Psion Gamma (42 page)

Beauty—whatever her name was. He ripped himself away from Byron and ran back into the hangar. Back to the cruiser to finish her off. He knew he could do it. Byron and several others caught up and grabbed him.

“No, Samuel,” Byron said. “There is nothing there for you now. We have to leave, or there will be more trouble than we can handle.”

“I have to kill her . . .” he cried out pathetically. “That woman . . .” His voice sounded weak and lame, even to him. What was the point in having these stupid abilities if all they brought was death? Martin. Cala. Kobe. Toad. His parents. Dr. Vogt. The Hernandes, too, probably.

When will it be Jeffie or Brickert or Natalia or Kawai?

“Whoever she was, she’s gone now,” he said. Then he steered Sammy to the back of the cruiser. The older Alphas avoided his eyes, but still stared at the boy they had come to rescue. Sammy strapped himself in, still sobbing.

I promised to protect him.

The cruiser took off very quickly. Toad’s body was less than a meter away from Sammy, but he couldn’t look at it. He knew if he saw it, the guilt of his failed responsibility would fall even harder on him. It might even crush him. But the presence of Toad’s body behind him, ghostly, cold, and dripping red, stayed on his mind. He buried his head in his arms.

Not long after, one of the Alphas turned to face him and attempted some sympathetic conversation. She asked something about his being excited to get back home. Sammy stared at her with bleary eyes. He got up and went to the front, ignoring the Alphas who asked him to sit back down.

“Samuel, what—” Byron began.

“Wrobel is a traitor.” Sammy stated this as if he’d said the sky was blue. “I saw him on camera in the factory. He betrayed us.”

Commander Byron seemed to search Sammy’s soul before he answered. “Thank you, Samuel.” Then he turned to Tango Squadron and said, “You have all just heard classified information, understood?”

Byron muttered something into his com and began speaking. “Send a squadron for Commander Wrobel. He needs to be detained immediately and kept under guard. Check his office, personal quarters, everywhere. Confiscate his log reports and data systems, too. I will inform the general.”

Sammy returned to his seat. Any Alpha who hadn’t been staring at him before certainly was now. He didn’t want their eyes on him. He wanted to be alone. It just wasn’t fair. Going home was supposed to be wonderful. Toad was supposed to be an Ultra. He’d already helped Toad start his training, and for what?

Nothing
.

The truth of that realization resonated like a gong in Sammy’s soul.

Life isn’t fair, Sammy. Life will never be fair
.

That was it, plain and simple, laid out before his mind. At any moment it could be him, or anyone else he knew and loved, and there was no one above or below to guarantee promises of happiness or stability. He thought about his discussions with Al and Dr. Vogt about life after death and God.

Dr. Vogt is dead. And Al is wrong.

He, Samuel Harris Berhane Jr., was as alone in the world as he had ever been, dependent on his own strength and intelligence. A bolt of lightning could strike the stealth cruiser, shut down its power, and send them crashing into the sea.
And the sun will rise, the Thirteens will still exist, and people will still go on knowing nothing about what’s really happening in the world
.

Bitterness crept into his heart, filling his stomach and chest with its poison. It was sour and it stank to high heaven, but at least things made sense to him now. He did not matter one iota in the grand scheme of things. And it sucked.

May 4, 2086

T
HE FLIGHT OVER THE ATLANTIC
was uneventful, and the team arrived in Capitol Island in the late morning. Sammy hadn’t slept a wink. Members of Tango Squadron, on the other hand, were sawing logs all around him.

How can they sleep with Toad’s dead body in the back of the cruiser?

Byron left the co-pilot’s chair and sat by Sammy. “We are stopping at Alpha Headquarters. I am not sure for how long. You need to meet with Psion Command for debriefing. Tango will be there, too. So will Albert.”

“Can’t you tell them that I just want to be left alone?”

“I know you would rather forget about all of this, but since you are not in immediate medical danger, I have no way to get you out of it.”

Sammy nodded blankly and stared out the window, trying not to think of what would be done with the corpse of his friend.

When the cruiser touched down near the edge of a large airstrip, he was surprised to see several cars waiting to escort them. Byron led him to the closest car.

Sammy looked around him, trying to appreciate the fact that he was home, but unable to do so. The twilight air was cool with a fickle breeze that blew through his shaggy mane. It smelled clean and fresh, but did nothing to lift his spirits. Once seated in the car, he watched the rest of Tango Squadron through his window. They all looked tired and glad to be home.

