Psion Delta (21 page)

Kaden
didn’t have to say anything. He wore the answer on his face.

“And
you told Jeffie?”

“Yes.”
Kaden whispered the word.

Sammy
stared at Kaden until he explained himself.

“She’s
the best thing that ever happened to him since Rio,” Kaden began. “He’s happier
than ever. He needed her then, and I think he still needs her now. His
wounds—yours, too—they’re deeper than anyone here realizes. You’re stronger
than he is, though. You don’t need her.” Sammy saw the love Kaden bore for his
brother and felt no enmity toward him. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“Forget
about it.”

“You
probably would have beaten us in the Game, anyway.”

“Yep.”

They
shared a laugh. Kaden pointed at Sammy’s jumpsuit.

“How
did you break a sweat? You weren’t even in the sim room for a half hour!”

“Nerves,
man. It’s my first Panel.”

Kaden
laughed again and put an arm around Sammy. “Let’s go downstairs. People want to
cheer you on. Me included.”

Word
spread quickly that Sammy had passed his first sections of the Panel. Plans
were made and quickly executed, so that before Sammy knew it, Monday evening
turned into a big party in his honor. Every Beta attended, including Jeffie.
Brickert ordered the Robochef to make a massive amount of chicken cordon bleu
in Sammy’s honor. New age reggae blasted from the stereo, compliments of Kawai.
For Sammy, however, the best thing of all was having his friends celebrating
with him. Brickert, Kawai, Natalia, and Strawberry were genuinely thrilled for
him and hardly left his side. Sammy assumed this was because they wanted to
buffer him from Jeffie’s conspicuous lack of enthusiasm. No matter the reason,
it buoyed his spirit to see such support from his friends.

He
told everyone about his very brief meeting with Commander Iakoka, which got
many laughs, especially from Kobe and his friends. When he announced that next
week he would finish the last two portions of the Panel before embarking on his
training mission with Charlie Squadron, this brought the loudest cheers.

Ever
mindful of their curfew, the party began to wind down at 2130. Brickert and
Natalia offered to clean up the mess so Sammy could talk for a little longer.
Strawberry stayed by Sammy’s side, beaming up at him.

“You
must be so thrilled,” she told him when they had a moment alone outside the
cafeteria.

The
grin on his face was answer enough.

She
gazed back at him and smiled prettily. “I wish I’d gotten here sooner so that I
could have gotten to know you better. I like hanging around you and your
friends . . . even Brickert.” She made a face to tell him she was teasing.

“No
big deal,” he said with a dismissing wave. “We still have time. I have a few
more months—even longer once we’re all Alphas.”

“True.”
Strawberry swung her right leg back and forth. Sammy wondered briefly if she
had the jitters. “But I’ll still miss you.”

“Thanks.
I’ll miss you, too. You’ve been very steadfast. Always by my side. Even when I
wasn’t sure I wanted you there.”

Strawberry
laughed sincerely. It sounded much better than her fake one. “I know. I’m like
a wreath on your door sometimes, huh? I’ll really miss you, Sammy. Like
really
.”
She hooked her right foot behind her left as she stared at him. One hand was
behind her back, the other was at her bottom lip, rubbing it absentmindedly.
Her cheeks had tiny red spots on them that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“I—I—Do you know what I mean?”

At
first Sammy didn’t know what she meant, but the pieces slowly fell into place.
“Well, uh . . . yeah. I think I know what you mean.”

Strawberry
slipped her hand into Sammy’s and intertwined her small fingers with his. Her
other hand still played with her lower lip in a nervous sort of way Sammy found
curiously enticing. He noticed how her lips sparkled with a touch of . . .
whatever it was that girls put on them. Certainly, he’d recognized Strawberry’s
beauty before, but in the last minute or so something had changed. He noticed
the familiar bodily changes that occurred whenever a girl made him tense, and
also the inopportune buzzing in his brain that occurred at such moments.

“I’ve
never kissed anyone,” Strawberry told him, though he didn’t detect any
embarrassment at her confession. “I’ve told people that I have because I wanted
to seem more interesting to boys, but I haven’t. I wanted to save it for
someone special.”

