Psion Delta (24 page)

“The
training sessions here can be far more complex. If our squadron wants to
simulate a battle, we have huge advanced sim rooms that let us do it. The rooms
can interact with the entire squadron at the same time. I asked my dad how much
those cost, but he wouldn’t tell me. I guess the systems they have here blow
Beta headquarters out of the water. Trust me, you’re going to wake up smiling
and looking forward to sim training. No more Games, but it’s a worthy trade.
Oh, and you’ll start getting paid real money, not the little stipend we got at
Beta. Won’t that be nice?”

“How
much?” The stipend the Betas received was about five dollars a week. The idea
of having more money to spend intrigued him.

“Starting
salary isn’t anything crazy,” Al told him. “Two hundred a week.”

“Two
hundred a week?” Sammy repeated. “That’s awesome!”

“And
no costs for room or board. Marie and I have already started a retirement
investment account.”

Words
like retirement and investment may as well have been part of a foreign
language. Sammy was already trying to figure out how long he’d have to save up
to turn a wall into a holo-screen. All the ideas of things he could buy made
him giddy and consumed his thoughts until they arrived at the building where he
would meet Charlie Squadron.

Al
opened the door for him, and they walked into a large building with a small
entryway where the inside was as boring as the outside. White walls, a single wastebasket,
a plant, and a keypad on the far wall were the only things Sammy could see. Al
punched numbers into the keypad and the white wall vanished, exposing a long
corridor. The halls were painted the same stark white as the hallways at Beta.

What
is wrong with these government people?
Sammy wondered.
Are they
anti-color?

As
they moved, Al checked his com. “Number twelve,” he commented to himself. Then
he stopped at the door with a large number twelve on the front.

“Finally,”
Anna said as they walked in. “Late again, Byron. Did you get nothing but broken
clocks for your wedding? Take a seat.”

Sammy
looked around the small room filled with faces of people he did not know.
Everyone wore a gray jumpsuit with the Alpha symbol emblazoned on the front.
Everyone except himself. All the eyes in the room watched him as he followed Al
to a seat.

“As
everyone can see, Berhane’s here. I already mentioned this in past meetings, so
no surprises. Everyone introduce yourself to Sammy so he knows some names.”

One
by one, the members of Charlie Squadron rattled off their names. Like Beta
headquarters, many different ethnicities were represented in the room of about
a dozen people: Wang, Cheng, Brizendine, Yazzie, Hyävrinen, Juraschek,
Kolomiyets, Avery, Dinsmore, Garrett, and Maru were the names.

“Charlie’s
the most diverse squadron out there, Sammy. We have Tensais—” She pointed to
Avni Maru and Justice Juraschek. “Ultras—” Nikotai Wang and Jerome Yazzie
saluted. “Elite—” Vladimir Kolomiyets, Tom Garrett, and Kallen Dinsmore nodded
at Sammy. “The rest of us are Psions. Lots of squads have mostly one or two
anomalies. Our diversity makes us the best squad of them all.”

Everyone
in the room voiced their agreement.

“The
assignment for our next mission came last night.” She held up a pink slip in
her hand, grinning at her comrades. “Sleep was not my friend as you can guess,
so y’all had better appreciate my hard work. . . . ”

With
a flourish, Anna spoke the code into her com. After she finished, a panel on
the wall behind her lit up. She placed her hand on it and waited for the scan.
Then it scanned her retina.

“Confirmation
complete,” a tin voice spoke. The lights in the room dimmed and a
holo-projector from the back of the room displayed the NWG logo in holographic
form.

“Charlie
Squadron,” the voice of Commander Havelbert began, “you have been selected
based on your previous performances to determine the location of escaped—”

At
that moment, a dozen bodies rose from their chairs and cheered as if their team
had won the World Cup. Sammy didn’t understand what was going on. High fives
and fist slams passed around the room.

“Calm
down!” Anna shouted. “Gotta hear the rest!”

The
room quieted again, and Commander Havelbert’s voice could be heard once more.

“—targets
are shown here.”

Projected
in front of the room were nine holo-pictures: seven men and two women. Two of
the men were obviously Thirteens. Sammy suspected two others were Aegis.

“Two
escaped Thirteens, two Aegis, four rogue Elites, and another
government-employed traitor, Junko Sokama. Sokama is considered the target
primo. Using her high-level security clearance at the prison, she killed Victor
Wrobel and helped orchestrate the escape.”

“What
a frump,” Dinsmore, one of the Elite, whispered to his neighbor, Brey Avery.

