Psion Delta (25 page)

The
scar filled her mind. It ran from above her left temple to under her left eye.
The guards’ clubs had split open her face. Hours passed without the spoon
leaving her hand or sight, but tears fell from her eyes, spoiling her soup with
their bitter flavor. She inspected herself everywhere with the spoon, spotting
burn marks on her neck, a second scar, this one much smaller, under her chin. A
third ran along her hairline. Each one brought greater sorrow, so deep and
filling that she contemplated ending her life. She twisted the spoon back on
itself until the head came completely free. When the guards forced her to
return it, they told her she couldn’t have another spoon for a month as
punishment.

Katie
repeated the guards’ names over and over in her mind.
Schuller, Kosco,
Meacham, Crowther.

Six
months went by between the day she attacked the guard and her second chance at
recreation time in the yard. All she had to occupy that time was daydreaming
and reading the stack of books in the corner of her cell. When they came, Katie
cooperated with the guards and let herself be led to the small grounds. She
used the hour of walking around the perimeter of the yard to observe every detail
of the security, the structure, the behavior of the guards on the towers,
everything her brain could possibly take in. It was summer and the weather was
hot. Half the grounds were covered by the shadow of the prison facility. The
grass in the shade felt wonderfully cool on her bare feet. All too soon, the
guards walking at her sides nudged her.

“Back
inside, freak.”

She
turned toward the doors and something caught her eye. On the cement walkway,
where the concrete met the grass, were three red drops. She saw two more spots
of the same color on the blades of grass near the edge. Though she wanted to
take more time to look at it, she did not want to chance losing her privileges.

Her
next walk outdoors came three days later. She observed more drops, none on the
cement, but at least five or six in the grass. Three days after her second
walk, she saw none, but the grass was wet and the ground springy from recent
rainfall. The mysterious red drops returned soon enough, and she became
convinced that they were bloodstains. At first she guessed that prisoners were
being killed by guards, but the small amounts of blood indicated otherwise.
Perhaps prisoners were being beaten?

As
weeks passed, the puzzle of the blood drops weighed heavily on her mind.
Determined to discover their source, she spent more time listening at her bean
slot, and less reading books or fantasizing about killing her guards. She
memorized when guards passed her cell, whether or not they had inmates with
them, and paid close attention to the sound of their footsteps. While she
couldn’t open her bean slot more than a few millimeters, it was enough that she
could tell that there were times when inmates had to be helped back to their
cells whether by physical assistance or quiet words of encouragement from the
guards.

When
the guards began allowing her to walk at her own pace, her daily inspections of
the prison yard grew more and more meticulous. Sometimes she caught snippets of
conversation between two or three of them. She often overheard them speaking
about bets, laughing over who owed someone else money. In time, by keeping a
vigilant watch, she became certain that the guards were beating some of the
inmates. This investigation made the time pass like a breeze blowing so softly
that she rarely noticed. The weeks built into months, and soon she had been in
prison for a year.

One
day around dinner time, as her guards passed her plate of food through the bean
slot, she spotted two legs strutting down the concourse, flanked by the guards.
These weren’t ordinary legs. Pink shoes adorned the two feet, and stemming up
from them, she observed black nylons. At the height of her sight, she saw a
matching tight pink miniskirt swishing in beat with the step of the legs. The
legs moved in a prissy sort of way that Katie instantly placed as a hired
female. She’d seen similar-looking sluts passing through the jail during her
time in smaller facilities while awaiting trial.

But
they aren’t supposed to be allowed at Ultramax. Naughty boys.

Taking
her food from the guard, Katie stored away this piece of information,
determined to use it when the time came. Someone—some prisoner—had enough power
or sway over the guards to have a female brought to his cell. And that was the
sort of power she needed to escape. A month later, Katie caught a guard on a
bad day. As he passed her lunch to her through the slot, she noticed the foul
stench and asked what the meal was. The guard swore rudely and shoved the plate
hard through the bean slot.

“How
should I know? Choke it down or starve!”

In
his huff, he forgot to secure the bean slot. Working quickly, Katie ignored her
lunch and used her spoon’s edge to jimmy the catch and the slot. In three
hours’ time, she managed to do enough damage that even when the guards shut and
secured it, she could still pop it open with a steady push. Now she had a way
to watch the concourse whenever she wanted. This occupied her time for the next
several days. And she learned volumes.

On
multiple occasions over the next weeks, she saw half a dozen guards leading two
prisoners down the corridor, the same direction as the exit to the yard. No one
spoke, but the expressions on the prisoners’ faces told her that they knew
exactly where they were going. Sometimes the prisoners had smug looks on their
faces, sometimes they appeared eager, and other times . . . terrified.