“Me—I—neither.”
He noticed now that Strawberry stood almost thirteen centimeters shorter than
him.
If I’m going to kiss her, should I bend my knees or tilt my head or
some combination of the two?
The mechanics of their situation filled his
thoughts for six or seven seconds until Strawberry took another step closer.
She had put on something that smelled really good. Maybe a perfume or a lotion.

“I
think I’d like to kiss you, Sammy.” Strawberry closed her eyes and moved in.
Her breath hit his nose, and Sammy caught a whiff of something that smelled
like cinnamon. The scent of it filled his nostrils and suddenly he wasn’t in
Beta headquarters. He wasn’t on Capitol Island. He wasn’t about to be kissed.
He was strapped to a chair in a small room with a black door. Hanging above his
head was a helmet suspended from the ceiling. His own vomit filled a bucket on
his lap. A man in a suit stood next to him. He chewed cinnamon gum, and it
laced his breath and words.

Pain
defines us, Albert
, the voice said.
It shapes and molds our
character, our actions, and our destinies.

Sammy
backed away and smacked his head on the wall. The urge to vomit filled his gut,
but he stifled it with a hand to his stomach and a deep breath. An expression
of shock froze on Strawberry’s face. “Are you okay, Sammy?”

He
rolled off the wall and ran back into the cafeteria to find Brickert. He didn’t
know why he wanted to talk to his roommate, but it seemed important that he do
so. He shoved open the door and saw Brickert and Natalia locked in a fierce
kiss, arms wrapped around each other. They broke apart at the sound of his
entrance. Both of them wore expressions like they’d been caught pilfering the
others’ pocket.

“Sorry,”
Sammy said as he backed away. “Sorry.”

He
broke into a run to the stairs, ran down them, and hid himself in his dorm
before anyone else could bother him. A brutal storm of rage and misery was
passing through his body and mind. It seemed that he might not ever be happy
again, that the world was a terrible, cruel place made only for suffering. A
bit of the darkness he’d met on the trail to Wichita resurfaced. Sammy sat on
the floor and hugged his legs as tears streamed down his face, and even then he
couldn’t figure out why he felt this way.

12.
Information

Tuesday July 2, 2086

In
Glasgow, Commander
Byron felt more at home than he had in many
years. The Byrons spent the days talking, joking, and catching up on missed
time as best they could. Lara fawned over her grandson and Thomas was
particularly enamored with Marie’s quiet dignity. The longer they talked, the
harder it was for the commander to envision himself leaving the hidden base.
Gone were the politics of the NWG defense hierarchy, absent were the demands of
General Wu, and diminished were the pangs of missing his assignment with the
Betas.

On
their third day in Glasgow, Thomas gave them a tour of the town, which was now
the new headquarters of the resistance.

“Our
base is actually divided into two sections,” he informed them as they drove on
an underground road headed north, “here in Glasgow, and also in Saint Marie
about twenty minutes up the road. We’re going there now. Saint Marie’s an old
airbase that was converted into a town about a hundred years ago. Both halves
were deserted like Wichita. Plenty of housing between both settlements. Plenty
of room for our equipment, too.”

“How
did you know to abandon Wichita?” the commander asked his father.

“A
Thirteen killed one of our men. We found signs of torture. People were already
evacuating the Palace when we got back from Omaha. It was a clean operation.”

“I
heard your voice in that hangar, Pop, but I failed to recognize it. How many of
your resistance did you lose in the battle?”

“Twelve
dead. Eight more wounded.”

“Has
that scared people off?” Marie asked.

His
mother and father exchanged a look. “Quite the opposite,” Lara said. “Over the
last six weeks, we’ve had nearly a thousand new members join us.”

“A
thousand?” the commander repeated.

“Yes.
It’s been unbelievable.”

“To
the flag, to the flag, to the flag we fly,” Thomas began. “Gather round, hear
me bleed, this is our battle cry. Though men and women ‘round us fall, gather
one, gather two, gather three, gather all.”

Commander
Byron looked at his father. “Whitman?”

