Psion Alpha (25 page)

He’s
shooting at ME!
An instant later, she was struck in the back
with the force of a sledgehammer. Her under-clothing was not designed to absorb
the impact of bullets. The small parachute attached to her back opened and
carried her across the street. It was constructed to save a life, not to provide
slow, comfortable landings.

The
Queen hit the ground fast and hard. She tried to run, but found herself
crippled, not by pain—she felt only moderate discomfort due to her anomaly—but
by the tears in her muscles from the gunshot wounds. Still cursing everything
from the chute to the security guard to her rotten luck, she fled through the
streets of downtown Seattle until she came to a small, rundown convenience
store. In a dumpster around back, she emptied out a garbage bag, stuffed her
chute into it, and buried it deep. Satisfied with her work, she hobbled to the
restroom, locked it, and performed emergency medical treatment on herself using
a filthy mirror above an even filthier sink. Then she asked the clerk to call
her a cab, which she took to the air rail hub.

By
0400, she was home. Her com showed no messages from the fox or Diego. As far as
she knew, the fox hadn’t yet been alerted about the break-in at the N building.
The Queen sighed in relief. Once the fox woke, he would direct Diego to do a
sweep of all Thirteen activity in the Seattle area. By then it would be too
late. All traces of her presence in Seattle would be gone.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
- Jungle

Tuesday, December 10, 2086

A
symphony of sound surrounded Sammy as he sauntered behind Dave and Duncan
Hudec, who, led by Aaron, sliced through the jungle with machetes that never
seemed to dull despite their heavy use. These men were the brass section. Each swing
of their knives gave a whistle followed by a low
WHUMP!
Birds, insects,
monkeys, and other animals all made up the string and woodwind instruments of
the orchestra as they made their presence known through loud and constant calls
during the day and night. But most of the noise, the worst of it all, was the percussion
provided by the rain—the constant, never-ending, ever-present rainfall that
followed them nearly from morning to night.

Sammy
couldn’t get dry no matter what he did. The packs holding their gear were
water-proof, but things still got wet every time they unzipped them. Food they
ate turned to soup long before the meal was finished. The torrent of water had
slowed their travels from fourteen to sixteen kilometers a day to somewhere
between six and twelve. It forced them to adjust their route to avoid the
deepest parts of the Amazon basin. Most days they spent as much time in their
rafts as they did on the ground. The continual wetness and humidity had given
Sammy and several others stubborn heat rashes that wouldn’t go away no matter
how much cream Dr. Rosmir applied to the areas.

Another
problem was insects, especially the ants. Sammy couldn’t understand where they
came from, especially given all the rain. Yet they got into
everything
.
One morning he found that one of the straps of his pack had been eaten through.
It took him half an hour to repair it. Some of them got under his clothes and
bit. At his last count, he had seventeen bites. Not all came from ants. Mosquitos
and flies—blood-sucking flies—tormented them each day. Their buzzing and biting
was impossible to get used to.

But
worse than the noise, the rain, the rashes, or the bugs was the humans,
specifically, the ones on the mission with Sammy. No one could seem to agree on
anything except for which direction to walk. While Sammy was in charge of the
mission, Wesley Gibbons seemed to have adopted the role of
resistance leader
.
He challenged Sammy on every issue, and somehow had more support. If Sammy
argued for smaller rations, Gibbons pushed for more. If Sammy pushed for longer
days, Gibbons argued they would wear themselves out. When Sammy wanted left,
Gibbons asked for right. Sammy up, Gibbons down. But the thing Sammy hated most
was seeing some of his own friends, like Li or Levu, side with Wesley and not
him. He never got the feeling that Gibbons didn’t like him, only that Gibbons
genuinely thought himself more capable of leading than Sammy.