“How long were they looking for me?” He watched the commander’s reflection in the glass as he waited for an answer.

“Weeks,” was the reply.

“They got my message?”

Byron nodded. Sammy hated the sympathy in the commander’s eyes and focused his attention back on the Alphas.

“How did you do that?” Byron asked.

“It was your dad’s idea. He wrote it.”

“Where are we headed, sir?” asked the driver, another Elite officer.

Commander Byron’s eyes stayed on Sammy for several seconds, and his face wore an expression of surprise. “Uh . . . War Offices. Then as an afterthought, he added, “If you please.”

Byron raised a partition between them and the driver.

“You met my father, Samuel?” Byron’s voice was very quiet, which wasn’t like him. Sammy wondered if the commander really believed him.

“I met Thomas and Lara Byron. They helped me.”

Byron swallowed twice and cleared his throat, turning away from Sammy as he did so for five or six seconds. “Does he still quote poetry all the time?”

Sammy nodded. “But I don’t know who wrote any of it.”

Commander Byron looked at his watch. “We have about ten minutes before we reach our destination. Will you tell me what you can?”

Sammy struggled to give the commander a true accounting of his time since Al’s team went to Rio last November, so instead he spoke about how he walked to Wichita and found a resistance compound. Byron’s face was as impassive as stone while Sammy explained how his parents were part of that resistance, and how they’d helped him get home.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a large metal door connected to a mound of concrete the size of a small shed. When they got out of the car, Byron thanked the driver very briskly and opened Sammy’s door.

 “Keep up with me, Samuel,” he said.

Normally Sammy would have been interested to take a look around at Alpha headquarters, his future home. At this moment, however, he found himself detached from everything around him. The commander walked faster than his usual pace. The door was reinforced steel and had a palm and eye scanner along with voice recognition. Byron opened it, and they stepped into the small concrete bunker. Inside was a small flight of stairs with a second identical door at the back of a large landing. This time Byron stepped in front of a camera.

“State your name, rank, and identification number, please.” The voice came from a small speaker on the wall.

“Psion Commander Walter Tennyson Byron.” Then he listed off a long number that Sammy knew he should be able to memorize, but couldn’t.

The door opened and a much longer flight of stairs appeared. Sammy didn’t count them as they descended, but guessed they numbered far more than two hundred.

The third door at the bottom required even more identification and was about a foot thick. Blue light leaked through the widening crack. Before Sammy could get a good look at the War Offices, Byron tugged on his sleeve.

“In here.”

He led Sammy to a men’s restroom and checked to make sure no one else was inside the stalls.

He spoke in a low, rushed voice: “Samuel, I am terribly sorry for everything that has happened to you. I came to look for you in Rio the first moment I could, but you had already left.”

Sammy met Byron’s eyes. “You came to the—?”

“What Tango and I just did for you in Omaha was not known to Command. It was unauthorized. Not illegal, but I am still in a great deal of trouble. So I need you to be honest and tell them everything. I know it will be difficult. When you finish, Dr. Rosmir is going to want to see you.”

Without another word, Byron led them out of the bathroom and down a hallway with blue carpet until they came to a room with a brass plaque that read
Command Conference Room
. The door was slightly ajar. Sammy heard at least a half dozen voices floating out of the small space. Byron pushed it open.

“Sammy!” Al exclaimed, grabbing Sammy’s hand and pulling him into a tight hug. While Al tried to restrain himself, Sammy felt nothing more than a disjointed desire to feel gratitude. “I knew you were alive!” Al quietly told him in their embrace.

Order came to the meeting and everyone took their seats. Sammy sat between Commander Byron, who was at the head of the Command table, and a man Sammy vaguely recognized as the Alpha Doctor. He’d seen him once before, back when Jeffie broke her leg.

 “General Wu cannot be here,” Byron began. “Victor will not be here, either.”

A short Asian man with a slightly bulging stomach and thinning hair spoke up. “Where are they? I was told this was of the utmost importance.”

“The general is in a meeting with the congressional subcommittee on space travel and colonization. However, one of my pupils is here. Samuel Berhane.”

Several people in the room turned to look at Sammy.

“This isn’t—” another commander began. “You mean to tell me—?”

