Psion Alpha (50 page)

“Keogh, report!” Al
said over the radio. “Casualties?”

“Simmons is down.
Doesn’t look good.”

“Get out of there and
take cover!”

The cabin door facing
skyward opened on the tipped truck. Keogh hopped out first pulling Simmons.
Parley followed carrying Natalia. More bullets ripped the air as the drone guns
on the sides of the remaining three mini-tanks re-activated. Keogh shouted for
help while ducking for cover, but the guns trained on him too quickly. Both
Keogh and Simmons took heavy fire and fell. Parley dropped Natalia and
shielded, but he was too late. He staggered back, jerking violently, then
dropped face forward on top of Natalia, holes dotting his front and back.
Simultaneous yells over the radio made it impossible for Brickert to know who
was saying what.

“Keep shooting at the
tanks!” Al ordered. “Push forward, Ludwig. Chartrand, Ciochetto, do what you
need to do to get us out of this!”

“This is madness,”
Ludwig said as he tried to steer.

“Get a grip.” Malm put
a finger in his face. “If you can’t focus, we’re all dead.”

“We need to get
Natalia,” Brickert said. “She’s still alive under there.”

“You go out there,”
Ludwig warned, “and you’re not coming back!”

Brickert ignored him
and went through the back door of the cab into the cargo hold of the truck. His
intent was to grab a weapon, but a length of rope hanging on a hook gave him a
better idea. He grabbed the rope and tied one end of it to a metal handhold
near the rear door, the other end he looped around his waist and knotted. Then
he threw open the rear door and jumped out the back of the truck.

“What are you doing,
Brickert?” Ludwig asked over the radio.

“Drive by Natalia so I
can grab her.” Brickert did not land on the street, but on a gentle blast which
allowed him to hover less than a meter above the pavement. By rocking his body
forward and back, he could control his movement from side to side. Meanwhile,
the truck pulled him forward as though he skateboarded on air.

“I don’t have enough
room!” Ludwig said. “Get down, Malm!”

More bullets from the
drones pelted the front of the truck with a rapid flurry of
DUNK! DUNK!
DUNK! DUNK!
Brickert stayed out of the line of fire behind the truck.

“Are you all right?” he
asked Ludwig.

“Lost the windshield,”
Ludwig responded. “My blasts stopped most of the bullets. Hold on, I’m backing
up!”

Brickert peeked out and
saw two more Aegis with rocket launchers. Another volley of explosives launched
from Al’s truck. One of the Aegis’ rockets fired, narrowly missing Ludwig’s
truck, and bursting into the side of an adjacent building. One of the three
remaining mini-tanks took heavy damage and crawled to a stop. The final tanks
backed out behind the wreckage of the other two.

“I’m pulling out to
give you room to maneuver, Ludwig,” Al said. “We’ll fire on them from back here
and keep them busy. Recover all the bodies, Brick, if you can. I don’t want to
leave anyone behind.”

As Ludwig drove toward
Natalia and the fallen warriors, the drone guns on the remaining tank fired at
Brickert. He shielded with his free hand while using the other to scoop up
Parley. More explosives shot from Al’s truck toward the tank, but the tanks
took cover behind the smoking remains of the others. Brickert blasted strong
with his feet toward the cargo and rested Parley’s body inside among the
crates. Then he blasted back out to grab Keogh just as the mini-tanks pulled
out of cover and resumed firing.

No sooner had he lifted
Keogh, then Ludwig started a U-turn.

“What are you doing?”
Brickert asked. He strained to hold up Keogh’s limp form and still shield
himself, while using foot blasts to stop himself from swinging wildly around
the truck. Rockets sailed overhead from Al’s truck and bombarded one of the two
remaining mini-tanks. Only one Aegis tried to limp away from the wreckage,
quickly picked off by Al’s snipers.

“I’m getting us out of
here!” Ludwig answered.

“Our orders are to take
out those tanks and pick up the bodies.”

“If we don’t get out
now, someone’s going to be picking up
our
bodies!”