His
father grinned at him. “Byron, Thomas—an original work—and thank you for the
compliment. People are responding to action. Too long we wallowed in docility.
It’s not a mistake we’ll make again.”

“I
am proud of you, Pop,” Commander Byron said. “You, too, Mom.”

The
conversation soon changed to other things. Lara began a recitation of her side
of the family tree to Albert and Marie, telling them all about the Arcishewskys
and the Hollidays going back several generations. She wasn’t close to finishing
when they arrived at Saint Marie. It was smaller than Glasgow. To the west were
a few dozen small homes forming a quaint neighborhood. To the east lay the
airfield and two dozen or more buildings.

“We’ve
had this place ready to go for over two years. Even the underground roads we
use to get around have been dug out for months. Everyone knew the day would
come when Wichita would be exposed. Still . . . I can’t believe what those CAG
bastards did to my hometown.” A strong vein of hate laced Byron’s father’s
words and a storm raged in his bright blue eyes. “‘For the Angel of Death
spread his wings on the blast, and breathed in the face of the foe as he
passed.’”

“
The
Lord Byron,” the commander muttered under his breath. His father had ground
poetry into his brain from a young age. While other kids heard stories from
Grimm, Andersen, and Aesop, Commander Byron went to sleep with
Leaves of
Grass
still fresh in his ears.

“We’re
as safe here as we were in Wichita,” Byron’s mother commented as they surveyed
the scene as a family. It wasn’t the most beautiful landscape to live in, and
the commander wondered whether his parents might wish for something better.

“Wait
‘til you see the new cruiser we recently . . . acquired,” Thomas said, cracking
his fingers.

“Acquired,
huh?” Commander Byron asked.

“Ask
me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”

“What
about
thou shalt not steal
, Pop?”

Thomas
Byron looked at his son to see if he was being serious. Commander Byron patted
his father on the back and gave him a wink. After the tours were over, Thomas
and Lara introduced their family to several close friends and resistance
leaders. Then the five Byrons went back home and ate dinner around a small
table in Thomas and Lara’s home on First Avenue in Glasgow. His mother had made
pizza the way the commander had enjoyed it as a teenager: grilled with extra
cheese. Thomas taught his grandson the perfect way to homebrew root beer. Lara
had Albert and Marie cracking ribs when she told them stories about her Walter,
like the time her boy got himself stuck in the mud while feeding the family
dog.

Commander
Byron listened to the stories, smiling along, and sometimes chuckling. Most of
all he enjoyed watching his son and daughter-in-law spend time with his
parents, something he wouldn’t have imagined possible two months ago. During
these moments, he studied his father and mother, noting the tolls that time had
taken on them over the last several years. His father had always looked young
for his age. Not so anymore. His mother had retained her elegance and poise,
but her features and expressions were no longer as soft as they’d once been.
Leading a machine like the resistance had seasoned them and toughened them up.

After
the meal, discussions strayed from stories of family and anecdotes of the
commander’s youth to more serious matters.

“We’re
working on something big right now, Walter. This could change everything. When
Sammy was here, he helped us trace a call from Orlando. It contained some
important information about—”

“An
impending attack on Baikonur. He reported on it as soon as we brought him
back.”

“Yes,
well, we did some investigating and found that the building in question is part
of N Corporation. It’s
the
genetics giant. They’ve made billions from
their research, especially with their line of designer pets.”

“Designer
pets?”

Byron’s
father tapped his temple. “I forgot that NWG still bans cloning. My mistake.
Designer pets are very popular here. A dog with wings. A glowing cat with long
hair that doesn’t shed. A sugar glider with gills. That kind of stuff—expensive
and glamorous.”

“Sounds
pretty cool!” Albert commented. “You want to get me a hamster with a turtle
shell, Dad?”

Commander
Byron chuckled politely as his father cut back in. “We started digging into the
financial records of N and found that the corporation owns buildings in eleven
major cities in North and South America. We suspect that somehow this company
is either directly involved with the Thirteens, or that a government agency is
sponsoring the Thirteens through research and other grants to the corporation.
We’re eavesdropping on six of their buildings now, lots of snippets of things,
but never an entire picture.”