“Yes, Mabella, I do. Samuel, those here at the table are members of Psion Command. You would normally not meet them until your Panel, but allow me to introduce you.” He gestured around the table. “Commanders Annaliese Havelbert, Chang Ling, Muhammad Zahn, and Mabella Iakoka.”

Sammy received four gestures of acknowledgement. The smiles on the faces of the commanders were strained at best, as though they didn’t know exactly what to make of his presence.

“How long have you known Samuel was alive, Walter?” Commander Havelbert asked. Like the others, she was middle-aged. Her blonde hair and brightly colored finger nails distinguished her from the pack. She sat with impeccable posture. Sammy guessed she was or had been a dancer.

Commander Byron stared at his hands for a moment and finally looked up at all the members of Command. “Samuel is sitting right here,” he said, gesturing at Sammy, “and is available for questions. How about we allow him to talk first, and then I will share my story after—”

“But Walter—” Havelbert started to protest.

“Annaliese, please,” Byron responded politely, but with a note of exasperation, “I think his account is more important.”

No one seemed pleased about allowing Sammy to speak instead of making Byron answer their questions. Sammy didn’t get it. All of these people had been trained by Byron, so why did he get the impression they were annoyed with him?

Reluctantly, he began telling them everything. He started with the Rio mission, how things had gone from bad to worse until he fell into a hole. Occasionally Byron interjected with his own comments. Each time he did, he got sour looks from his peers. When Sammy revealed that he’d seen Wrobel on the factory security tapes, the atmosphere in the room changed.

Commander Iakoka exchanged a look with Havelbert and Zahn. “You’re absolutely positive you saw him?”

Before Sammy could respond, Byron interrupted. “I have verified everything Samuel has reported.”

“And you’re letting us find out from a kid?” Ling asked. His face and bald head had all turned bright red.

From the looks on the faces of the other commanders, Sammy could tell tempers were barely being kept in check.

“Do you know how insulting this is?” Iakoka asked.

Al shifted uncomfortably in his seat behind Sammy. Tango Squadron, who sat in chairs along the wall, exchanged glances.

Commander Byron employed his usual diplomatic tone. “I see your point, Mabella. Please see mine. I have had reason to suspect a mole in Command for the last several weeks. Why would I have come forward with the information? That mole could have been you. I am telling you now because I now know who it is. I am assuming, of course, that the treason was limited to him. For all I know, it might not be. We have severe damage control to do. We need to start by figuring out exactly how much information Victor gave away, if he has sabotaged any of our systems and networks, and where he is right now. The moment I learned it was Victor, I requested his detainment. So far, no one has found any trace of him. Now, Samuel, please continue.”

Sammy spoke quickly. He wanted to get out of this room. Keeping his eyes on the table, he told them about the Hernandes family, his capture and torture and escape. At this point, Byron interrupted him multiple times with questions, as did the Alpha doctor. When it became too difficult to speak about his journey with Toad, Al reached forward and put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. Then he got to the part about overhearing Thirteens discussing an attack on the Artemis launch, and commotion broke out again among Command.

“How can they know about that?” Ling asked his peers.

Commander Zahn dropped several curses.

Havelbert took off her glasses and rubbed her nose where they pinched.

Iakoka also made a noise but Sammy couldn’t hear her over Zahn’s swearing.

 “You’re forgetting what Samuel has already told you about Victor. General Wu is aware of everything. Why do you think he is meeting with the congressional subcommittee right now?”

The discussion then veered away from Sammy and onto whether Commander Byron had broken protocol by lying about Tango’s whereabouts and then flying into Omaha without notice or proper procedure. Zahn and Iakoka were by far the angriest. Commander Havelbert listened to both sides, offering comments. But Byron didn’t seem concerned about their opinions.

It bothered Sammy that these people, the leaders of the Psions, would sit and squabble while they had more important things to be discussing.

“Commander Byron,” Dr. Rosmir said over the noise, “perhaps I might go ahead with my exam of Samuel. Is he still needed?”

Sammy put his hands up. “No,” he told them, “I don’t need to see anyone. I was examined by a doctor in Wichita.”

Rosmir began to say more, but Byron cut him off. “I know, Samuel, but it is protocol, and given everything you told me—”

“But I’m fine!”

“Your back and arms have multiple lacerations,” the doctor said. “You have bruising on your face and you’re holding your shoulder funny.”