“I AM NOT LEAVING
WITHOUT NATALIA!”

What started as a U-turn
turned into a full circle. Once he had the cover of the truck again, Brickert
blasted forward and got Keogh inside the truck alongside Parley. Next he went
for Natalia. As he did so, the remaining mini-tank gunned its engines and
darted forward. Its drone guns spat round after round at the front of the
truck. Suddenly Ludwig cursed and yanked the truck into a left turn.

“What are—?” Brickert
shouted until a rocket shot past the truck, nearly hitting him as he swung around.
He was now too far away from Natalia to lift her, but able to grab Rohacik.

The cycle repeated
itself. Once Brickert had cover, he stowed Rohacik’s body, jumped again, and
grabbed Natalia. She was the lightest by far.

“I got her!” he
reported. “That’s all four.”

“Head out, Ludwig,” Al
told them. “We’re lined up and ready to take out the tank as soon as we have a
clear shot.”

Ludwig followed orders,
turning the truck around for the last time. Behind them, rockets flew from Al’s
truck to the mini-tank, again missing their target. The Aegis in the last tank
returned fire with another handheld rocket launcher, but Al swerved out of the
way and a rocket crashed into the street, which now looked like a war zone. Smoldering
concrete, burning cars, and Swiss-cheesed buildings lined both sides. The acrid
stench of smoke filled Brickert’s lungs.

He needed to get
Natalia into the truck, but the pavement was now so bumpy that he could only
focus on not getting thrown aside by his own momentum. Back at the wreckage, two
more rockets detonated.

“We’re hit!” Al said.
“They took out our front tires. We’re sitting ducks. After the tank is down,
pick us up at the skate park.”

Ludwig swore as he
turned the vehicle. Brickert could only imagine what was going through his
fellow Beta’s mind.

“I can’t carry Natalia
much longer,” he said. “I need some help!”

Moments later, Malm
appeared at the back of the truck. “Blast her to me!”

Brickert wasn’t sure he
could do that. Lifting with both hands, he held Natalia up and aimed her toward
Malm. Without a hand on the rope to help take some pressure off his body, the
fibers gnawed at his waist. He gritted his teeth from both the pain and the
effort.

“Here … she … comes!”

Using all his energy,
he blasted Natalia toward the interior of the truck. Natalia flew over three
meters through the air, but still needed Malm to lean out, grab her, and yank
her down. The blast threw off Brickert’s balance, and he shot off toward a
tree. Brickert shifted his weight, blast jumped, and jumped again off the trunk
of the tree, almost the exact same move Sammy had once performed on him on the
walls of the Arena an eternity ago.

An instant after his
jump, the trunk of the tree splintered apart as bullets from the drone gun
followed him. The rope anchoring him to the truck snagged on a chunk of the
tree and jerked him to the ground. The truck sped off, but Brickert stayed
down, the severed line trailing ahead of him.

Al and his team
exchanged fire with the mini-tank. Both sides seemed immune to the heavy fire
and explosives leveled at each other. Chartrand and Ciochetto did most of the
shooting while Al stood on the truck’s hood and shielded for them. Despite his
body aching worse than anything he’d ever felt, Brickert picked himself up and
ran to the scene to help.

Overhead, another
rocket flew from the mini-tank. Al kept his blasts trained on it. The missile
ricocheted off Al’s blasts and shot toward Brickert. All Brickert could think
to do was jump blast away. The impact occurred only meters away from where Brickert’s
feet had been a second earlier. The concussion from the detonation slammed into
him, throwing off his trajectory and pushing him into the side of a building.
With no time to recover, he collided with the building and blacked out.

Moments later, he came
to with his vision blurred and an oddly loud ringing in his ears. He lay on his
stomach, hands outstretched as shields, unable to get up in his dazed state.
Those few seconds he’d lost turned out to be critical. Al, Chartrand, and
Ciochetto had abandoned their truck and climbed into Ludwig’s. In their
absence, the drone guns turned toward Brickert. He rolled and shielded, but a
bullet struck his foot, tearing into the bone and flesh.