Tuesday
morning, they awoke soon after dawn. However, in the jungle, dawn was a
relative term. Between the rain and the thick canopy over the jungle, sunlight
was not bountiful. Breakfast was the typical fare: a granola-type mix with
powdered milk that was more like milky water by the end of the meal thanks to
the rainfall. Sammy noticed how low the rations were running after two weeks, but
said nothing to the group. Instead, he made a mental note to speak to Wesley
about it in private. After the meal, they set a goal to travel ten kilometers
before stopping for dinner. The first hour after breakfast they spent slogging
through either a muddy river of water or watery river of mud.

“Hold
up!” Aaron said as Duncan and his brother sliced away another bit of the jungle
in their path. “The map tells me the water is going to get deeper. If we want
to make our goal, we’ll need to use the rafts for a few hours.”

The
group knew the routine and started prepping for the river. They had three or
four people to a raft: Sammy, Jeffie, and Wesley in one. The Hudecs and Sherwood
occupied another with Li. Nikotai, Levu, and Maad Rosmir were in the fourth,
which left Lorenzo Winters, Aaron Lewis, and Kawai in the last.

Sammy
and Wesley did the rowing in their raft.

“I’m
perfectly capable of working a paddle, you know,” Jeffie reminded them.

“You
say that every time,” Sammy answered. “All I need you to do—”

“Is
sit here and look pretty,” she finished. “You say that every time, too.”

“It’s
my stock answer to your stock statement.”

“I
can’t exactly look pretty when I resemble a drowned rat. I don’t think my hair
is ever going to recover from this.”

“Probably
not.”

“But
at least I have these bug bites to give some color to my cheeks.” Jeffie
pointed to three spots on her face that resembled Sammy’s ant marks.

In
the raft next to them, the sound of static came from Sherwood’s radio as he
steadily cranked the generator while the Hudecs paddled. Over the last two
weeks, Sherwood had developed an obsession with the radio, trying to catch news
of what was happening in the outside world. He had found the NWG-sponsored news
station, but the distance, the canopy, and the rain often interfered with his
signal. Sammy was glad of this as the news was rarely encouraging.

Most
days, during their travels, the company broke into several different
discussions. The Hudecs both loved to fish, and spent hours talking with
Nikotai and Levu about their excursions or commenting on the wildlife found in
the waters around them (much of which was snakes and tortoises). Sammy learned
more than he ever thought he could about orienteering from Aaron. Aaron, Dave,
and Duncan had been friends for years, going back to their days as Elite Black
Ops soldiers. Until recently, Sammy had never known Elite Black Ops existed,
and he peppered them with many questions, which led to stories of hunting
terrorists and insurgents out of mountains, deserts, and jungles around the
world.

“Survival,”
Thomas had said to Sammy after recommending Aaron and the Hudec brothers for
the Coari Mission. “That’s what those three are good at. The training they went
through in the Elite Black Ops, you want that kind of experience with you. Back
when I was a kid, I’d read books on U.S. Army Special Forces, Navy Seals, and
all those types of programs. The survival training they went through, that’s
the same kind of stuff Elite Black Ops go through. You want them on your team.”

An
hour into the rafting, Sherwood finally picked up a signal coming through the
trees. Other rafts drifted closer to hear the news streaming over the
generator-powered radio.

“We
still hear rumors of talks between NWG territories and the Continental American
Government. What are your thoughts on that, Senator Kansagra?”

“If
the rumors are true, I consider that to be treason.”

“And
do you believe the rumors?” the female radio host asked.

“I
haven’t seen any hard facts. No one has come forward and admitted to any talks.
At the same time, President Marnyo has called upon every territory to pledge
its renewed allegiance to our government, and several of our territories have
not answered that call. That worries me.”

“Why
do you think some of these—” Static cut through the radio signal. Sherwood responded
by cranking the generator a little faster. “—hesitate to pledge—”

“—military
struggles. The President is working with the best minds available
to—strategy—patience—”

“There’s
no doubt—a disadvantage right now. Is there, Senator?”

“As
long as we are defending our land and—there is no such thing as a—”

The
signal was lost again, though Sherwood continued trying to reestablish the
signal while cursing at the radio. The party was silent until Gibbons spoke.

