Psion Delta (15 page)

“You
mean kids with the skills to become professional gamers and things like that?”

“No,
not gaming. It is a government owned and operated school. One of the few in the
world. In fact, there are only two others like it.”

Mrs.
Joel leaned in. “If I may, please, Mr. Amos? What is the focus of the school’s
curriculum?”

Dr.
Rosmir cleared his throat to tell Byron he was ready to test Gabriel.

“Let
me propose this,” Bryon stated. “Let Doctor Patel take Gabriel in another room
for the tests. Mr. Joel can go with him. The doctor will explain everything he
does before he does it. While the three of you are doing that, Mrs. Joel and I
can discuss the specifics of the school. That will speed everything up
considerably. Is that all right?”

The
parents agreed. Rosmir scowled at the commander for suggesting he go off with
the boy and the father while Byron got to speak with the mother. When Gabriel
and Mr. Joel accompanied Rosmir to the kitchen, Commander Byron turned his
attention to Mrs. Joel.

“The
school we operate is very focused in science and practical skills. It is a
small school. We only have about twenty students.”

“Ow!”
Gabriel shouted from the kitchen. “You said it wouldn’t hurt!”

“I
said it wouldn’t hurt if you stopped jerking around,” Dr. Rosmir responded.

Commander
Byron smiled politely to reassure the mother. “The students are kept to a very
rigid schedule with both formal instruction and hands-on training.”

Dr.
Rosmir stuck his head around the corner and gave Byron a thumbs up sign. Byron
nodded to show he understood.

“But
what skill is it my son has that you’re interested in?” Mrs. Joel asked. “To be
frank—and I don’t want to discourage you—my son has a difficult time in social
circles. He doesn’t have many—well,
any
real friends—friends who aren’t
heavy gamers. If he’s not doing homework, which is a struggle to get him to
focus on, he’s upstairs pretending to be a superhero on his games.” Her voice
dropped to a whisper. “His father is the same way.”

“I
see,” Byron commented softly.

“I
didn’t have many options being thirty and still single.”

“So
you think your son is not ready for such an undertaking?”

“Don’t
get me wrong! Gabriel is very talented at what he does. Some gaming sponsors
are looking at him very seriously, but I’m not sure that’s the direction I want
his life to go.”

Dr.
Rosmir came back into the room and signaled to Byron that he wanted to speak in
private. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” Byron asked Mrs. Joel. “We need to
step outside and discuss some things.”

With
her blessing, they went to the front porch to talk. “This one’s going to
require a little more work,” Dr. Rosmir reported. “He’s unfit, has mild asthma,
and definitely shows traits of having an autism spectrum disorder.”

“What
do you recommend?”

Dr.
Rosmir scratched his head as he thought. “Start with giving his mother
instructions to get him on a diet. Put him on cerebral accelerators for the
autism. I’ll check in on him in a couple weeks to see how he’s progressing.”

“Will
he be ready to start with the next class of recruits coming up?”

“That’s
six weeks away? I guess so. He’ll need more time than that to catch up to
speed, in terms of his maturity. And you get to tell him he can’t play Universe
Whatever anymore. How do you think that will go over? Sounds like early stages
of a gaming addiction. The autism is probably part of that, too. If you think
you can start him on that soon, go for it. But he won’t catch up to his peers
emotionally for several months.”

Byron
nodded. “I have seen worse. So have you.”

“No
doubt about that. Remember that skinny Atkins kid? When was that? Nine years
ago?”

“Ten.
Brandon Atkins. And yes, I remember. I almost told him no.”

“Well,
he was weird. So was his family. You had every right.”

They
returned inside and sat down with Gabriel and his parents. The younger brother
was sent upstairs. After both parents understood and signed agreements of
confidentiality, Commander Byron began. “I appreciate the trust you have shown
us. Let me tell you a little more about our school and our situation. If you
read or watch the news, you know tensions are high between the NWG and the CAG.
Our constitution prevents us from forming a standing army, so we employ people
with anomalies which give them special abilities.”

“You
mean my son’s gaming skills and things like that?” Mr. Joel asked.