Havelbert’s
recording spoke on, unaware of the comments being made in the room. “
Initially,
we thought the prisoners were being led by the rogue Elite until we found the
remains of two of the Elite ninety kilometers north of the prison. Right here.”
A small
x
appeared on the map screen. “Now we believe the escaped Aegis
and Thirteens survived the wastelands by eating the Elite. We expect the
remaining two rogues will be killed next. Our analysts predicted the party
would head southeast for Höth. It is the closest port to the prison and would
allow them to travel through warmer climates. This proved a costly mistake, and
the last squadron assigned to this mission lost them for several days. We
finally picked up their trail at Mývatn.” Several dotted lines connected the
x
to a lake. “Now we are almost certain they intend to head back west for
Akureyri. We estimate they will reach Akureyri within the next eight to nine
days. Akureyri is a port city with boats large enough to get them back to CAG
territory. They could possibly contact air support to pick them up as soon as
they cross into CAG waters. We cannot allow them to reach Akureyri, which is
why we have chosen you, Charlie Squadron.

“You
are authorized to use deadly force if necessary, but recapturing the escaped
convicts and any other Thirteens or Aegis who may be here aiding them is
preferential. Junko Sokama is the highest priority target. We believe that she
possesses stolen, sensitive information acquired through Wrobel’s sabotage of
NWG computer networks, and is trying to smuggle it back to the CAG. Because our
thermal and infrared tracking methods have been ineffective, we suspect they
are clothed against advanced detection methods. Lakes, caves, and rock
formations run all along the coast, and we suspect the convicts have been using
these to hide for weeks. You will most likely find success performing aerial
and ground searches. Use any extrication methods deemed necessary within
reasonable limits. The Beta accompanying you on the mission should be used in an
observational and limited-use role only. Otherwise, please maintain standard
protocol for a long-term mission. All relevant maps, dossiers, and other data
have been uploaded to your squadron’s server. Your launch date is the
twenty-fourth of July. Good luck and God speed!”

Anna
took control of the room once more. “Well, Sammy, Charlie Squadron got the
mission that every other squad wanted. That should tell you something about our
team.” Her face shone with the same pride Sammy had seen in Byron a few times.
He thought Anna looked quite beautiful in this light, even though she was at
least fifteen years his senior. “No need to say how important this mission is
for our squad’s cred among Command circles. Get this right and we become the
go-to team.”

Sammy
glanced around the room and saw that this idea motivated everyone.

“Command
thinks the targets are headed toward
Akureyri. That’s a major
energy center on Capitol Island. It’s seated inside a fjord called Eyjafjörður.
Not sure I pronounced it correctly, but it’ll do. The targets could come in
from the roads or from one of several trails through the mountains. The snow’s
melted and the runoff has cleared, too, but with all the rainfall this year,
it’ll be muddy and slow for them to travel on foot. I’m splitting the squadron
up into six pairs.”

She
zoomed into the Akureyri area.

“Juraschek
and Wang watching the harbor. This is key. No matter if the targets make it
into the city, you two will be our last defense. The Coast Guard is on board to
work with you searching boats leaving port. They’ve already been doing it for
several days. Maru and I will be stationed watching the roads in from the south
and east. Cheng and Brizendine, you will be on the north and west. The
six of us will be using visuals, infrared, and satellite to capture them. Two
teams on the ground, searching the hills and mountains: Byron and Yazzie are
ground team number one. Hyävrinen, Garrett, and Avery are number two. That
leaves our other two Elite to patrol the air.”

Dinsmore
and Kolomiyets bumped fists.

“Berhane,
you’ll be a rover starting with Juraschek and Wang. Then you’ll move around. I
want you to experience everything. That way I can learn how to use you when you
join the team. Before we leave, I want our Tensais working with me on detailed
tactical strategies and with the ground teams on equipment. Since there are
some caves up in the mountains, spelunking might be required. Questions?”

Sammy
looked around the room. All he saw was excitement. Slowly, he raised his hand.

“Yeah,
Sammy, what?” Anna asked.

“Uh
. . . what do I do to prepare?”

“Train
with the rest of us. Train so hard you think it’ll kill you.”

15.
Wyoming

Friday July 19, 2086

The
Queen was
glad for mild winters in Eastern Cape, a coastal province
in the South African Territory. Her cruiser’s climate sensors informed her that
the evening’s temperature was a comfortable ten degrees Standard when she set
down her cruiser in a large, open field between the cities of East London and
Queenstown. No more than a hundred meters away was a main road that connected
East London to Johannesburg, a journey of roughly a thousand kilometers.

She
had flown in from the southern tip of Africa, double-checking her systems all
the way to ensure she had not been tracked or seen by any detectable
instruments. It was much trickier than flying into Baikonur with Victor
Wrobel’s aid. The CAG’s stealth technology was woefully behind what the NWG
possessed. After setting down, she went into the cargo space and released the
ramp. In the cargo hold sat her bike. She started it up and revved the engines,
enjoying the rumble of power. Then she backed down the ramp and motored through
the field until she hit paved road.

