Psion Alpha (51 page)

He offered the napkin
to Omar, who slapped it away. “You want a piece of me? Fine!”

“How many times are you
going to ask that? I’m not interested in pieces, Omar, I want a golden skull.”

“Then name the date!”

Byron didn’t have to
think. “November twenty-sixth.”

Omar snarled at him,
which Byron found to be rather comical with the milk dripping from his hair
down his face. “Better make your peace. I’m gonna kill you in the cage.” He sat
back down next to a surly-looking Diego, and Byron strolled back over to
Emerald and Otto.

Otto couldn’t conceal
his smirk. Emerald stared at Byron like it was the first time she’d properly
seen him. “I am so turned on right now.”

Byron laughed and
hugged her.

“Dude, that was
awesome!” Otto cackled. “I wish Trapper had seen that!”

“So now what?” Emerald
asked Byron as he sat down to what was left of his breakfast.

“I win the golden skull
for combat in November.”

* * * * *

Trapper was flown out
of the ETC to a hospital in Yakutsk for surgery as soon as his condition
stabilized. Byron, Emerald, and Otto kept in touch with him, chatting with him
over their tablets and even including him in study sessions as he recovered. It
was over these chats Trapper informed them at least two people had attacked
him. Though he hadn’t seen their faces, he’d heard them speaking in low tones
after they’d cut his throat.

The effects of the
ongoing investigation were felt. Warnings were issued to students about being
out of their rooms at night. Students were asked to report any suspicious
activity, including among faculty and post-graduates. They also encouraged
students to avoid being alone.

The next fourteen weeks
gave Byron a renewed sense of purpose. Having already won his first golden
skull for aviation, he could now taste a second. All he had to do was put a
beating on Omar in the cage. The third skull, the one for academics, was all
but out of reach. Still, Byron was in position to graduate among the top three
students in his class, which still merited no small amount of distinction,
especially when combined with one, if not two, golden skulls. Emerald’s grades
also continued to improve. Her ranking had climbed to the top twenty-five since
her poor start in their first semester. It was Otto, however, whose grades took
a dip after Trapper’s attack. In the months following, Otto slipped four spots
with poor performances on almost every exam.

Byron’s victory in
aviation freed up some time during the day which he devoted to more combat
training. He still spent an hour each morning before breakfast with Nicoletta
Clardonsky practicing with and without his Psion abilities. He bested her every
time she let him use them. In addition to this, he devoted at least an hour
each evening to sparring and training with Emerald and Otto. It was odd at
first, striking his girlfriend in the face, ribs, or stomach, but Emerald liked
to egg him on with her biting sarcasm. Sometimes beating the tar out of each
other was the highlight of their days.

All this combat
training gave Byron a boosted sense of confidence. Instead of feeling fear or
intimidation whenever he and Omar exchanged a glance, Byron felt only a calm
assurance. Despite what the rest of the students or faculty believed, he knew
he would beat Omar in the cage.

Byron also made time
for Emerald outside of school and training. Nothing he’d experienced in life
compared to her company. As their courtship blossomed, their conversations
moved far away from life at the ETC and delved into every other topic. They
talked about life after graduation and applied for the same assignments in
hopes to stay near to each other. Byron shared with Emerald his deep religious
convictions, and Emerald told him why she struggled to believe in such things.
The more personal information they confided in one another, the more guilt
Byron felt that he hadn’t told Emerald about his ability to “blast,” as he now
called it. He promised himself he’d tell her about it the day they graduated.

During all this, the
investigations continued. Trapper mentioned to Byron in one of their chats that
Wu had said something to make him believe a faculty member was behind the
attacks. Byron didn’t believe it. It had to be Omar and Diego. The only problem
was that Omar not only possessed an alibi, but had passed two lie detection
exams. Regardless of the state of the investigation, Byron was grateful that
Trapper seemed to harbor no more ill feelings toward him. Their private online
conversations were awkward at first, but soon it was as though nothing had
happened. By early October, Trapper had returned to the school, good as new.