Dr.
Rosmir looked as though he had to bite his tongue in order to not respond
sarcastically to the question.

“No,
Mr. Joel. Back when Gabriel accidentally
pushed
Tobias down the stairs—”

“It
wasn’t a push!” Mrs. Joel protested. “Gabriel would never—”

“I
know.”

“Tobias
nearly broke his neck. Gabriel didn’t mean—”

“Exactly,
your son displayed an ability to use kinetic energy projection. We call it
blasting. Let me demonstrate it for you. Do you have a glass or cup I can
borrow?”

Mrs.
Joel nodded and retrieved a large plastic cup from the kitchen with a picture
of The Flash on it.

“Careful
with that!” Mr. Joel warned.

“Thank
you. Please watch.” Commander Byron placed the cup on one end of the family’s
small coffee table. Then he steadied his hand about six centimeters away. The
Joel family’s attention was fixed onto the cup. Using a gentle blast, Byron
pushed it to the other end of the table.

Mrs.
Joel’s hands flew to cover her open mouth. Mr. Joel jumped back into the couch.
Gabriel clapped twice and shouted, “COOL! He’s like Professor X!”

“No,
I am nothing of the sort. This is—”

“Wait
a minute!” Mr. Joel cried. “Are you going to ask us to give you money and
things like that? Is this some kind of a trick? How do I know your doctor
friend didn’t just pull that glass on a string? Or maybe it’s all some
elaborate hologram!”

Dr.
Rosmir raised an eyebrow at the commander.

“I
assure you, Mr. Joel—”

Mr.
Joel stood up. “I think this is very suspicious. My son is on the verge of
getting his first pro gaming contract. You interrupt us during our most
important guild battle to date, which we WON by the way! Now you want to prove
to us you’re a real superhero and things like that!”

Commander
Byron calmly raised a hand to speak.

“No,
I’m not finished. My son has a real future in this business. He’s broken a
couple records and things—”

Byron
released a second hand blast aimed at Mr. Joel’s chest. Gabriel’s father left
his feet and his back hit the cushions of the couch. Mrs. Joel gasped, “Asher!”

Mr.
Joel sat in his seat, stunned. When the shock finally wore off, he began
nodding dumbly like a bobble-head toy. “I believe you now.”

With
that taken care of, Commander Byron finished his presentation about the
training Gabriel would receive at headquarters, the expectations that would be
set for him, and gave a vague description of the hazards involved. Gabriel
became increasingly giddy, promising to do whatever it took to become a real superhero.
Mrs. Joel hesitantly agreed. Mr. Joel, however, still wasn’t happy.

“You
can’t take my son away! He won’t be able to play in our guild. And—and you say
he can only call home once a month? Why?”

“Those
are the policies we employ to help the kids focus on their training. Your son
is not going to have time to fulfill his daily schedule and be in your gaming
group.”

“It’s
called a guild!” Mr. Joel said heatedly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “He has a
chance to go pro and things like that!” Before Byron could respond, Mr. Joel
left the room while his younger son stood on top of the stairs, shooting a toy
gun.

“Go
back to your room, Tobias!” Mrs. Joel shouted.

“I
don’t care about the guild, Mom!” Gabriel whined. “I want to go to superhero
school.”

Byron
rubbed his temples and sighed, glancing at Dr. Rosmir as he did so. “I think we
need to start from the beginning. . . . ”

Commander
Byron didn’t get very far. Mr. Joel ran back into the room only a couple
minutes after he’d left, panting. “Are you going to be training my son to be a
terrorist?”

“Excuse
me?” Byron couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“A
terrorist. You heard me. A terrorist! They’re saying on the news that NWG
terrorists set off a bomb in Wichita . . . you know . . . over there.”

The
commander jumped to his feet. “I know where Wichita is. Where is your
holo-screen?”

“Right
there,” Mr. Joel said, pointing through the kitchen, into the den.

Commander
Byron, flanked by Mr. Joel and Dr. Rosmir, stood in front of the screen as Mrs.
Joel turned on the news.

