Psion Alpha (45 page)

Byron ignored the fact
that her story went against everything else she’d ever told him. Maybe this
time it was the truth. “What do you mean?”

Emerald wiped her eyes.
“My life … the wheels came off. It was all about pain. The parties, drugs, sex,
all of it. My mom begged me to consider the Elite Training Program. I laughed
at her. Then she said she would kick me out and cut me off from the money—my
dad left us with a lot of money—if I didn’t. I had to scramble to get my stuff
together. My dad has a twin brother. He’s well connected in the government and
pulled some favors to get me here, despite my age. I had to see a psychologist.
It was all really fast. I wasn’t ready for the life, but I’m a pretty good
liar. I latched onto Trapper because—because he looks like him.”

“Trapper looks like
your dad?”

Emerald nodded.
“Obviously not exactly, but enough that I noticed it. I also noticed that he
got picked on a lot, and that kind of crap drives me nuts.”

“I—I—I—apologize. I
thought you had feelings for Trapper.”

Emerald giggled into
her hand. “Why? Okay, yes, I realize Trapper isn’t gay. We had a long talk
about it. But … no.”

“Can we talk about this
stuff more after the test?” Byron asked. “I know that sounds shallow, but I
need time when my hand and my head do not hurt. I hate having this big thing on
Monday hanging over me. Is that okay?”

Emerald smiled like she
was trying not to cry. She put a finger to his chest. “As long as you promise
to stop treating me the way you have. No matter what.”

“I—”

A knock came at the
door and the doctor came in reading his tablet. “Mr. Byron, you injured your
hand. Your hand suffered a hairline fracture.”

“Will it get worse if I
use it?”

The doctor raised an
eyebrow. “No, but it’ll hurt.”

Byron accepted a
prescription for pain medication and went back to work.

The weekend was busy.
Everyone in Byron’s class had booked time on simulators through every hour of
the weekend. Byron, who spent more time than anyone in the flight lab, had
foreseen the rush and signed up early for the maximum allotted time on the
two-man simulators, so he and Emerald had no problem getting practice time. He
tried not to order her around, and she patiently told him off whenever he
slipped.

When Monday rolled
around, the exams began. The tests were done in three waves: the lowest ranked
students on Monday, the middle-tier on Tuesday, and the top ranked students on
Wednesday. Byron was as nervous as an inmate on the day of his execution. All
second-year classes were cancelled for the examinations. Most of the students
in Byron’s year spent the days in the air traffic control tower observing the
flights. Byron and Emerald spent time both practicing in sims and watching the
matches with Trapper and Otto and their partners. Byron pointed out the things
he observed other students doing well or poorly.

Tuesday went almost
exactly like Monday. Whenever Byron thought too much about the test, his body
trembled with nervous energy. Emerald, on the other hand, seemed remarkably
calm. “Since when am I the nervous one and not you?” he asked her Wednesday
morning.

“It’s easy to be
relaxed,” she answered, “when you know you’re flying with the best pilot in the
school.”

Byron appreciated the
praise, but didn’t say anything. The hours ticked by until it was time to head
back to the airfield. While they walked, she sniggered at his anxiety, even
teased him. “You want to hold my hand? Maybe it will calm you down.”

“Somehow I doubt that.
Probably the opposite, in fact.”

Emerald laughed and
brushed his arm with her fingers. The small touch made his stomach flop. As
they walked, he forced himself to focus on flying, not flirting. But it was
impossible to deny that he felt something for her, no matter how mad he’d been
about what she and Trapper had done.

“How’s your hand
doing?” she asked.

“Better. Still hurts. I
can fly through it.”

“WOW.… ” Emerald put
the back of her hand to her forehead. “You are
so
strong.”

