Psion Delta (18 page)

Jeffie’s
body changed from relaxed to stiff. “You’re not going to try to win. . . . ”

Sammy
hesitated before he nodded.

“You’re
not!” She ran at him firing blast after blast after blast.

Sammy
met her with shields, deciding how to finish it while still letting Jeffie
maintain some dignity.

“I’ll
beat you, Sammy!” Her voice was thick and shrill. “I will!”

No,
you won’t.
Part of him imagined what a nice story it would make if
she found a way to surprise him and keep him at headquarters a little longer.
Or perhaps, at the last moment, he’d allowed her to beat him. But she didn’t
stand a chance, and Sammy knew it was his time. It was his moment to tell Major
Tawhiri and Psion Command that he was ready.

She
attacked first, running to his left side, the side she must have seen him
favoring as she’d stalked him. Sammy turned and defended. He aimed several
blasts at her helmet, all of which she blocked. His leg screamed as he put
weight on it to turn with her, and he ground his teeth as he tried to focus
past it.
I have to end this fast before I can’t stand anymore
. He had no
idea what was wrong. Yes, it had bothered him in the sims and previous Games,
but nothing like this. Images flashed in his mind of Stripe’s room, the black
door, the helmet, the creams. . . .

He
launched himself into her, catching her off guard. He went for the helmet, but
she grabbed his wrists. Sammy was stronger and bent her arms down, using his
own to trap them at her sides as they fell together to the floor almost like
lovers. She grunted her frustration and jerked one arm free and almost got him.
Sammy twisted his body around until he was on top of her at a ninety degree
angle to her body, pinning her so she couldn’t move her arms. She tried to use
feet blasts the same way Sammy had done against Kaden, and it worked, sort of.
She flipped both of them over, but Sammy used his weight to make the flip a full
360
degrees instead of 180 degrees like she’d wanted. Then he made
sure she hit the ground hard.

When
he landed on top of her the second time, he heard her gasp as the air rushed
from her lungs. Stunned and struggling for her breath, she jammed her fist into
Sammy’s left leg. Sammy cried out in pain and almost released her to make the
agony stop, but he knew it was all she could do with her arm pinned. He had
her, and she could do nothing to stop him as he efficiently ended the match.

He’d
beaten her. He’d won.

When
it was over, Jeffie took off her helmet and let him see her scarlet face. No
tears ran down her cheeks, but Sammy knew they were close. She refused to look
at him as she got up and turned to the nearest door.

“Jeffie.
. . . ”

He
tried to follow her, but his leg completely gave out. His hands stung as they
smacked the cold floor. She didn’t respond as she walked away, although Sammy
heard her let out a small sob when she reached the hallway. As the rest of the
Betas came up to congratulate him on his epic victory, he didn’t feel like a
winner at all.

10.
Glasgow

Sunday June 30, 2086

Commander
Byron piloted
his stealth cruiser over Hudson Bay heading
south-southwest. He’d chosen his flight pattern to avoid any major cities and
even most moderately populated areas. Much of the middle of North America was
deserted, which meant forays into enemy territory were much less dangerous,
especially in a stealth craft. The time on the cruiser’s console read 0300.
Byron yawned and turned down the cabin temperature.

Behind
him, Albert and Marie still slept on the floor of the cargo area, covered in
blankets. Albert’s arm was wrapped over Marie and her foot rested on his ankle.
Byron enjoyed the sight. His son and new daughter-in-law had returned from
their honeymoon to Sicily a day earlier, cutting it short so they could come
with him to Wichita. Commander Byron had originally insisted that they not
alter their plans, but Albert had changed his father’s mind the morning of his
wedding.

“Marie
wants to come, Dad,” Albert told him as they changed into their wedding attire.
“I want to come. I don’t understand why you’re so adamant—”

“Because
it is not safe. I see no reason to endanger you and Marie.”

“I
want to meet my grandparents,” Albert insisted, slamming his clothing locker a
bit too hard. Several other people in the dressing room glanced over to see the
source of the commotion. Albert dropped his voice. “So does she. What’s wrong
with that?”

“They
are very likely dead or hidden. Either way, I will not find them in Wichita.
The only reason General Wu is allowing me to investigate is to salvage
information from their headquarters. If my parents did manage to survive, he
hopes I bring them back as informants. This is a mission, not a family
reunion.”

“Sammy
said you got a letter from your dad. What did it say?”