“—unable
to provide live footage at this time due to air travel restriction in CAG
territory, but the reports we are receiving from CAG officials state that a
B-bomb has been detonated in Wichita, a ghost town in the middle of America. A
group called the Crimson Sox has stepped forward claiming responsibility. This
group is known to be the largest NWG terrorist organization operating in CAG
territory. They state that if demands are not met which include surrender to
NWG control, they will next target a major populated city.”

“What’s
a B-bomb, Dad?” Gabriel asked.

Dr.
Rosmir stared at the screen, answering the question as though he read the words
from a dictionary. “A bomb that unleashes a pulse of energy, which destroys all
cellular junctions, causing loss of life to all living organisms except
one-celled bacteria and viruses.”

“Huh?”

“Is
this your people’s doing?” Mr. Joel asked Byron again.

“No.
We would never. . . . ”

The
voice from the holo-screen continued, “The CAG’s response has been swift. The Speaker
for the President released the following statement moments ago: ‘We will not
tolerate a threat on CAG soil. These terrorists will be caught and face
justice. With recent reports that these terrorists are working in conjunction
with the NWG itself, we may consider this an act of war. If we must increase
security, so be it. If we must further tighten control over our borders, we
will do so. We will take any steps necessary toward ensuring the safety of all
Americans. Let our enemies know that we will find them and destroy them whether
here or abroad.’”

Rosmir
caught Byron’s eye and gestured to the screen with a jerk of his head. “Your
parents?” he hissed. “Aren’t they—didn’t you—?”

Commander
Byron nodded as his heart banged against his ribs. “Yes,” he whispered back,
“they found the resistance.”

9.
Loser

Saturday June 3, 2086

After
two weeks
of new leadership, Major Tawhiri’s changes in Psion Beta
headquarters had become quite apparent. He enforced strict curfew rules: 2130
Sunday night through Thursday night and midnight on Friday and Saturday nights.
The exception to the rule was that the winning team of each week’s Game got to
stay up until 0100. Everyone hated the change. They brought up their dislike
for the new rule in their weekly meetings with the major (something Byron had
never done), but the major insisted that they all adhere to the rules, like it
or not. Tawhiri also implemented dietary restrictions. This irked Sammy’s
friends, particularly Brickert, who normally gave no thought to the fact that
he ate a hamburger or pizza almost every day. Now the Robochef counted their
calories and forced them to take vegetables and fruit on a regular basis.
Brickert and Sammy threw the vegetables away until the Robochef refused to give
them anything but salads.

“You
used to be my friend!” Brickert yelled over-dramatically at the Robochef when
this happened. “Now you choose Major Tawlooli over me? Curse you, Robochef!”

Perhaps
the biggest change that Tawhiri enacted was the end of rankings. As he explained
it, “The rankings are great for the people at or near the top, but detrimental
to those who struggle with physical combat.” Instead, he arranged for the Betas
to meet with him in the sim rooms once or twice a month for one-on-one training
sessions. Kobe and a few others complained loudly about this at the Sunday
meetings, but no one could change Tawhiri’s mind.

Sammy
was grateful for Tawhiri’s decisions. Earlier curfews meant less time for
Jeffie and Kobe together in the evenings. And he knew that since his Anomaly
Eleven had not returned, it was unlikely he’d ever achieve top ranks in the
personal stats, despite everyone’s expectations of him. Always occupying his
thoughts was the Game ever closer. At first, he told no one about it. The
choice was his, and his alone. Advice from others would only taint his thought
process. For several days, Sammy teetered back and forth between intentionally
losing and going all-out to win the Game. On days when he and Jeffie shared a
moment, or he sensed some of their old camaraderie, he wanted to stay. On days
when she gave him the cold shoulder to spend time with Kobe he daydreamed about
packing his bags and leaving.

