Psion Delta (35 page)

Sammy
began to cry. “Look around you, Al. Look what they did. You saw them—I
watched—they shot that girl.” He glanced over to the bed, hoping that what he’d
seen would be gone, but it wasn’t. “I saw it, Al. She—they did that. This woman
did that. How can I let her live? These people will torture and kill and they
won’t stop. They would’ve killed me, too, in that room with Stripe.
I can’t
let her live!
”

“Let
me handle it. You go outside, and I’ll deal with it.” Al eased the syshée away
from him. “Okay?”

Sammy
didn’t know what to do. How could he not deal with it? Everything was muddled.
Nothing was right or okay. He turned from Al and Sokama and started to walk
out. On the other end of the room was a small vanity, the perfect size for a
little girl. It was painted pink, but the paint was peeling. Stickers of stars
and flowers decorated it. On the side in a little girl’s scrawl was written:
Havanna.

Sammy
walked over to the vanity and knelt in front of it. The mirror reflected his
face back at him. He saw murder in his eyes. No red sclera, no scars
intentionally carved, but the expression of pure, devilish hatred was etched
into his skin. It transcended sanity and reason, reaching into the very depths
of the emotions he had the ability to feel. He stared into his own eyes that
looked more like dark pits and realized that he looked no different than the
enemy. No different at all.

21.
Debriefing

Saturday August 3, 2086

“Psion
Command,” Al
said to his com, his gun still trained on the
Aegis, “This is Albert Byron. Charlie honcho is currently incapacitated. We
have successfully captured Junko Sokama and two other targets. Requesting air
support to remove the fugitives from our coordinates. All other targets have
been eliminated. Do you copy?”

Al
listened for a moment, his eyes on Sammy. Sammy looked away.

“Copy
that, Psion Command. See you in a few minutes.”

Sammy
hated the silence in the room. He didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“Why
don’t you go outside?” Al suggested. “Get some air. I’ll take care of
everything.”

That
sounded like a fine idea to Sammy. “I’m sorry, Al.” His words sounded lifeless.
He didn’t even know what he was sorry for at the moment. Everything was wrong.

He
left the room and went downstairs. As he crossed the house to the front door,
he pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and put his guns on a small table
by the door. The weather outside was still beautiful; the sun shone brightly
down on him. He sat on the front step, noticing now that several people had
gathered around the property to see what was going on. The numerous blood
spatters staining his white shirt from his chest to his short sleeves made him
feel like he had a giant sign on him:
Killer.

As
the neighbors observed him, many of the parents sent their children away. Sammy
watched them go with his head hanging down. In the distance, he heard the
sirens of police cars.

“Did
something happen to the Jónssons?” one of the women at the curb asked.

Sammy
looked at her without answering, then he got up and went to the backyard to
retrieve his medical kit.

“Medics
on their way with damage containment,” a voice that sounded very official
announced in Sammy’s ear. “Please secure the premises from any bystanders.”

In
less than twenty minutes, Dr. Rosmir arrived with several Elite and other
agents. While Dr. Rosmir tended to Sammy’s injuries, the Elite removed the
bodies from the house and other agents made sure no video footage of the
incident had been recorded. Reporters arrived on scene within an hour, and they
had to be corralled and kept away from anything too sensitive for public
knowledge. From the bits of conversation Sammy overheard, the story would be
spun as the Jónsson family had relatives visiting, but one suffering from
schizophrenia had gone off the deep end and started killing the others.
Officers responding to the call were caught in a gun fight, which ended in the
death of all but three of the family members.

Sokama
and the two Aegis came out of the house in cuffs just after plastic screens had
been set up around the entrance, shielding the events from the view of the
crowd. Elite led them to the waiting vehicle that would take them to the NWG
prison for interrogation. Sammy noticed that all three of them were sweating
profusely. One of the Aegis moaned with each step he took. Sokama’s clothing
was soaked under her arms and at her lower back.

“Please
. . . ” she muttered incoherently, “kill me. Kill all of us now.”