From the day Trapper
got back, he was Byron’s biggest supporter for the upcoming fight. He trained
and sparred with Byron whenever he could, urging Byron on each time he gave
anything less than his best efforts in the dojo. He made a calendar and hung it
next to Byron’s bed, counting down the days until the big day. Some moments,
Byron believed his roommate’s excitement for the event exceeded his own.
Nevertheless, it spurred Byron on in his efforts. He worked harder and prepared
more for the match than anything else in his life.

One by one, the boxes
on the calendar filled with red X’s as Trapper counted down the days to Byron’s
fight. Over the last several months, Omar had successfully defended his golden
skull twice, both times against students much bigger than Byron. None of this
mattered. Byron was ready. Clardonsky repeatedly told him this, Trapper
brainwashed him into believing it, and even Emerald was optimistic. With so
much positive influence around him, Byron had no choice but to feel confident.

The morning of Sunday,
November twenty-sixth, Byron woke early and went to the small chapel of the
Elite Training Center. The chapel had no chaplain. Electric candles dimly
illuminated it, and on the back wall stood a tiny, rickety bookshelf filled
with several religious texts. Since Byron had no church services to attend in
Siberia, he came to the chapel regularly for meditation, study, or prayer. The
day of the fight, he made it a point to pray. Emerald sat with him in silence.
Byron knelt with his head bowed for a long time, silently begging God to
recognize his efforts in training and preparation for the fight. When he
finished, Emerald took his hand and linked their fingers.

“Do you think your
prayer was heard?”

Byron nodded. “I know
He heard me. The question is will He help me?”

“What do you think?”

A smile grew on Byron’s
lips. “I guess I will find out.”

The rest of the day, he
spent with his friends in study. Final exams were days away. Byron’s only shot
at the academic golden skull was if Diego performed below a seventy-five
percent on six of his seven final exams, along with the number two student
getting low marks on at least three finals. Earning the academic golden skull
wasn’t likely, but Byron kept at it.

Late in the afternoon,
Clardonsky came to Team Oddball’s study room and asked Byron to follow her.
Omar was already with her, waiting outside. Byron left his stuff with Emerald
as his friends bid him good luck. Clardonsky took Byron and Omar down into the
cage. After reviewing the rules, she committed both boys to abide by them.

“I know there’s been
some bad blood between you two, and sometimes that leads to nastier fights. So
if I catch a sniff of eye gouges or neck punches, the fight is over. Whoever
does it will lose, and I will personally sign your expulsion papers. Got it?”

Byron and Omar stared
each other down as they both agreed to the rules.

“Good. Now the arena is
going to fill up in about an hour. Go to your separate lockers, change into
your gear, and do your warm-ups. Best of luck.”

As Omar and Byron
turned away, Clardonsky caught Byron’s eye and gave him the smallest of winks.
Byron headed to his locker room where he found a full Elite combat uniform
waiting for him. He ignored it for the moment and started his warm-ups. As he
prepared himself, he heard the sounds of students and faculty filling the arena
surrounding the cage. He blocked out the noise and focused on his task. When
Clardonsky gave him the ten-minute warning, he ended his warm ups and dressed.
Once he strapped on the boots, he looked himself over in the mirror.

It wasn’t right. Byron
didn’t like the look of the all-black with red symbols. He understood the point
of it, but it didn’t fit him. He imagined himself in something else. Gray. The
color gray appealed to him because of something Professor Wright had once said
in their leadership lectures.

In wars and battles,
black and white disappears, leaving only the subtle shades of gray
.

After checking to make
sure he could move all his limbs without restraint in his uniform, Byron did a
few more warm ups, then left the locker room. His eyes scanned the crowd for
his friends, but he first spotted Commander Wu and Professor Wright among the
masses. Finally he found Otto and Emerald. Emerald met his gaze and smiled.

Byron mouthed back to
her, “Where’s Trapper?”

