Psion Alpha (43 page)

The Queen rolled over
onto her back and placed her hand on her heart to feel its beat. The pain
inside her grew as she lay there, panting. The Queen hugged herself tightly and
moaned. But as the agony grew, she covered her mouth so her neighbors wouldn’t
hear her screams. She didn’t think she could survive such torment. Something must
have gone wrong during the procedure. Her arm flailed about until her hand
caught hold of a blanket draped over the arm of her chair. She jerked it down,
stuffed it into her mouth, and shrieked until her voice gave out. Still the
pain increased, and the Queen felt herself losing grip on her sanity. She knew
all too well what that was like, having lost her mind once in a dark, lonely
cell in Wyoming. Then it occurred to her that she might be at risk of losing much
more than her mind.

She pictured herself on
a cliff, steep and treacherous, clinging to life by the tips of her fingers.
Her arms, however, were exhausted. Her hands and fingers pulsed with tortuous
pain. Below her was death, and above, life. No matter how hard she tried to
scramble out of her predicament, her efforts were in vain. She had not the
strength to escape the cliff. The Queen cried and cursed and screamed at
herself to live, but the body would not obey. Wave after wave of agonizing heat
rippled through her until her hands could bear no more, and she let go.

The Queen watched
herself fall for an eternity. One last burst of pain exploded inside her,
tearing her apart. Her eyes shot open and she stared unblinkingly at the
ceiling. Her hand rested on her chest feeling her heart as the beat steadily
slowed like a train coming to rest after a long, long journey. It slowed to the
point where each beat came several seconds apart. She could no longer will her
lungs to breathe. Her mind couldn’t hold onto any thought but one.

My death. Alone. Of my
own doing.

It was unfair. She
deserved something more, something greater. To die like a dog on the floor of
her own apartment must be some cruel turn of the universe, singling her out as
a lesson to other beings of her stature. She laughed breathlessly, a mere
rhythmic vibration of her breasts and stomach. Then she closed her eyes and
embraced the inevitable.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-
THREE
– Paired

July 2056

Byron thought after hiding Trapper’s knife deep
under his mattress, the whirlwind surrounding Xian’s death and Trapper’s
culpability would blow away. It didn’t. In March, another Elite student was
killed. The modus operandi was the same: throat slashed, lots of blood, and
some of it on the wall in the shape of a grinning, flaming skull, the words
PERFECTION
IS MY DAGGER
written in large letters underneath. As soon as Byron heard
the news about the murder, he skipped lecture to return to his dorm. Once
there, he locked the door and checked his hiding spot. The knife was still
there, exactly where he’d left it, only now covered in dried blood.

“No … ” he whispered.
“No, no, no.”

His thoughts jumbled in
panic.
How did someone find it?
Only two people even knew he had it:
Otto and Diego. Byron picked up the knife. As soon as he did so, he realized
what he’d done and dropped it.
What do I do?

As far as he could
reason in his current state, he had two options: go straight to Wu and confess
all, or re-hide the knife. Going to the commander meant telling the whole
story, including sneaking into Omar and Diego’s room. It would sound awfully
convenient that he’d found Trapper’s bloodied knife under his mattress, his
fingerprints on it, no one else knowing its whereabouts. Awfully convenient,
indeed.

Byron glanced around
the room, his eyes settling on the ceiling tiles. He went into his closet,
pushed up one of the tiles, and dropped the knife on the next tile over. Then
he scrubbed the blood stains off the bottom of the mattress. By the time he
arrived at class halfway through the lecture, he couldn’t stop shaking.

At lunch, Byron had no
appetite. Emerald asked him twice what was wrong, but Byron shook his head and
forced himself to smile. “Nothing, totally fine.”

But things got worse.
After dinner, Byron and Trapper were summoned to the administrative offices.
Byron didn’t meet with Commander Wu, but one of the majors, who grilled him for
almost an hour about whether or not Byron had any information regarding
Trapper’s activities. Byron insisted throughout the entire meeting that it was
Omar and Diego, not Trapper, they should be worrying about.