“Shut
up,” one of the Elite told her.

“Please.”
Sokama slurred her words and fell to her knees. Two seconds later, the Aegis
who’d been moaning collapsed to the ground.

“What’s
going on?” Al asked Dr. Rosmir, pointing to the fallen captives.

Dr.
Rosmir looked over at the situation and his eyes widened.

“Get
back! Get away from them!” he shouted and flung his arms wildly at the Elite
and other agents on the scene.

Sammy
tripped as he backed up, but his eyes stayed fixed on the prisoners. He scooted
backward until he bumped into something hard: Al’s legs. Al didn’t seem to
notice Sammy. He, too, stared, his eyes glued to the horrible scene he was
witnessing. All three prisoners writhed on the ground, dampening the grass with
their copious sweat. Smoke wisped out of their mouths each time they exhaled.
Their eyes bulged in their sockets. Worst of all was the screams.

“GET
BACK!” Rosmir yelled again.

Then
Sammy understood why. A loud snapping sound ripped the air accompanied by a
wave of heat so strong it knocked everyone around off their feet. The plastic
barriers blew over, melting in the process. Screams and shouts came not only
from agents, but from bystanders and reporters surrounding the house. All that
was left of the prisoners was a gelatinous mess and the acrid smell of burning
plastic and flesh.

Two
hours later, Al and Sammy were cleared to leave the scene. Dinsmore picked them
up in the squad cruiser.

“What’s
going on?” Al asked Dinsmore. “How’s the team?

“I
can’t say anything until we get to debriefing. Command orders. What happened to
the prisoners? Why weren’t they picked up?”

“I
can’t say anything until we get to debriefing. Command orders.”

Al
glanced at Sammy with a worried expression on his face. Sammy turned to the
window and watched the house disappear from view. He hoped to never return to
Akureyri. By the time they landed at Alpha headquarters, it was raining again.

“Go
home and get changed, Sammy. We debrief at 1700.”

Al
jogged ahead, probably eager to see Marie after over a week away. Sammy walked
through the rain, watching the blood on his shirt blotch and spread through the
fabric as it turned pink. He touched it and thought of the little girl, Havanna
Jónsson.

Was
her death my fault?

If
so, he didn’t know how he could live with that. Such a burden would be far
worse than any torture he’d gone through with Stripe. Her face stayed in his
mind; the tape covering her mouth, the bruises. He understood what she’d gone
through the last few days. He wondered if it was better that she’d died than
living a life like his, remembering horrors every day and trying to deal with
them. Tears filled his eyes as he tried to push the flood of images out of his
head.

“Doctor
Rosmir,” he said into his com.

“Hello?”
Rosmir answered.

“Hey,
it’s—”

“I
know it’s you, Sammy. What do you need?”

“I—I
really think I need to talk to someone.” He cursed into the com. “I have—I need
to sit down and talk about stuff. Can I come see you?”

“Sammy,
I’m not a psychologist.” Dr. Rosmir said with great kindness, but it still
wasn’t what Sammy wanted to hear. “I can arrange for you to meet—”

“No—no.
I need to talk to someone I know. Someone who understands.”

“All
right, but it must wait. I’m overseeing the care of your squadron at the
moment. Are you in any danger of harming yourself or others before I see you?”

“I
don’t think so.”

“That’s
not reassuring. Are you contemplating suicide or harming yourself?”

“No.
I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.
I’ll call you the first chance I get. Will that work for you?”

“Yeah.
Thanks.”

Sammy
arrived at his unit on the Alpha campus feeling only slightly better. He tore
off his clothes and threw them in the garbage bin. He walked naked across the
unit and into his shower. He turned on the water, not caring what temperature
it was. He scrubbed his face, his hair, his chest where the blood stains had been
on his shirt. Over and over he washed himself until his skin stung from being
rubbed raw. Finally he looked at his skin and saw no blood.