She
would have preferred to fly directly to her destination, but the fox was
explicit in his instructions. No compromising the secrecy of her presence to
the NWG. The long drive annoyed her, but the overall delicacy of the mission
was too delicious to not enjoy. How many others of her brothers-in-arms would
the fox have trusted this mission to? The Queen couldn’t think of one. He had
Aegis trained specifically for covert ops, but not one of them had been sent to
accompany her.

She
smiled confidently at her reflection in the rearview mirror, her face
illuminated by the light of the GPS holo-map projected by her dash onto the
small windshield. She noted the perfection in her facial features, restored by
skilled surgeons in Atlanta four weeks ago. Not a blemish could be found. She
supposed the gesture was the fox’s way of making amends, reminding her that
despite punishing her with the solution, there was no need for hard feelings.

Too
bad I feel otherwise.

The
road was dark and winding with occasional billboards sporting short, two- to
three- second advertisements. One in particular stood out to her: a man in a
green suit stood before a white background. His eyes were shut, his mouth
moping. Then he ripped open his suit coat and an unnaturally large grin
appeared. As he opened his eyes, dollar signs showed where his irises would be.
In large purple letters on his shirt, the Queen read: “Why owe me? When you can
owe YOU!” Be your own boss and work as little or as much as you want!”

The
words “why owe me” stuck in her head. She repeated them several times to
herself as though she sang a song. She remembered cuffs—big, thick, heavy
ones—digging into her wrists and ankles. The bouncing armored vehicle. The
harsh taunts of the guards. The starchy orange uniform irritating her skin. The
smell of hopelessness. Her mind went back to a time before she became the
Queen, back to when she was just Katie Carpenter.

* * *
* *

December
2055

A
Humvee forced its way down a lonely paved road through the desert as the snowy
winds blasted it from every angle. Katie’s head pressed against the reinforced
glass plating, knocking its cold surface each time the vehicle bounced on the
damaged pavement. This was the government’s third attempt at taking her to the
prison facility in Mid-Western America Territory, formerly known as Wyoming.
The first attempt at moving her to the prison in a small bus had ended in her
freeing herself and slaughtering the two guards and the driver. She’d wandered
through the deserted terrain, dehydrated and starved until being caught,
subdued, and taken to a hospital for medical attention.

The
second attempt had a similar ending, only she’d rolled the bus and two of the
four guards had lived. She hadn’t made it very far that time.

Now
her arms and legs were individually cuffed and clamped down in specially made
restraints in such a way that she couldn’t remove her appendages without
breaking her wrists and ankles. Combined with the Humvee’s titanium frame and
reinforced glass, escape seemed virtually impossible.

The
prison appeared in her view between gusts of white wind. It stretched out over
a hilltop in the middle of a large sea of dust, sagebrush, and shrubs—an
unmistakable statement to potential escapees that there was no sustenance nor
places to hide outside the walls of the institution. But Katie knew her escape
was imminent. She would find her moment and seize it. The guards, whose
restrained and cautious manners had gradually grown more raucous and snide as
they drove closer to the facility, now laughed hysterically about something
Katie could not see or hear.

The
jostling came to an end when the Humvee hit paved road. The change in terrain
caught her attention and she looked up. It was a giant building of light brown
stone surrounded by walls topped with a jungle of razor wire. Dobermans circled
the perimeter of the grounds accompanied by heavily armed guards. Towers
overlooked every part of the prison. At the top of the iron gate over the road,
in arching letters, she read:

WYOMING
ULTRAMAX SECURITY PRISON.

When
the prison gates shut behind them with a resonant clang, the first twinge of
doubt hit Katie.
Ultra-maximum security
. The words constricted her
thoughts as the Humvee pulled to a stop at the front entrance. Still, she noted
with great satisfaction that no less than six guards came to the back of the
vehicle to greet her. They raised their guns and waited for the driver to open
the rear door.

Cowards!
I’m not even nineteen.

With
guns trained on her head and chest, one of the guards slowly approached her
and, with trembling hands, checked the tightness of facial restraints while
another unlocked her from the clamps securing her to the vehicle. Katie
suppressed a childish grin and allowed them to maneuver her without making any
trouble. Getting inside took forever. Each door they went through required
multiple security checks, and when she finally reached processing, she was
quite tired of being a good, cooperative girl.

Then
she noticed the surly, hulking man in a black uniform with flaming red skulls
waiting for her. Katie immediately recognized him as Elite. The rebellious edge
inside her died down a bit. Perhaps she could take him one-on-one, but giving
him trouble with eight armed guards surrounding her would be foolish. Terribly
foolish. Thus far, brushes with the Elite had never ended well for her.