After
mulling over his options for three weeks and still not coming to any
resolution, he told Brickert about his dilemma during one of their tri-weekly
joint training sessions in the sims. They hung back in the sim room to talk.
Sammy rubbed his sore leg while Brickert raised some important questions: what
would Sammy do for fun when he wasn’t busy on missions or in training? Who
would be his friends? A bunch of twenty- and thirty-year-olds? Al and Marie? By
the time Sammy graduated, they’d be married and more interested in doing . . .
married couple stuff. On the flip side, going on real missions, seeing new
challenges, and working with people of different anomalies sounded pretty cool,
while the thought of three more years of the same sims and instructions at Beta
headquarters did not.

“What’s
wrong with you?” Brickert pointed to Sammy’s left leg, which he favored each
step he took from the sim room.

“Nothing.”
Sammy tried to correct his limp, but the ache was significant.

“It
hurts still? You didn’t even work that hard.”

“It
goes away fast. No worries.”

Brickert
frowned as he watched Sammy, but said nothing more. They walked in silence, but
Sammy could hear his friend thinking about what to say next. “Well, I’ll tell
you, it all comes down to one question. Do you feel like you still belong
here?”

“What—”

“No,
forget about me and Jeffie and whoever else is here. If none of that mattered,
would you want to stay?”

Sammy
didn’t answer out loud, but he knew the truth in his heart. They walked in
silence until they reached the rec room where Brickert had promised Natalia
he’d meet her after Sammy finished tutoring him.

“Because
the way Tawhiri’s changing things, I might want to graduate early, too. Curfew
sucks big, big—”

“Good
night, Brick,” Sammy said. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”

“She’s
not my girlfriend!”

As
the days rolled on, Sammy limped through them, often literally, after a
grueling workout in the sim rooms. Between his already busy daily schedule and
tutoring Brickert after hours on the fifth floor, Sammy had little time to
think about his upcoming decision. He rarely saw anyone but Brickert and Strawberry,
who liked to watch her brother and Sammy as they trained. She even hinted that
she, too, would like to receive private classes from Sammy, though he knew it
wasn’t for the same reasons as her brother.

One
Friday after lunch, Sammy found Jeffie waiting for him outside his sim room.

“Heya
Sammy,” she said.

“What’s
up?”

“Is
it true that you might be graduating early?”

Sammy
swallowed hard as he looked away from her. “Where did you hear that? Brickert?”

“No,
not Brickert. Is it true, though?”

“Uh
. . . there’s talk.” Sammy knew he hadn’t lied very well and hoped Jeffie
didn’t notice. “How are things going with you? You and Kobe doing well?”

“Yeah,”
Jeffie said, “well, you know how it is. I miss our late night chats. A lot.”

Sammy
raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I
do! I—I don’t know. . . . Things aren’t the way I thought they’d be when I
found out you were coming back.”

“What
do you mean?”

Jeffie
stared hard at Sammy. “I don’t know.”

“You
already said, ‘I don’t know.’”

They
grinned widely at each other, and it reminded Sammy of their old conversations.
The moment felt good.

“Did
I?” she asked. “Maybe it means I don’t know.”

“But
what don’t you know?” he pushed.

“I
don’t know,” Jeffie answered at the same time Sammy said, “You don’t know.”

She
punched him in the arm while they both laughed. “Let’s hang out tonight.” She
dropped her voice when suggesting the idea. “It’s Friday, after all. I’ll ditch
Kobe early and we can talk somewhere alone. It’ll be nice.”

Sammy
inwardly rejoiced at the prospect of spending any time with her. “You sure?”

Jeffie
paused for a moment before beaming toothily at him. “Yep, positive. I’ll send
you a text.”

Through
all four hours of his sims, Sammy thought about Jeffie. He didn’t perform well
and he didn’t care. After dinner, Kaden and Kobe organized a gaming tournament.
Everyone was invited. Sammy’s initial reaction was excitement. He hadn’t gamed
at all since returning from the hospital, and he had lots of fond memories of
Beta tournaments in Star Racers and other such things. On the docket for the
night was a virtual sword fighting game called
Classic Duels
. He didn’t
particularly care for it, but since everyone was playing, he joined. In the
first round, Kaden paired Sammy against Brillianté, whom he easily beat. In the
second round, it was Hefani. Hefani was tougher, but Sammy moved on to fight
Antonio in the third round. Then he got a text from Jeffie:

I’m
in sim room 7. You coming?