He
dressed in an Alpha jumpsuit and walked to the building where the debriefing
was to be held. Including Sammy, ten members of Charlie Squadron were present.
Commander Havelbert was supposed to run the meeting, but she had not arrived.
Missing among them were Anna Lukic, Tom Garrett, Jerome Yazzie, and Brey Avery.
Sammy sat between Al and Justice, waiting for the meeting to start.

“How’s
your arm?” Justice asked Sammy.

“Better.
They cleaned it out and put a new patch on it. Rosmir said it should heal
fine.”

Justice
was about to say more when Commander Havelbert marched into the room with Tom
Garrett behind her. A waxy film covered most of Tom’s face, which was now
bright red. Sammy had always seen him with a goatee, but now it was missing.
Everyone stood at attention. Havelbert surveyed the room and told them to be
seated. Garrett took his place among them, making the squadron eleven of
fourteen.

“First
of all, you should know that Lukic, Avery, and Yazzie are all alive. Lukic was
hit hardest by the explosion. Had she not been a Psion, she wouldn’t have
survived. Currently, she is in a coma, which Dr. Rosmir expects her to wake
from. Avery and Yazzie’s conditions are currently listed as serious. All three
of them suffered extensive burns. Had it not been for the immediate action of
Tom Garrett, we would have lost them. Tom dove from the cruiser, still
airborne, and pulled all three of them to the surface of the water. For Tom’s
heroics, Elite Command has decided to award him an Elite Medal of Valor.

Applause
broke out among Charlie Squadron along with words of congratulations. Everyone,
Sammy included, rose and saluted Tom Garrett. Garrett lowered his eyes and
returned the salute.

“Second,
I want to commend Charlie Squadron on a successful mission. Despite the tragic
outcome and death of Junko Sokama, you did precisely what you were supposed to
do. I want to also recognize another person’s courage. Samuel Berhane, not only
did you risk your life to photograph four victims of the escapees, but you also
followed a hunch that led you and Byron to the targets. You and Byron acted
courageously under fire and subdued Sokama before her unpreventable death.
Samuel, for your efforts we award you the Psion Medal of Courage.”

More
applause. Sammy stood and faced his peers. They saluted him and he reciprocated
the gesture, albeit reluctantly. He looked at Garrett, much older than him with
a receding hairline of short brown hair, and Garrett returned his gaze. The
admiration in Garrett’s eyes gave Sammy a terrible feeling.

I
don’t deserve this
, he told himself.
I don’t deserve to be
awarded when Garrett actually saved lives. All I did was take them.

The
debriefing lasted over an hour. Garrett, who ranked highest on the squadron
with Lukic and Yazzie gone, provided Havelbert with detailed information of
Charlie’s activity and strategy. This information was supplemented by various
members of the team, including Sammy, who was forced to give a full recount of
what happened in the Jónsson house and how he tracked the targets to the
premises. When he reported that Havanna, the ten-year-old daughter, was shot on
his appearance, Havelbert did not seem at all affected. Others on the team,
however, did.

When
the meeting ended, the rest of the squadron shook Sammy’s hand and offered
words of condolence and congratulations. Commander Havelbert requested that
Sammy stay behind. “Sit,” she said. Sammy was unsure by her tone if that was an
order or a request, so he sat. She pulled a chair around to face him. “Your
Panel Mission, how did it go?”

“I
don’t know.” And he meant it. He knew of no words to describe what had
happened. “I hit that woman—Doctor Sokama—I lost control of myself and punched
her in the face two—three—maybe even more times.”

“She
deserved more than that.” Commander Havelbert paused, as if waiting for Sammy
to react. “You aren’t the luckiest person that was ever born, are you?” She
frowned as she reached across and laid her hand on Sammy’s. The gesture was far
kinder than anything he’d expected from her.

“I
guess not. I also shot one of the Thirteens after he was down. The thought of
him ever having a chance to escape and do what he did again . . . filled me
with such rage. I didn’t control myself. I failed.”

“Walter
Byron once told me that you either get used to the violence and the horrors or
you go crazy. It would be nice to choose neither, but you can’t. Wrobel went
crazy. I have chosen to stay sane.”