Trapper received a
second polygraph test. Again, he passed it. The next day, when they had a
private moment, Byron casually asked Otto if he had told Trapper or Emerald
anything about the knife. A troubled look came over Otto, as though he’d tried
to put the matter out of his mind. “No, of course not,” Otto insisted.
“I’ve—I’ve got nothing to hide, dude.”

Byron had the distinct
impression that Otto was hiding
something
, but he couldn’t imagine Otto
cutting people’s throats. So, he did the only thing he could do, focus on
school and try to forget about everything. But every time he opened his closet,
a creepy, sick feeling hit his stomach, and his hands started to shake.

Time passed by at a
crawl. Byron had thought the school would be in an uproar over two murders in
the space of three months. He was wrong. It was the latest news reports that occupied
everyone’s attention.

Every day hundreds of
people fell ill or died from this new virus, which some still called the Second
Scourge. As the morbidity and mortality rates climbed, Byron watched the world
slide into a panic fueled by despair. It made him grateful to be isolated in
the Elite Training Center. The communications from his parents assured him that
they were all right and taking precautions, but he could sense the anxiety in
their words. He told them nothing about the murders at the ETC or what had
happened with the knife.

All the students and
faculty had to be tested for virus, but none tested positive. Nevertheless, it
was in the forefronts of every conversation. Some students, Diego included,
followed the news coverage with a rapturous fascination Byron believed bordered
on the bizarre.

In comparison, many of
the Elite, and a few of the teachers, treated the situation involving the two
murders as a sort of game. About a dozen nicknames for the killer had
circulated the facility, ranging from classics like “The Bloody Butcher” to
more original names like “Eliter Slitter.” It made Byron sick.

The only thing he had
to help get away from it all was flying. Ever since January, the second year
students had access to the planes in the hangars. Byron enjoyed nothing more
than getting in one and flying for his allotted two hours per week. He never
failed to use the maximum time granted, and occasionally bartered with other
students for their time as well. Being in the sky and soaring through the air
at incredible speeds made his problems seem less important.

As June approached, so
did final exams for the third semester. News about the virus began to wane as
morbidity and mortality rates dropped. Reporters no longer called it the Second
Scourge, but the Second Scare. To Byron, it felt as though the whole earth
breathed a great sigh of relief. Students’ focus returned to studies, and the
ETC filled with the same intense, competitive spirit Byron had come to know.

Then the third killing
happened. The victim was a first year student, another person unknown to Team
Oddball. This time the killer had written:
EXCELLENCE DRIVES ME

It took place the night
before final exams, though Byron didn’t hear about it until the next morning.
When Trapper got the news, he threw down his fork and swore. “You know what
this means, right?” he asked. “I’m gonna have to take another polygraph.
They’re probably going to haul all of us in for questioning.”

“Yeah,” Otto added
quietly, “plus, you know, someone got murdered.”

Trapper glanced up at
him. “I didn’t mean—you’re right. My bad. I’m so sick of this place, that’s
all. I don’t need crap hanging over me during finals. I’m wound up enough
already.”

“Six more months,”
Emerald added.

Byron didn’t add to the
conversation. He excused himself halfway through breakfast to sneak back to his
dorm. Once alone, opened the closet and checked for the knife. To his horror,
it was not exactly where he’d placed it, but several centimeters to the left.
Using a sock, Byron lifted the knife from its place and examined it. The blade
was spotless. Byron had not cleaned it. Had it been used again?

He resolved to take the
knife to Wu and tell him everything. Whatever consequences came, so be it. But
when he opened the door, Otto was standing outside about to knock. Upon seeing
the knife in Byron’s hand, Otto pushed Byron back into the room so hard Byron
landed on Trapper’s bed.

“What are you doing,
Byron?” he asked. “You trying to get us both kicked out of here? Or worse …
arrested? Hide that thing!”

Byron got back to his
feet. “Where am I going to hide it? There is no safe place! I put it under my
bed, they found it. I put it up in the ceiling and
they still found it
!
I am done trying to cover this up.”

“Then destroy it.”

“HOW?” Byron yelled.
“You think maybe I considered that already? If it goes in the trash, and
someone spots it, it will lead straight back to Trapper.”

“You think they’re
going to find it in the trash? You’re paranoid!”

“Think, Otto! A huge
investigation is going on. What if they do search the garbage? What if they use
a metal detector? What else can I do?”