He
looked around the room and realized she wasn’t there.

Didn’t
even see you go. Yeah, gotta beat Antonio. Five minutes.

“Buckle
up, Sammy,” Antonio taunted as they put their VR helmets on. “You’re about to
find out why they called me The Raper in my boarding school.”

Kawai,
who was helping Antonio get the helmet screwed on correctly, smacked him on the
back of the head. “It’s
rapier
, moron.”

Sammy’s
field of vision went white and he was instantly in a dojo with a hundred
different swords in front of him on a wall.

“CHOOSE
YOUR WEAPON,” an ominous male voice announced.

Sammy
chose the same sword he’d used against Brillianté and Hefani simply because he
was used to it. Antonio would then get to choose their surroundings.

The
room melted into a domestic scene. A large living room with three bookshelves
standing side by side, a sectional couch with an ottoman, and a fireplace
surrounded him.

Antonio
appeared about six steps away, his sword held at the ready and a cocky grin on
his face. “EN GARDE!” the voice shouted.

Sammy
knew Antonio was good. He’d watched him beat Jeffie and Ludwig in the earlier
rounds, although
dominated
would have been a more apt description. As
the game began, he remembered standing in Stonehenge with his four friends,
battling it out to the death in a similar virtual fighting game. Jeffie had
been particularly angry at him that day, though now he couldn’t recall exactly
why. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Jeffie killing him, and then
Brickert cutting her down.

Why
was she mad at me that night?

Antonio
advanced with well-taught form. Sammy stood in place waiting. At some point
between that moment and Antonio’s first swing, Sammy realized how stupid the
game was. He’d never held a real sword before, and he probably never would. He
hardly bothered parrying the first two attacks by Antonio, then dodged in order
to make it look like he hadn’t given up. Antonio kept himself balanced and
controlled, carefully working Sammy into a corner. Once Sammy had nowhere to
go, Antonio methodically out-maneuvered him and finished him with a fatal
thrust. It was quick and easy, exactly what Sammy wanted.

“Sorry,
Sammy!” Antonio said as they got up from their small cubicles. “I tried to go
easy on you so you didn’t look so bad, but I couldn’t wait around all night.”

Sammy
gave Antonio his biggest, fakest grin. “Much appreciated. Maybe I’ll get you
next time.” After giving his friends an excuse for bed, he left the rec room.
Without delay, he headed to the stairs and didn’t stop until he came to sim
room 7. He knocked and the door opened. Jeffie let him inside.

“Took
you long enough,” she said as she poked her head out the door and checked both
ways down the hall to see if anyone else had seen him enter.

“Subtle,
Jeffie, very subtle. You should be a detective if this Psion thing doesn’t work
out. You’ve got the skills.”

“Har
har har.” She closed the door behind him and sat on the floor. “I don’t want
anyone to get the wrong idea about us meeting here. That’s all.”

“What
would the wrong idea be?”

Jeffie
shrugged without looking at Sammy. “I could tell the computer to give us some
gel-chairs. Want me to do that?”

“Nah,
I’m fine.” He sat on the floor facing her and remembered the time he’d sat in a
sim room waiting for her to come talk to him. That time, however, it had been
Kobe tricking him into watching a film of Jeffie and Kobe making out. In some
backwards way, it was like nothing had changed since that day. Sammy still
wanted to be with Jeffie, and Jeffie was still with Kobe.

“So
I’ve been hearing stuff that I wanted to talk to you about,” Jeffie said,
raising an eyebrow, but staring at the floor.

“You’ve
been hearing stuff,” Sammy repeated. “That’s cool.”

“You
might leave early. Like pretty soon. What’s the deal?”

“How
are things going with Kobe?” Sammy asked.

“Do
you realize you ask me that almost every other day?”

“Do
I?” The floor was beginning to get uncomfortable, so Sammy got up and told the
computer to give them two gel-chairs. When they appeared, Jeffie took the one
closest to the door. “I guess that’s because we don’t get to talk very much.
I’ll try not to ask anymore.”