Within
an hour, or even within thirty minutes, the guards would return. When they did,
she eased open the bean slot and took a peek. Each time, it was the same
scenario: one prisoner returned with the guards, sometimes with a limp, other
times with little or no help; if the second prisoner came back at all, he was
almost always carried.

The
guards were holding fights on the grounds.

Katie
did not smile when she figured it all out, but her eyes were brighter than they
had been in weeks. Next she had to decide how to use the information. She took
her time preparing her plan, knowing she would likely get one and only one shot
at exploiting her knowledge to her advantage. Always, always, always she kept in
mind that her ultimate goal was one thing: escape. After that would come her
revenge on the guards and Elite.

Her
plan took a giant step forward on a day when she spotted a large spot of blood
dried on the concrete. The guards, Meacham and Kosco, two of her sworn enemies,
walked with her that day, ignoring her and talking to each other. On her second
lap around the yard, Katie tripped and landed on the red spot, letting out a
muffled grunt to make it look more real. Some of the dried blood smeared across
her hands and jumpsuit.

The
guards reached down and lifted her up by her arms.

“Hey!”
she exclaimed, pointing down at the stain. “What is that?”

“What’s
what?” one of the guards asked.

“This
red crap all over me.”

Kosco
leaned in and gave Katie a perfect opportunity to break his face with her
skull. Resisting the urge took effort. “I see nothing.”

Meacham
pushed her to get her moving again. “Probably paint.”

“Yeah,”
Kosco said as he straightened up. “Paint.”

“Nothing’s
been painted around here,” Katie pointed out.

“Then
it spilled while they were carrying it.”

Katie
sniffed it. “Smells like dried blood,” she said, keeping her tone as light and
conversational as possible. “Believe me, I know blood.” She smirked
coquettishly at the guards, who glanced at each other warily.

Kosco
growled. “You give me the creeps.”

Meacham
grunted a harsh laugh and knocked her not lightly in the small of her back.
“Shut up. We know all about the mutilations you did to your parents and the
girls at your school, you sick psycho. You, on the other hand, don’t know
nothin’. So shut up.”

Katie
made a mental note of the comment and said nothing more about the blood that
day. She did not want to sound too accusatory or receive another beating. That
might set her plan back days or weeks.

The
next time she was out, it was with Schuller—the giant, brutish Elite—and Kosco.
As they made their way around the yard, she pointed out a different red spot.

“Look,”
she said, “remember this, Kosco? Where is that coming from?”

“One
of the inmates had a nosebleed,” Schuller answered. “Something about the desert
air not agreeing with him.”

“He
bled an awful lot for a nose bleed,” she prodded.

Neither
man responded. She turned around quickly. Schuller and Kosco reacted by
pointing their guns straight at her chest. Her supine hands showed them she
meant no harm.

“Are
you making the inmates fight each other?”

“Keep
walking or you go back to your cell.”

“You
don’t have anything to hide,” she continued. “I won’t tell anyone. I want in.”

Schuller
bellowed, but Katie saw right through his grandiosity. Kosco joined in after a
beat. “Look at you. You’re nothing. You’re a scrawny little girl. There are no
fights. Move.”

Schuller
and Katie locked eyes. She saw more intelligence in his gaze than most of the
other guards put together.
We aren’t that different, are we?
she asked
him silently.
You could be somewhere else making more money on some better
assignment for the Elite. But you like it here. You get off on the power trip,
don’t you?

Finally
she spoke. “If you don’t let me in on it, I’ll write a letter to my lawyer. If
he doesn’t answer my letter, I’ll inform him as to what is going on here during
his next visit. That’s about three weeks away, isn’t it?”

Schuller
never broke eye contact with her. “Move.”

Katie
let it go for the day. Her words had done enough. Step one was complete. The
next step, according to her best guess, would be how she handled the guards’
response to her accusations. And if her guess was right, she would have to
prove herself.

16.
Truth

Friday July 19, 2086

Jeffie
lay on
her bed and used a blast to spin a large red envelope with
white trimmings. She had learned the trick from Kobe and Kaden, creating a
gentle blast that sort of cupped the object she wanted to spin. After
practicing it for several weeks, she could perform it with ease so long as she
didn’t try to get as tricky or creative as the Reynolds brothers. Right now,
she wasn’t thinking about the envelope or the spinning.

The
dorm floor was quiet. Most of the girls were upstairs hanging out with the
boys. About thirty minutes earlier, she’d walked in the room and found the
envelope on the carpet. Someone had slipped it under the door—probably
Strawberry or someone else passing by. Kobe was good at getting girls to help
him put things in her bedroom. In fact, he was good at many things. Jeffie
thought about him and his many talents as she spun the envelope.