Byron
swallowed. He hadn’t told his son about the letter for a reason.

“What
the letter says is—is private, Albert.” His response sounded weak, and he knew
it.

“Dad,
come on! You’re the only family I have. No cousins. No uncles or aunts—no
anything! I have a right to know my grandfather and grandmother.”

With
difficulty, Byron ignored the pleading in his son’s eyes, but seeing how badly
his son wanted to be connected with his extended family gnawed at him. “Can we
talk about this after your wedding? I think it would be better to focus on that
today.”

The
suggestion bought the commander more time, for which he was grateful. Albert’s
wedding was a simple, but beautiful ceremony. Commander Byron reflected back on
his own wedding to Emily, taking her hand and promising to be true to her until
the end of time had been the most sincere oath he’d ever made, and he had never
broken it. No family or friends had attended their ceremony. They had arranged
everything in under a week, and carried out their plans. It had been Emily’s
idea.

Albert
and Marie’s wedding reception, meanwhile, had all the trimmings. Commander
Byron happily greeted the many family and friends of Albert and Marie Byron.
The music was lively and the food extravagant. All through the festivities, in
the back of his mind, was Albert’s request to meet his grandparents.
What do
I do?
Byron also thought about the letter Sammy had delivered to him,
wondering when the time would be right to finally read it.

“Are
we almost there?” Marie asked behind him.

The
commander blinked twice before her words registered, extracting him from the
depths of his memories. “Almost.”

Marie
wrapped her arms around the commander from behind, her head resting against his
ear and cheek. “This means so much to Al. Thank you.”

Commander
Byron awkwardly patted Marie’s arm, but at the same time, her gesture stirred
something in his soul. “Think nothing of it. You and Albert are good company.”
He turned to look at her. “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you as a
daughter?”

Marie
blushed and swept her hair behind her ears. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Well,
you are the only daughter I will ever have, and I am not sure Emily and I could
have raised anyone better than you.”

As
Marie whispered her thanks, Albert awoke. Marie knelt next to him and pecked
him on the lips. Commander Byron pretended to not hear the words they spoke to
each other as Wichita came into view. On the horizon, a golden glow told Byron
that dawn was about to break as they reached their destination.

Perfect
timing.

Al
and Marie both stood behind him, watching out the windshield as the dead city
spread out before them. Byron flew at low altitude and saw the city where he’d
grown up for the first time in almost twenty years.

“Dad,
that’s downtown. Sammy said—”

“I
know. We have time for that later. I want to show you something else first.”

Byron
took the cruiser close to the ground as the last of the tall buildings
disappeared behind them. The effects of the B-bomb could not be missed. Death
reigned in Wichita. Large leafless limbs lay near crumbling tree trunks. The
earth was a brownish-black where green grass had once been. If he looked
closely enough, Byron could make out the carcass of deer and other small
animals.

Then,
in the middle of a small community on the farthest outskirts of the city, was a
little cul-de-sac. The blue and white two-storey house stood at the apex of the
circle. A near-perfect replica of it served as a mailbox at the end of the
driveway. The commander remembered the day his father finished making it
because he’d helped install the miniature house onto the post. Two weeks later,
some joyriding teenagers had smashed it with a baseball bat. The commander’s
mother, Lara, cried, but Thomas calmly took it down, salvaged what he could,
and rebuilt it. After he installed it the second time, he sat on the porch until
0100 for three weeks, waiting to see if the punks dared do it again.

As
luck would have it, they did. Byron remembered that night well, too. Three
gunshots woke him up, followed by the sound of car tires screeching. As it
turned out, Thomas Byron had blown apart three tires on a large, orange pickup
truck with his rifle, nearly causing the truck to roll. The police arrived and
arrested the three teenagers and Byron’s father. Unrepentant and defiant,
Thomas Byron refused a lawyer, stating to the judge that he would defend his
property come what may. The judge dismissed the case stating that Thomas had
committed no crime, and the only punishment Commander Byron’s father ever
received was a very sharp reprimand from his wife on the drive home. The
Byrons’ neighbors waited outside as they returned from court, clapping and
cheering loudly as they drove up the cul-de-sac.

Byron
landed the cruiser in the street and invited Albert and Marie to accompany him.
There was no breeze to speak of and the air smelled like a slice of stale bread
charred in a toaster. The unnatural quiet and the unsettling scent reminded
Byron that death surrounded them.

