms systems, lured you out of Beta HQ, and had you fly halfway around the
world just so he could chat with you over a friendly chess match. Yeah … that
part I have a hard time believing.”

Sammy
had told no one of his secret. He wanted it that way. No one would ever know or
understand the dark demons he fought. The darker half inside, the half that had
been awakened by Stripe, the half that he sometimes held at bay by nothing more
than a fraying string, was the Anomaly Thirteen. He woke up almost every night
with visions of himself wearing the garment of the Thirteens: a red melting
into black uniform with the jagged 13 emblazoned on the chest. Sometimes his
nightmares included him seeing his reflection in the mirror, his face scarred
to the point of mutilation, teeth sharpened, bloody sclerae surrounding brown
irises. More than once he’d rushed to the toilet and thrown up from the images
stuck in his head.

“No,”
Sammy said. “It went deeper than that. He wants me on his side.”

Ludwig
pointed at Sammy. “So he called you up, invited you over, and thought he could
convince you to switch teams?”

“It
bothers me that you don’t believe Sammy,” Kawai told Ludwig. “Has he ever given
you a reason to not trust him?”

“Did
I say I don’t trust him, Kawai? I’m trying to wrap my head around everything.
We’ve been here a week and have no plans, no idea at all of what to do! The
resistance is a floundering mess.”

“What
are you talking about?” Brickert asked. “They’ve got hundreds—”

“What
good are hundreds of people when they have no plan of action?”

“They’re
working on it,” Sammy said.

“How
do you know that?” Parley asked. “They haven’t included you in their meetings.”

“What
else would they be doing?” Sammy asked. “Listen, guys, I understand you don’t
want to be in Glasgow. I get that. Truthfully, I’d rather be other places, too.
But we’re safe here, and we can be of use.”

“Sammy’s
right,” Li said. “What is this bickering going to accomplish?” He spoke to
everyone, but mostly stared at Ludwig, who looked shocked that his friend
wasn’t taking his side. “Ludwig, Parley, you guys aren’t even being honest. The
real reason you’re so pissed is because you want to go home.”

“What?”
Levu asked, looking at Parley and Ludwig in disbelief. “This is all because
you’re homesick?”

“It’s
not homesickness!” Miguel said.

Rosa
firmly nodded her agreement.

“Our
little brother was at Beta headquarters. Don’t forget that! Marie was at Alpha.
For all our parents know … our parents… ” Miguel’s voice broke, but he spoke
on, determined to have his say. “… They think they lost all four of their
children a week ago. Are Rosa and I supposed to not let them know we survived?”