Byron rolled his eyes,
laughing. They arrived at the top of the tower right as Trapper and his partner
took off. Trapper was both an excellent pilot and gunner, and only made two
small mistakes during the exam. The aerial battle lasted about twenty minutes,
and Trapper’s team won. Byron, Emerald, and Otto all cheered for him even
though they knew he couldn’t hear. Otto’s turn came thirty minutes later. His
opponent was tough and smart. Otto might have won if his partner had given Otto
better angles of attack, but they lost narrowly. Byron glanced anxiously at
Emerald.

“Chill out!” She
grabbed his hand and patted it. “I am not going to mess this up for you.”

“I was—that is not—”

Her hands went to her
hips. “Worry about yourself. I’ll make any shot I have to.”

Since Byron and Diego
were ranked first and second in the class, they flew last, about an hour before
sunset. Before Byron took the elevator down to the runway, he glanced around
the tower and saw that at least eighty percent of the class had showed up to
watch the last aerial battle. Once on the ground floor, they went in the locker
room to change into flight suits.

A wall bisected the
room. Omar and Diego changed on one side, Byron and Emerald on the other. Their
flight suits hung on a long, but nearly empty clothes rack. Byron stripped down
to his undershirt and boxer shorts. Emerald wore a tight tank top and panties.
Byron tried not to look at Emerald as she changed, but caught a glimpse of her
when he turned to grab his uniform. She saw him looking and winked.

“Something you’ve never
seen before, Byron?”

Byron blushed furiously
as he fumbled with an apology.

“It’s cool. I wanted
you to see this.” She turned around and pulled up her tank top. Byron saw
nothing but smooth, bare skin on her back.

“Your tattoos,” he
said. “They—”

“Gone. Had them removed
over the break.”

“Why?”

Emerald raised an eyebrow
at him.

“I never asked you—”

“I already told you why
I did it.”

“For me?”

“For
me
. Because
I don’t need them anymore. I want to be more than a bunch of pictures on my
skin.”

Byron glanced down at
his bare feet, curling his toes up under them. “I treated you like garbage. I
saw you in a superficial way.”

“Sometimes, yeah. But
other times you saw the person I wanted to be. You were my friend even when I
didn’t deserve it.”

During the Siberian
summers, the weather only reached about twenty degrees Standard. It didn’t feel
that warm now, so close to the evening. A chilly wind whipped in from the
north, making Byron wish he wore more than a flight suit. He took note of the
conditions and reminded himself how this would affect his piloting decisions.
He glanced over at Diego and Omar as they strutted to their jet. Diego stared
back at him with his jaw set, eyes determined. Byron nodded to him and climbed
into the cockpit. One of the engineers ran up before they closed the hatch.

“All systems are
clear,” the engineer said. “Run through your checkpoints and wait for the
takeoff signal from the tower!”

Byron gave him a thumbs
up and ran through each check. Behind him, Emerald did the same thing. The
fighter jets they flew were technically considered “cruiser jets.” While they
had respectable weapons capability, they were built for transporting small
teams, not for aerial battles. Maneuverability had been sacrificed for larger
cargo. According to Professor Wright, these small-winged, cruiser jets were the
wave of the future as long as aerial battles were things of the past. While
Byron preferred to fly fighter-style jets, it thrilled him just to be in the
air.

In less than three
minutes, the countdown began. Byron wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and
gripped the controls, ignoring the pain in his right hand. When the countdown
reached zero, Byron fired his vertical thrusters and launched the jet from the
runway. On the second mark, he shot off toward the west, away from Diego and
Omar. A minute hadn’t passed before the third mark came, telling him to turn
the jet and commence. Byron banked sharply near his maximum corner speed to the
left until he had completed a one hundred eighty degree turn.

He couldn’t see Diego’s
jet at first, but knew from the radar it was approaching. Byron turned the nose
of his plane up and climbed. He’d need all the altitude he could get before
long. About fifteen seconds later, Diego’s jet rolled and followed behind him,
trying to get to Byron’s six o’clock position. Byron countered this by
thrusting forward and banking another sharp left.