Starting
Monday, she had received four similar envelopes—one each day. She had already
opened the other four. This latest one, however, remained sealed shut. She didn’t
need to open it to know what waited inside. By the weight and feel of the
packaging, the small, flat, and wooden texture with oddly shaped edges told her
it was a puzzle piece, part of an invitation to a special date. Kobe did
something like this about once a month.

She
stopped twirling it for a minute and stared at it again. It was impossible to
miss the detail of the envelope. Red hearts imprinted the surface of the paper
and had been woven into the lace on the fringes. She wondered how much Kobe had
paid for it.

And
why don’t I want to open it?

Jeffie
placed the envelope over her eyes and let it rest there, dropping her hands to
the bed beside her. She sighed deeply, instantly remembering where she’d picked
up the habit.
Sammy
. He always sighed deeply when frustrated or confused
or annoyed. She wondered how many times he’d done so on account of her behavior
toward him.

“I
miss you,” she stated. A little tickle in her nose told her she was close to
tears, but she put a stop to that right away. She had no idea where exactly he
was or what he was doing.
Is he safe? Is he really ready to be an Alpha and
go on a mission? How long will he be gone?
She felt like a hypocrite asking
the last question because she’d spent so much time ignoring him while he’d been
at headquarters.
Why did I choose Kobe when I knew I liked Sammy more?

She
knew the answer. It was the same answer today as it was two months ago. It was
also the reason she had hesitated meeting Sammy outside the girls’ dormitory
yesterday morning when he left for his Alpha mission. Instead of going to meet
him on the stairs, she’d sat on her bed and trembled as the clock on her com
screen ticked away the minutes. She’d hated herself more with each passing
minute. When she’d finally decided to go, it had been too late.

Missing
her opportunity to say goodbye to Sammy had been on her mind ever since he
left. She couldn’t focus during her classes. She avoided Kobe Thursday evening
and had cut her evening with him short tonight, too. And for what?

All
I do is make dumb choices over and over and over.

She
looked at the envelope for the umpteenth time and tossed it away. It bounced
off the door and landed almost exactly where she’d picked it up. She stared at
it for a while longer as though she expected it to move on its own back into
her hand. Part of her wanted to open it; after all, she’d been giddy about
getting them Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. That same part of her
also wanted to go back upstairs and make out with Kobe until she forgot all about
Samuel Harris Berhane, Jr.

If
the envelope leaps back into my hand, I’ll take that as a sign that I need to
go back to the rec room, find Kobe, and do just that.

The
door opened, interrupting her thoughts.

“Jeffie,
are you okay?” Strawberry asked. Seeing the envelope on the floor, she stopped
and picked it up. “Silly, you haven’t even opened this one!”

Jeffie
closed her eyes and sighed again, only this time it sounded like a groan.
Strawberry placed the envelope on Jeffie’s hand.

“Seriously,
Jeffie,” her roommate said softly, “get a grip.”

Jeffie
raised her head a few degrees off her pillow. “What?”

“Get
a grip.”

“What
does that mean?”

Strawberry
put her hand to her forehead and fainted dramatically. “My life is so hard! I
like two boys at the same time, and they both like me, but I can’t choose
between them!”

“What’s
your problem, Berry?” Jeffie asked, clenching the envelope in her hand.

“Nothing,”
Strawberry shot back.

“Obviously
it’s not nothing!” Jeffie sat up fully now so she could glare at her roommate.
“Spit it out.”

“No.”
Strawberry turned to leave.

Jeffie
was too fast for Strawberry. She grabbed her roommate’s arm and spun her back
around. “Tell me!”

Jeffie
thought she’d seen Strawberry angry. She’d helped her roommate through moments
like when Antonio had done something rude or said something that hurt
Strawberry’s feelings, but apparently those had only been mild expressions of
anger, because right now, Strawberry looked livid.

“You
suck, Jeffie. You’re a selfish brat. Don’t you see what kind of a roller
coaster you put Sammy on? First, you went out with Kobe when you suspected
Sammy liked you. Then Kobe treated you like crap. Then you told Sammy you liked
him before he went to Rio. When he finally came home, you were back with Kobe.
Sure, you still liked Sammy, but you looked for excuses to get mad at him so
you wouldn’t feel so confused!”

“That’s
not—”

“How
many times did you tell me that you missed him while he was M.I.A. in Rio?”

“I
don’t—”

“I
can’t believe you had the nerve to complain about his decision to leave for
Alpha after you snubbed him for Kobe. You made him miserable because of your
selfishness, and when I tried to strike up a relationship with him, he told me
no. Why? Because he likes YOU!”
Strawberry said this last word so forcefully
that Jeffie thought she was going to get slapped. Instead, all she got was a
poke in the chest. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk to me about boys again!
You are so screwed up and you don’t even see it! Everyone else does, even
Brickert and Natalia and Kawai!”