Emerald gestured with
her hands that she didn’t know, then wished him good luck. Byron tried not to
notice the apprehension in her eyes as he grinned back at her. Omar emerged
from his locker room moments later. Once both fighters joined Clardonsky in the
cage, the lights of the arena dimmed and a spotlight shone down on the fighting
turf. The crowd fell silent, and Byron sensed hundreds of eyes on him as he met
Omar and Clardonsky in the center of the cage.

Byron knew she was
speaking to him, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes stayed on Omar’s face while
his mind looped through his attack plan over and over again. Then, Omar’s
expression changed from one of passivity to aggression as Clardonsky backed
away from the fighters to a cautious distance, clapping her hands to signal the
start of the fight.

Omar pounced like a
cat. Byron almost wasn’t ready for it. He’d forgotten how fast Omar moved
despite his impressive height and bulk. Byron jerked his head to the side, and
Omar’s fist instantly occupied the space where it had been. Omar immediately
went into a spin as Byron countered with a strike aimed at Omar’s chin, but the
spin made Byron miss and forced him to duck under Omar’s elbow. Rather than
suffering from one of Omar’s brutal counter-maneuvers, Byron grabbed his
opponent’s ankles and jerked them out from under him. Omar twisted his body
around as he fell, loosening himself from Byron’s grip.

Byron scrambled to keep
his advantage and tackled Omar again, relying on his momentum to help him,
distributing Omar’s weight in his grasp, flipping him. Before Omar knew it,
Byron had him on his stomach with his arm pinned back, his shoulder nearly torn
from its joint. Omar grunted in pain. It was the move Clardonsky had specifically
told Byron to practice. Omar rolled, but Byron clutched onto his opponent and
wrapped his arm around Omar’s neck, locking it tightly with his other hand.
Omar got up and slammed his back into the cage to disengage Byron.

Byron’s grip lessened
for only a moment, and Omar dropped onto his back, crushing Byron under his
weight. The air burst from Byron’s lungs with a loud “
OOF
!” His vision
dimmed and he nearly blacked out. Somehow, Byron hung on. Omar rolled two more
times until Byron’s backside hit the cage. Using his feet for leverage, Omar
jammed Byron against the links while hammering the top of Byron’s head. The
pain of the links ripping Byron’s hair combined with Omar landing massive blows
practically set Byron’s whole skull on fire. He transformed his discomfort into
anger. He remembered every cruel and vicious thing Omar and his friends had
done to Trapper, Emerald, Otto, Xian, and himself; these memories fueled his
muscles. Locking his legs around Omar’s chest, Byron squeezed his thighs and
flexed his arm around Omar’s windpipe.

“Fall,” he hissed into
Omar’s ear. “Fall, you big … dumb … ugly troll!”

Omar continued to rain
blows on Byron while slamming him over and over into the cage, but Byron could
feel Omar’s chest struggling and his legs weakening as oxygen became scarce.
Then, right when Byron’s victory was imminent, the spotlight over the cage went
dark, along with every other light in the underground arena. Clardonsky’s
whistle broke the silence, a sign that the fight was to stop. Byron released
Omar from his headlock and sprawled against the mat, his arms and legs throbbing
from fatigue.

Somewhere not far away,
Clardonsky swore. Byron heard the fence of the cage rattle as she felt around
for the door. “Neither of you leave the cage,” she ordered. Byron heard the
latch of the cage as she opened the gate, then again as she closed it. A low
murmur of voices came from all directions as the crowds began to discuss the
sudden blackout. Right as Byron sat up, someone very big climbed on him. A left
hand closed around Byron’s throat while the right crashed into Byron’s face
with the force of a truck.

Byron tried to squirm
away, but Omar’s weight was too much, pinning down Byron’s lower half with
practiced precision. Bright lights filled his vision each time Omar’s fist
slammed into him until finally Byron’s jaw broke and sheer agony shot through
the right side of his head. He reacted by blasting with his hands so forcefully
that Omar flew away from him, crunching into the fence and rebounding onto the
mat. Byron got up slowly, gingerly touching the side of his face that felt like
it had grown to the size of a beach ball.