“HELP!” he yelled. It
felt like an anvil had been dropped on his ankle.

The Aegis atop the
mini-tank reloaded a rocket launcher.

“Hold tight, Brick!” Al
said. “We’re trying to find more firepower in these boxes.”

But Brickert didn’t
think he could hold tight at all. Bullets bounced off his shields, but it was
the rocket launcher he worried about. He watched as the Aegis slid the new
explosive into the firing column, hefted the weapon back onto his shoulder, and
aimed. Before it fired, Brickert closed his eyes and turned his face away.

They’re not going to
make it in time.

He heard the firing of
the rocket and the whistle as it zipped through the air. In one breath’s time,
he saw himself accepting Commander Byron’s offer to join Psion Beta, his
orientation, meeting Sammy, and the months of instructions and sims and
training. All of it for this moment, to die in the street from a rocket shot by
an Aegis. He heard the explosion rip the air, but it seemed to come from a
distance because his ears still rang. He opened his eyes and saw Al and Malm standing
at the open back of the last truck as it backed toward him. Down the road, the
final mini-tank smoked and flamed from where the rockets had struck its side.

When the truck finally
reached Brickert, Al held out a helping hand to him. “You ready to go home or
what?”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-
SIX
- Cage

July 2056

The first thing Byron noticed when he reached
Otto’s room was a grinning skull and the words
I AM THE BEST
written in Trapper’s
blood on the wall. Several students stood around, watching with craned necks
and curious expressions as Elite investigators and administration took pictures
and gathered evidence behind a taped off area of the hall. Otto, pale and weak,
leaned against the wall, clutching his stomach and whispering to himself.

“Otto … ” Byron said.
“Otto, tell me what happened.”

Otto’s eyes rolled
sluggishly in their sockets until they fixed on Byron, but the blank expression
didn’t change. Byron felt as though Otto didn’t even see him. The faint
muttering continued until Byron shook his friend by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Otto. Come
on, stop this.”

A high-pitched whine
came from Otto’s mouth, and then he began to weep. “What am I doing here?” he
whimpered. “Why? Why are we here?”

“Calm down, Otto. Settle
down.”

“I don’t want to see
any more blood. I don’t want people to die. This is my fault! I should have
listened to you, dude. I should have.… ”

Byron patted Otto’s back
to help him calm down. Worrying about Otto helped Byron to maintain his own
composure. “No one wants anyone to die. Talk to me about what happened.”

Otto broke down and
pressed his palm against the bridge of his nose and forehead.
“Trap—Trap—Trapper … he woke me when he got up and opened the door. I asked him
where he was go—going. Said he had to t—t—take a p—p—piss. Seemed like he was
gone for a while, and then I thought I heard people talking real—real—real
quiet. Not sure if it was a man’s voice or a woman’s. Not even sure if I was
still asleep or awake, so I stayed in my bed. If—if—if I’d just gotten up.… ”
Otto leaned forward until he was on his knees and retched. Byron backed away as
Otto’s dinner spilled onto the floor. When Otto finished, Byron helped him to
the bathroom so he could clean up. “Aw, dude, this is all my fault. This is all
on me.”

“You are not to blame,
Otto. Okay? Stop doing this to yourself.”

“Why Trapper?” Otto
cried with his face in the sink. “Why does this crap always happen to him?
People had it out for him the day he walked in the doors. Omar … Diego … it
doesn’t seem right. All I had to do was get out of the bed.”

“Stop. This is not your
fault.” Even as Byron said this, he could tell that Otto was beyond reach. “How
about you get some sleep? It is still the middle of the night.”

“I don’t think I can.
They want me to stay here for questioning.”

They left the bathroom
and sat down in the hallway. “Then we wait until they finish and say you can
go.”

At around 0200,
Commander Wu arrived on scene. Byron could see the trouble in the older man’s
face as he surveyed the scene. It was obvious to Byron that Wu had believed Trapper
to be the culprit. The surprise and concern on his face was unmistakable.