“Burn it.”

“With what?”

Otto ran his fingers
through his hair and started to pace. “All right, fine, I don’t know what to
do, either, but Byron you can’t take that thing to Wu. You just can’t.”

“Why not? I am done
with this mess.”

“Because I’m part of
this, too. I don’t want them knowing it was in my room. Then it’ll be my room
that gets tossed. It’ll be me getting questioned. I don’t have time for that
now! I have to focus! I have to pull up my grades!” Otto stamped his foot and
cursed. “I should be studying right now.”

“Then go study. I can
talk to Wu myself.”

“No, dude. You talk to
Wu, and you’re on your own. Don’t mention me, or where you found the knife
because I won’t back your story. Got it?”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH
YOU?” Byron bellowed. “People are dying!”

“Not me!” Otto said. “I
have to look out for me. So find somewhere new to hide the knife where people
can’t actually find it.”

Before Byron had a
chance to respond, Otto left the room, closing the door firmly on his way out.
Byron sat down and stared at the blade in his hand.
What do I do? Mom? Dad?
I have no idea what to do.
He sat in his room for another five minutes
until he started to worry that Trapper might come back and find him holding his
knife. Finally he decided to tape the knife to the underside of one of his
drawers, where no one would see it unless they pulled the drawer out completely
and turned it over. It seemed as good a place to hide it as any.

When he emerged from
the room, Byron was determined to focus on his final exams. How he got through
that week without breaking down and strangling Otto, he would never know.
Otto’s actions felt like a betrayal, and their relationship was strained
because of it.

Rumors continued to
swirl around the ETC about the deaths. While the majority of his fellow
students regarded these events as borderline entertainment, Byron sensed the
growing panic among the administration.

“How do they not know
that Omar and Diego are behind this?” Byron asked Trapper in private. “Are they
a bunch of idiots?”

“I get the feeling they
suspect Omar. But that doesn’t mean they can prove his guilt. If Diego is
helping him cover his tracks, it makes it that much harder.”

Clardonsky and Wright
were among the few staff genuinely concerned about the recent deaths. While
Professor Wright could do little more than warn his students to take extra
precautions, Nicoletta Clardonsky spent two weeks teaching her students moves
to disarm a knife-wielding opponent. In her private sessions with Byron, she
used a real knife as they sparred and forced him to use his blasts to defend
himself. He lost track of how many times she “killed” him because of his
mistakes, and it chilled Byron to see how deadly she could be with a bladed
weapon. She performed thrusts and attacks with a precision many surgeons would
envy.

When final exams ended,
Byron had to admit he was pleased with his scores. He was still in the top four
in the class with one semester remaining. Unfortunately, all the hubbub about
the murders didn’t affect Diego, who continued to stand atop the class in academics.
With so little time left in the program, it appeared impossible that Byron
would win a golden skull in anything but aviation. In fact, by mid-July, Byron
was one top score away in aviation from locking up the skull as his own. The
problem was that the first exam of the fourth semester, according to Professor
Wright, had a new twist.

“Since we’ve covered
the situations when you’d prefer computer-controlled weapons on your aircraft
over human operators and vice versa, your next exam will cover aerial combat in
two-man aircrafts. Each of you will be paired with another member of your
class. The higher ranked student will be the pilot, the lower ranked student
will be the weapons officer. The way the pairing system works will be as
follows: students ranked in the top twenty will be paired with students in the
thirties and forties. Students in the fifties and sixties will fly with
students in the seventies and eighties, and so on. No matter how well or poorly
you perform, both students will receive the same grade without exception. If
you wish to switch partners with another team, all four members of the two
teams must agree, and then I must also approve. Any questions?”

One student near the
front of the lecture hall raised his hand. “Can you give us details of the
flight scenario?”

“Naturally, this will
be a combat simulation in real jets over the airfield. The pilot and weapons
officer will work together to eliminate another pair of students. Your
opponents will have similar rankings. Also note that winning the scenario
offers only a small boost of your grade. I’m more interested in seeing how you
fly and work together. Any more questions? No? If not, I’ll post the teams on
Friday. In the meantime, you’ll be randomly assigned partners every day this week
to practice working tandem. Good luck.”