Thus began a game of
cat and mouse between Byron and Diego, each taking turns playing both roles.
Every time Byron thought he’d gained an upper hand with a solid attack
maneuver, Diego responded perfectly with a pitchback, a high yo-yo, or some
other textbook maneuver, frustrating both Byron and Emerald.

“Try a higher angle of
attack,” Emerald suggested.

Byron ran through a
mental list of maneuvers he felt comfortable enough to do and chose the one he
thought might work best.

“Okay, why not.”

He performed a U-turn,
increasing his angle of attack on Diego, while pulling up at a high speed. His
jet had just barely begun to stall, when he rolled the jet and turned the nose
of the plane toward Diego. He kept the nose pointed at Diego’s six while
speeding toward him.

“Don’t overshoot him,”
Emerald warned, “I’ve almost got him locked.”

Diego tried to break
across Byron’s flight path, but Byron anticipated this. “Get him! Get him!”

“I’m locked,” Emerald
said. “Four seconds, three sec—dang it!”

Diego rolled and dipped
low. Byron tried to follow, but Diego had done a one-eighty turn, now flying
directly at Byron. Byron reacted too slowly and had to sharply pull up in order
to avoid collision. Diego took advantage of the error and turned yet again, now
on Byron’s tail. Alarm warnings came through the speakers, driving home the
point that Byron had done something stupid. Byron counted down the seconds in
his head. When he hit two, he jerked his controls and prayed that Diego
wouldn’t be able to keep up.

The beeping stopped,
and Byron weaved back at Diego, who responded by adjusting his angle back at
Byron. They weaved in and out, out and in, each trying to outmaneuver the
other, their planes acting like a strand of DNA as they crisscrossed one
another in a helical tango. Byron knew he could beat Diego if he stayed patient
and waited for the right moment. He added more levels of complexity into his
weaves, drawing upon his innumerable hours of practice. His pitches and slices
became more oblique, faster paced, spontaneous. Diego reacted well, staying
aggressive and focused. Neither pilot seemed willing to break the scissor
pattern their jets had fallen into, though Byron knew it had to happen.

“He will break it,”
Byron told Emerald. “Wait for it. He thinks he can surprise me. Wait for it. He
performed a J-turn when he caught us moving in on him. If he does it again,
I’ll do the same. Our angle should give you a clear shot.”

After two more weaves,
Diego did exactly as Byron predicted. He pulled hard on the controls to stay
with Diego. His hand screamed at him from the pressure on his injured knuckle.

“Take the shot as soon
as you get it!”

The targeting systems
on his console informed Byron that Emerald had successfully locked onto Diego’s
jet.

“I got him! Stay with
him! Four seconds, three seconds!”

Diego tried another
roll, but this time Byron knew what to expect, adjusting his angle accordingly.
The targeting stayed locked through the turn.

“Two.… ”

Byron gritted his teeth
through the pain pulsing through his hand.

“One.… ”

“YES!” They both
screamed at each other.

“Hahahaha!” Byron
bellowed. “You did it!”

An announcement over
the speaker invited the teams to land. They went into formation and landed side
by side on the runway. Typically, the pilots and weapons officers shook hands
after the match, but Diego wanted nothing to do with Byron or Emerald. Omar
followed his pilot’s example and passed them by without a word. Byron and
Emerald grinned at each other giddily. Then Byron did something crazy. He
grabbed Emerald and kissed her.

She didn’t seem to mind
at all, in fact, she kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised him. They
stood on the tarmac, arms wrapped around each other, and kissed for several
seconds. The cold winds blew around them, but Byron felt none of it. All he
knew was the warmth and softness of the girl pressed against him. It was his
first kiss, and the greatest moment of his life.

Immediately after the
kiss ended, Byron thought of Trapper.
Did he see us?
Of course he had.
He’d been watching the exam. Byron tried to think of what he’d say to his
roommate.