You idiot
, Byron thought as he
stared at him.
You could have prevented all this months ago, but you refused
to listen!

Eventually he summoned
Otto into the dorm to speak. Otto was gone for almost half an hour, and when he
emerged he was crying again. In fact, he looked more devastated than before
he’d gone in. “They said—they said I can go now.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Let’s just get
outta here.”

“Can we go to the
infirmary?” Byron asked.

Otto shook his head.
“They specifically told us not to.”

Byron didn’t ask any
more questions. They went back to Byron’s dorm. Otto took Trapper’s old bed,
pulled the sheets over his face, and said nothing. Though he wanted to talk to
Otto, Byron left him alone, and eventually Otto fell asleep. He lay for a long
time in the dark, imagining Trapper struggling for help as his life poured from
his neck. Each time he saw it, the effect on him grew. He had to know if
Trapper was alive.

At 0409, he slipped out
of bed and walked through the halls, debating whether or not he should disobey
orders and go to the infirmary. Nothing made sense, and the more he tried to
sort things out in his mind, the more jumbled they seemed.
Why did I think
becoming an Elite was a good idea?
I could have become a pilot other
ways. Why the Elite?
He realized he didn’t belong in this place with these
people. Despite his strained relationship with his father, and the secrets he’d
kept from both parents, he missed them. He missed his friends in Wichita. The
only good things that had happened to him were being inside of an airplane and
meeting Emerald.

Moments later he
stopped outside Emerald’s room. Unlike the boys, girls got their own rooms
because there were so few of them. Byron knocked gently on her door and waited.
About a minute later, it opened, and a half-awake Emerald peered through the
crack rubbing the sleepiness from her face.

“Hey,” she said in a
thick, just-woken voice. “Is this your lame idea of a booty call?”

“Trapper—he was
attacked tonight.”

“What? Is he okay?”

“Probably not.
Someone—someone slit his throat like the others.”

Emerald covered her
mouth with her hands. “And he survived?”

He shrugged and started
to cry. “I hope so.”

She opened the door and
hugged him. “Come in. Sit down. Can we go see him?”

“No. Otto said they
told him we have to wait.”

Emerald’s hand went
back to her mouth. “Oh my gosh. Why? I just—I can’t believe this. Tell me what
you know.”

Byron gave her every
bit of information he’d received from Otto.

“He was talking to
someone?” Emerald asked.

“Otto said he thought
so, but wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not. Besides, who would he be talking
to in the hall so late?”

Emerald had no idea either,
it seemed. “You, me, and Otto. That’s it.”

“It makes no sense.” A
sudden urge to tell Emerald everything about Otto and the knife hit Byron.
Rather than ignoring it and dealing with the guilt, he decided to listen to his
gut. At first Emerald seemed disappointed in Byron for keeping it a secret, but
he reminded her how he didn’t know who to trust. They talked until Byron had to
go back to his room before the other students woke. Emerald had already been in
trouble with administration once for her conduct, Byron didn’t want to cause
any more problems for her.

He crawled back in bed
and slept for about thirty minutes, then got up and went through his morning
routine. A dark gloom hung over everything. Before going to the cafeteria, he,
Otto, and Emerald met outside the infirmary to get an update on Trapper’s
condition. The head nurse wouldn’t give them any information other than
Trapper’s condition was extremely critical. She eyed them suspiciously and
asked them to leave. Glumly, the three walked to the cafeteria without
speaking. If Xian’s death had created a noticeable hole in Team Oddball, then
Trapper’s absence shattered whatever feeling of normalcy had remained.

Not far away from where
Team Oddball sat, Omar, Diego, and company were their usual chatty selves. Omar
and Markorian had a contest to see who could balance a spoon on his finger
longest while Diego looked on in amusement. Byron kept an eye on them,
wondering if Trapper’s near death was what made them so chipper this morning.

“Byron,” Emerald said,
interrupting his thoughts. By her tone, he could tell it wasn’t the first time
she’d said his name. “You listening to me?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

She frowned at him.
“Stop stewing over them. It never did me any good, or you, or Trapper. Get your
mind somewhere else.”