Not
much remained in the house to make it a home, but being there made the
commander nostalgic. He took them through it, room by room, and told them
stories of his childhood. Albert knew many of the stories already, but the
commander couldn’t remember which ones he’d already told over the years. He
talked about his older sisters—twins he’d never known—who had died during the
Scourge before his birth, and how his mother’s eclampsia had prevented her
having more children after him.

Last,
he took them to his bedroom. It shocked him when he opened the door. Everything
looked exactly as it had the last time he’d been inside it thirty-two years
ago: airplane wallpaper, airplane bed sheets and blankets, and fighter jet
posters. Two more posters of his favorite college football team hung over his
bed. His alarm clock that projected the time onto the wall was covered in dust,
so were the model airplanes he’d built hanging from the ceiling. Jets and
fighters and bombers, all of them were there except one, whose string dangled
empty.

They
never changed a thing . . . not even after our fight.

Byron
cleared his throat and touched the pocket where the envelope from his father
rested. “Al, Marie, I want to make you both a promise.” His face naturally
assumed that mask of no emotion, but he let it fall away. He needed his son to
see how much he cared. “I—I will never push you out of my life. If I ever do
something that angers or offends you, please tell me. Promise me you will never
let yourselves become strangers to me.”

“Dad—Dad,
of course not,” Albert said. “I’d never—we’d never do that.”

“He’s
right, Command—Walt—Dad. Sorry, I’m trying to get used to that. But we’ll never
stop being your family.”

Commander
Byron nodded and turned back to his bed. Next to it was a small dresser. In the
top drawer was a long, thin book. He blew off the dust, opened it, and thumbed
through the pages containing pictures of himself as a baby up until he was in
high school.

“Could
you both give me a moment alone?” he asked without looking back to see their
faces.

Albert
patted his father on the back before he and Marie left the room, closing the
door softly as they exited. Byron sat on the bed, which groaned and creaked
under his weight and made the smell of dust stronger. He dropped the book next to
him, reached into his pocket, and removed the envelope he’d held onto for over
six weeks. He held it in his hands, surveying it serenely. His hands grew
sweaty and jittery. He noted the bent corners, deep creases, and the frayed
edges that had come from carrying it with him for so long.

“What
are you afraid of?” he asked himself aloud. He knew the answer: twenty years of
pain, twenty years of wishing he hadn’t left the house when his father had
ordered him out. Seeing his father again might end well, or it might reopen
wounds, which would only lead to more pain. In one swift movement, he ripped
open the paper and read the letter, ignoring the nervous beating in his chest.

Walter,

If
this reaches you, then we were successful in removing Sammy from the airport.
Our cover is gone. It will only be a matter of time before our movements are
traced back to Wichita. Not even Sammy knows this, but for the last seven years
we have been planning a new site. Our position right now is tenuous, probably
as fragile as glass. Fortunately, one of your old friends is helping us: Susan
Gow. She has been on the run for several months trying to avoid capture. As you
know, she is a true saint
.

“All
faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.” I was wrong. I am part of
the resistance now to make up for those mistakes and to make you proud to be my
son again. I have contributed some clever ideas, like moving the headquarters
to the Wichita city office building. Please take care of yourself. Your mother
wishes you to know that she misses you terribly and keeps you in her daily
prayers as do I
.

You
are a great man, and on those things which you may regret, never look back.
Once they are closed, never reopen those doors. I love you son
.

Pop

36.739326,
-118.289795

Byron
sniffed and wiped the dust from his nose. Then he read the letter again. His
parents had known danger was upon them and had acted accordingly. He saw very
little chance that they were in the city during the attack, and even less
chance that they’d left any trace of the activities of the resistance. He
ordered his com to pinpoint the GPS coordinates at the bottom of the letter. A
map came on the holo-screen and showed him a spot near the outskirts of Death
Valley, a town called Bishop.

As
I suspected. Fake.

The
truth was hidden in code, a very simple code that Walter and his father had
invented: any sentence with a comma contained the words to the code at the end.
Byron read through the letter again, this time looking for commas and
sentence-ending words. “Airport, site, glass, Gow, saint, building, back, and
doors.” As he spoke them aloud, his com performed a second search, only this
time for the keywords in the code. Scanning the results, he discovered a link
detailing a small town called Glasgow with an adjacent airport in a town called
Saint Marie. His father had been born in Billings, Montana, before the
formation of the NWG. Glasgow would have been in Montana, too. This felt right.
He called Albert and Marie back into his old room.