“It
doesn’t sound good,” he muttered to Sherwood and the Hudecs. “Have to wonder
how much good we’re going to do out here if the NWG can’t hold itself
together.”

“People
are scared,” Sammy responded, “the NWG needs to show its citizens that they’re
not giving up.”

“Can’t
expect the resistance to do everything,” Gibbons added. “We’re supposed to be
the distraction, not the main attraction.”

“No
one is expecting the resistance to do everything,” Sammy shot back.

“Well,
it seems that way,” Dave Hudec added. “The NWG ain’t done naught but get its
tail kicked halfway ‘round the globe. Not hard to see why folks are gettin’
disheartened.”

“We
just need to focus on our business,” Aaron said over everyone else. “Let others
take care of their own.”

The
temptation to rock his raft and topple Wesley into the water hit Sammy
strongly. Instead he paddled away from the group. Straying away from the
Hudecs’ raft meant he had to steer more carefully through the trees and vines.

“Can
you be more optimistic, Wesley?” he asked once they were out of earshot.

“I
am an optimistic person by nature,” Gibbons responded. “Which is why I expect a
little more fight out of your people.”

Jeffie
had a leave-me-out-of-this expression on her face as she used a small bucket to
bail water out of the raft.

“Regardless
of your feelings, being upbeat will help our group more. We can’t affect things
happening over there. But we can make a difference here.”

“I
am making a difference here. I’m helping you get to the Hive, and I’ll be the
first to come in as back up if you need help. Beyond that, I can do nothing.”

“Sammy’s
right,” Jeffie said. “We need to be positive.”

Gibbons
started to say more, but a voice cut through their conversation. “Don’t touch
that!”

Sammy
turned around to see the commotion. Li was leaning over his raft to grab
something in the water. Dave Hudec stretched out to stop him. Whatever Dave
tried to prevent Li from doing, he was too late. Li jerked as though he’d been
shocked and as his body went slack, he slipped over the side of the raft
headfirst into the dark, churning water.

Sammy
swore as he and Wesley fought the current to turn their raft around. Kawai shouted
in panic, and Lorenzo wrestled her down to stop her from diving after Li.
Sammy’s mind went into calculation mode, observing the river and determining
the speed of the current, the weight of Li based on his stature, and the amount
of time that had passed since Li had fallen into the water. He watched the
swirls of brown and black and green in the river as he counted. Then, without
warning Jeffie or Wesley, he dove into the depths.

The
temperature of the river was no different than the rainfall that had soaked him
all morning, maybe slightly warmer. Sammy couldn’t see much, so he fanned out
his limbs to try and snag something. The count in his head ticked onward.

Three
… two … one … zero … negative one.

Something
brushed his left hand. He grabbed cloth, then used his blasts to propel himself
up and out of the water. When his head breached the surface, he hooked his arm
around the raft and slung Li into the vessel.

“Tip
him onto his stomach and smack his back!” Rosmir ordered Gibbons and Jeffie.

The
Hudecs and Sherwood hauled Sammy into their raft.

“Everyone
to the south shore!” Aaron bellowed. “Doc, get your kit ready.”

“Is
he breathing?” Sammy asked. “What’s his pulse?”

Wesley
Gibbons hammered on Li’s back, while Jeffie pressed her fingers against his
throat for a pulse. “I—I think so,” she said.

“You
have to be sure!” Sammy told her. “Check again.”

“We
can’t defib him without giving away our position,” Sherwood said. He watched Gibbons
and Jeffie anxiously, his hands whirring away on his radio, which still gave
only static. Hard paddling brought them to soggy ground. Aaron set up a cot
while Gibbons and Sammy carried Li over.

“Lay
him on his side!” Rosmir said.

Sammy
did as ordered, then gently blasted Li in the back three times. Finally Li
coughed and spat up water. Dr. Rosmir moved in and took over while the rest of
the team stood around, watching. Kawai cried softly, while Jeffie tried to
offer comfort.

“May
as well set up camp,” Gibbons said, “we aren’t going anywhere for a while.”