“Sorry
for talking to my friends about my problems!” Jeffie shouted. She needed to be
loud so she wouldn’t hear Strawberry’s words echoing in her brain. “And forgive
me for thinking that the things in my life, like my feelings, are important!”

“YOU
ARE SO STUPID!” Strawberry yelled. Then she screamed even louder
unintelligibly.

“If
you want a boyfriend so bad, here!”
Jeffie chucked the envelope at
Strawberry’s head. Strawberry both ducked and blasted, looking quite silly as
she did so.

Jeffie
snickered derisively as only she knew how. She stepped up to Strawberry. Her
roommate backed up to the wall, and Jeffie cocked her fist, very tempted to
punch Berry right in her perfect nose. Strawberry flinched badly.

“Some
Psion you’ll make. I hope you’re not in my squadron.”

As
Jeffie slipped her envelope into her pocket and shoved past her roommate, she
spat out a name at Strawberry that would have made her mother shriek in horror.
As soon as she stepped through the doorway, a violent force shoved her across
the hall. Jeffie barely had time to use blasts to soften the blow as her head
knocked into the unforgiving white surface of the wall. The impact dazed her,
but she still heard Strawberry call her an equally crude name.

Jeffie
spun around and blasted blindly, but Strawberry deflected her attacks. Both
girls’ blasts pushed against the other’s as they glared at one another, and
Jeffie noticed mascara-laced tears streaking down her roommate’s cheeks.
Neither girl broke her blast away. Jeffie gritted her teeth, fueling her rage
into the blast and slowly Strawberry’s feet slid away from Jeffie.

“Coward,”
Jeffie grunted at Strawberry through her gritted teeth.

“Look
. . . who’s . . .
urgh
!” Strawberry shoved Jeffie back again in a
remarkable display of strength. Then she punched at Jeffie, who spun away,
catching only a glancing blow on her shoulder. She glanced wildly toward the
door at the end of the hall where she knew at any moment Major Tawhiri would
appear to break them up and give them both time in solitary. Strawberry kicked
at Jeffie, and again Jeffie narrowly dodged.

“Stop,
Berry!” Jeffie said. “Stop!” But when she saw the feral look in Strawberry’s
eyes, she knew her roommate was not going to back down. Only one option made
sense now. Jeffie turned and ran for the door.

“Pathetic!”
her roommate called after her.

Jeffie
ignored this and sprinted upstairs until she reached the fifth floor. She let
herself into the first sim room she came to, closed the door behind her, and
sat down. Strawberry’s words still stung her.
You are so screwed up
and you don’t even see it! Everyone else does
. The words weren’t
only cruel and callous, but correct. And to repay Strawberry for her honesty,
Jeffie had acted like a complete hag.

In
a thick voice, with her head buried in her hands, she told herself, “Way to
treat your friends like total crap.”

After
taking some time to regain her composure, Jeffie opened the envelope. She found
exactly what she expected: a puzzle piece. She already knew by heart what the
rest of the puzzle looked like. This was the final section. She set it on the
floor, stared at her shoes, and tried to decide if going downstairs to complete
the puzzle was worth risking running into Strawberry.

“I
don’t want to apologize,” she told herself.

But
I’ll feel better if I do.

The
hot guilt in her stomach was nearly unbearable. Jeffie had never punched
another girl, though she’d wanted to several times. But coming close to
inflicting harm on her roommate and friend? It seemed unthinkable now that
she’d calmed down.

So
why does the idea of apologizing seem so appalling?

Before
she could talk herself out of it, she got up and went back down to the girls’
dormitory, ready to suck it up and tell Berry she was sorry. However, her
roommate was gone. Jeffie debated searching for her, and instead grabbed the
puzzle and finished it. The five pieces formed a heart that hummed to life when
completed. The center piece projected a small message into the air:

Jeffie,
If you want my heart, you have it. Meet me at our place. Tomorrow night 1900

She
turned off the projector and set it aside, then picked up her com and sent Kobe
a text:

Can’t
wait for tomorrow night! Heading to bed. Xoxo

Gefjon

By
the time Jeffie woke up the next morning, Strawberry had already left the room.
In her inbox, she saw a text from Brickert asking to meet up in the rec room to
talk. Rather than going straight to breakfast, she headed there.

Brickert
was lifting weights when she came in. Because of his age, he wasn’t allowed to
do heavy lifting, but he still had achieved solid definition in his arms and
chest. He put his weights down when he saw her.

“Jeffie!
Hi!”

When
she heard the fake cheeriness in his voice, she had to fight back the urge to
leave. “Good morning.” She sat down on the weight bench next to him. “What’s
up?”

“Strawberry.”
When he said his sister’s name, he frowned. “She’s pretty upset.”

Jeffie
rubbed her nose and looked at a spot on the wall.