“Who said anything
about stewing?”

Otto nodded his head
while chewing a mouthful of oatmeal. “You’re stewing. Trapper’s alive. Let’s
just stay positive, okay?”

“Sorry if I have a hard
time sitting here like nothing happened to my friend!” Byron began. Already he
sensed his anger getting out of control. He dropped his spoon as his hands
quaked with a rage he’d never felt before. “Meanwhile, those jackasses laugh
and think murder is a big game!”

“No one’s saying—”
Emerald started to say.

“No one is doing
anything
.
Faculty sits on their hands. Wu interrogated Trapper how many times? You should
have seen his face when he showed up last night, realizing how dumb he is. And
the students … they all think this is some kind of game show. No! Sorry. I am
done doing nothing!”

“Hey, someone turn down
the kiddie quarrel over there!” Omar shouted to Byron’s table. “The adults are
trying to have a conversation.”

Other than Diego, the
rest of Omar’s table laughed and high-fived Omar. Byron had enough. He stood up
and started toward them when Emerald grabbed his hand.

“No. You saw what they
did to me when I reacted.”

Byron shook her off. “I
have no choice.”

He crossed the distance
between his table and Omar’s until he was right over Omar’s shoulder. The
sycophants at Omar’s table stopped talking as Byron waited for Omar to
acknowledge his presence. Finally Omar turned to face him.

“What do you want,
Byron?”

For a moment, he didn’t
answer. He glared at Omar, gathering his courage to do what he knew had to be
done. “I challenge you. Formally. For the skull.”

Omar grinned and then
slapped the table. “You must have forgotten to take your medicine!” As soon as
he burst out laughing, his friends did, too. The only person besides Byron who
didn’t share in Omar’s mirth was Diego. “Get out of here, gnat,” Omar
continued. “You aren’t worth my time.”

Determined to have his
way, Byron took a step away and clapped multiple times. Once the students
nearby gave him some attention, he announced, “Excuse me, everyone! Shut up for
a second! I want everyone to know that Omar Al-Rawi is a gigantic, boot-licking
coward. I am challenging him to a fight, and he refuses.”

Diego leaned in toward
Omar and muttered so softly Byron could barely hear. “Ignore him. He’ll go
away.”

“I am ignoring him,”
Omar responded in a louder tone.

Unfortunately for Omar,
no one else was. All eyes remained on Byron and Omar, which was exactly what
Byron wanted. Omar appeared to be adamant in following Diego’s advice, so Byron
pushed harder.

“How pathetic is this?
Did Goliath tuck his tail between his legs and run away like a chicken from
David? Or have you not read that book because of all the big words? I know you
have a hard time reading when Diego’s not around to help you sound things out.”

Chuckles cut through the
silence as Omar’s hands clenched and unclenched. Diego now spoke so low Byron
couldn’t tell what he was saying. But he could guess.

“What is the matter,
Omar? Tell everyone why the cat has got your tongue.”

“Sit down, Byron.
There’ve been enough deaths at the school this year. No need to add your name
to the list.”

Omar’s response brought
even more laughs from the crowd, and Byron could feel his momentum slipping
away. Without a second thought, he grabbed a glass of milk on Omar’s table and
dumped it on Omar’s head. Omar jerked around, fists ready to fly, but Byron
greeted him with a vicious backhand to the right cheek. The sound of flesh on
flesh rang throughout the cafeteria. Omar jumped up and aimed a haymaker at
Byron, who ducked it and blocked the follow up punch.

“You want a piece of
me?” Omar shouted as he threw three more punches, all of which either missed
the target or were diverted by Byron’s blocks.

“That is what I have
been saying!” Byron responded. “By the way, you have something dripping down
your.… ” He pointed to Omar’s forehead. “Yep, right there.”

Around him, howls of
laughter and cheering welcomed his antics. It encouraged him on, and he grabbed
a napkin from a nearby table. “If I could just … right there … you have a
little something on your face. ”