“Do
you suspect all of the Thirteen cells are located in these N buildings?” the
commander asked.

“No
idea. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“But,
Pop, why would animal cloning be involved in all this mess?”

“No
idea on that either.”

“Do
you ever hear anything about a fox?” Commander Byron asked.

“A
fox?”

“You
mean like a regular fox?” Lara said.

“No
one knows what it means,” the commander responded. “When we interrogated the
mole in our organization—the man who sabotaged Albert’s mission—he mentioned
something or someone named ‘fox.’”

His
parents both shook their heads. Lara added, “We haven’t heard of anyone like
that. The only other thing we hear lots of talk about is digging.”

“Digging?”
Byron repeated.

“Well,
tunneling is more accurate,” Thomas said. “Not sure where it’s going on or what
exactly it means. But tunnels are mentioned often. We suspect that it either
means they’re doing some kind of secret work in NWG territory or that they’re
building a secret bunker here.”

“But
we suspect it is most likely the former.”

“The
traitor we caught had tunneled under his home to create a secret bunker of
sorts,” Commander Byron explained. “If there are more of them, this could be a
common theme. I will look into it.”

“We
may very well have a better shot at finding info from our end than you do from
yours,” his father admitted.

“Speaking
of things on your end, Walt,” Lara said, “what about Sammy and Toad? How are
they doing? I wish they could have come, too. We miss them. Don’t we, Thomas?”

“Great
kids, Walter. You’ve done a fine job with Sammy.”

“Thank
you,” Commander Byron said, “but I am not allowed to take Betas with me
whenever I please.”

Byron’s
mother watched him with a peculiar expression on her face. “What aren’t you
telling us, Walt?”

The
commander sighed heavily and let his face fall into a mask of neutrality.
“Samuel’s friend died in Omaha during the battle, Mom. I avoided telling you
because Samuel said you had grown close to him.” Large tears pooled in his
mother’s eyes, and he tried not to notice them. “Samuel took it very hard for a
while, but he—he is getting along better now.”

“Sammy’s
better, Grandma,” Albert said. “He’s doing great.”

“Toad
and Sammy were both very good boys. Oh, poor Toad!” The commander’s mother
wiped her nose and eyes in the handkerchief that Thomas offered her. “He
deserved better than that. And poor Sammy for having to deal with so much
tragedy.”

The
five Byrons sat in silence for several seconds before Al and Marie decided to
say goodnight to the rest of the family. The newlyweds slept in an empty house
a block away to allow them some privacy. After they left, the tone of the
conversation changed abruptly.

“What’s
the feel of things in general on your end of the war, Walter?” his father asked
while cradling a large steaming mug between his hands.

Commander
Byron took a sip from his own mug and savored the near-burn all the way down
his throat. “Tense. Very tense. A lot of things are going on right now. Several
convicts, including Thirteens, escaped from our prison on Capitol Island a few
weeks ago.”

“Caught?”

Byron
shook his head. “Not even close. They were prepared, and that scares me. Next
we had a recent cyber-attack on several NWG government facilities. General Wu
suspects we still have more mess from Commander Wrobel to clean up, which is
why he moved me over to that project. Problem is, the deeper I dig into this
pit, the harder it is to see the bottom. He had been planting bugs in our
systems for at least two years. For now we have to send all critical
information on a separate network.”

“We
get the feeling something big is happening,” his mother said.

“But
we don’t have enough information to know if it’s connected to what your mole
did or not,” his father added. “Seems that there’s a lot more activity among
the Thirteens now than five or six weeks ago.”

“If
things do escalate,” the commander said, “it will be much more difficult to
come here and visit you. Right now, we have certain flight routes mapped that
are less watched. We also have stealth technology superior to what the CAG has.
I have no way of knowing how much longer we will stay ahead of them in that
regard.”

“Walter
. . . ” his father began.

“Mom,”
he said, looking at his mother’s face, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Pop . .
. please come back with me. We can be a family again.”

“We
are a family, Walt,” Lara told him. “We always will be. These last few days
have proven that to me.”