Bastards.
. . .

After
the guards completed her processing, the monstrous Elite returned with a thick
black circular band and a stonier expression than he’d worn moments ago. One of
the guards clubbed the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel on the floor.
She glanced back to be sure she knew who had done it. The Elite took advantage
of her distracted state and placed the black thing around her neck.

A
collar!

The
guards jeered. She sprang to her feet. Instantly, a terrible shock started in
her neck, traveled down her body, and sent her writhing to the floor as one of
the guards continued to shoot her with electricity. Experiencing true pain was
a rarity since her transformation. Her unfamiliarity with the sensation made
the awful jolt even more agonizing. The guards taunted her through it all, and
Katie vowed she would see each of them die.

No,
I’ll make them die.

When
it was over, she allowed them to take her to her cell. She saw no other
prisoners on the walk, only isolated cells with thick steel doors containing a
bean slot and a higher-placed window slot that could only be opened from the
outside. The same thick concrete-titanium mesh bricks that formed the prison
halls also lined her cell, which greeted her like a horrible open mouth laying
in wait. Nine men—eight guards and the Elite—watched her enter the cell. Then,
through the bean slot, they removed her cuffs. The process took several
minutes, and when it was done they slammed shut the slot and shocked her one
more time, insulting her in the most vulgar language imaginable.

Four
tiny lights in the corners of her chamber provided adequate illumination for
her to see the respectable stack of paperback books in one corner, a dingy cot
that filled almost a third of the room, an abysmal excuse for a toilet, and a
centipede as long as her pinky crawling up the wall which she immediately
killed with her bare foot.

Shoes,
they’d said, had to be earned.

For
a moment, she realized how terribly alone and small she was in that cell and in
that facility. Then, in an immediate defensive response, she asserted herself
again with supreme confidence and patience. She had no room for doubt, no room
for wonder, no room for fear. She would be free again. In her mind, she reviewed
the faces of the men who had escorted her into this place. She listened again
to the words they’d said and the laughter they’d shared at her expense.
How
will I kill them?
And as simple as that, she had something to do.

Her
lawyer had informed her that in the Ultramax facility, prisoners were granted
one hour a day to leave the cell and go to the yard. Katie waited for this with
anticipation. However, the guards didn’t come for her the first day. Nor the
second. Nor the third. Time passed with her counting meals and the rounds made
by the guards. Some guards walked heavily, others had a light step, a couple of
them dragged their clubs along the walls and doors, one even sang softly as he
patrolled the corridors. Two weeks went by before they let her out. She’d
expected them to try to break her will and make her realize that anything she
had could be taken away, but it didn’t affect her in the least.

Katie
wasn’t sure what time of the day it was when a guard pounded on her door and
shouted, “Arms out!”

A
rush of excitement passed over her, and she obediently thrust her arms out the
bean slot. The instant she felt contact she grabbed the guard’s wrists with her
hands and pulled him into the cell door. The man’s skull collided with metal
and made two sounds: a loud dong followed by a sharp crack. Electricity ripped
through Katie’s neck and body. Her shriek betrayed her surprise at the agony,
but she did not release her grip on the guard until she heard joints crack. She
had forgotten about the collar despite—or perhaps because of—its constant
presence. The pain flowed through her relentlessly, even as the cell door
opened and fresh air flooded the room. Two guards came in with clubs swinging.
So did the Elite soldier. A third guard lay on the floor outside with a bloody
face.

Katie
lashed out in retaliation, but her limbs were useless as the electric surge
punished her more than the clubs. She managed to connect with one guard’s
sternum and he fell back wheezing, but then her entire body collapsed in
exhaustion and she could feel only faintly the blows pouring down on her.

“You
have to be careful about this one,” a guard said. “She is one sick little—”

Patched,
fuzzy memories followed for the next several days. Needles and nurses and
bandages with more harsh words and sounds in the background. At some point they
took her back to her cell. Men with derisive voices gave her nothing but soup
to eat . . . forced her to prostrate herself on the ground and dip her face
into her food . . . electrified her with the collar after every meal. Then all
at once, her mind emerged from its fog, healed and alert. Weeks later, she
first noticed her reflection on the back of a spoon.

And
the scar.

Katie
did not believe it when she saw it: long, jagged, hideous. It disfigured her.
She stared at the spoon for several minutes as the truth sank in. Then great
wails escaped her, loud and heart-wrenching enough to bring the guards running
to investigate. They tapped on her door to see if everything was all right, but
she screamed, pounded, cursed, and clawed at the thick steel until her frame
was sapped of strength.