Psion Gamma (13 page)

For an instant, she saw the gold medals around her teams’ necks, and made her choice.

Twisting her body around, she jammed out her elbow and jumped for the hoop. She did it so perfectly it looked like Raquelle had simply gotten in her way.

Two seconds.

Her elbow caught Raquelle in the stomach as she turned her body with her pivot foot. A whoosh of air left her defender, and she doubled over.

One second.

Jeffie released the ball and watched it go. The ball circled around and around the hole, and then dropped through.

The buzzer rang.

The Norwegian team leapt into the air, screaming and crying. Norwegian fans leapt to their feet in the stands. Jeffie’s teammates attacked her with hugs and screams.

“You did it!” Vernika yelled. Jeffie could see her dad running toward her, clipboard thrown aside.

“That’s my girl!” her father yelled as she was lifted into the air.

Atop her team’s shoulders, she felt like the whole world was beneath her. She looked back and saw Raquelle still on the floor and gasping for breath. Her teammates and coach were helping her to her feet. Jeffie realized she’d caught the girl right in the plexus and knocked all the air out of her.

“That’s my girl!” her father yelled again, even louder.

The medal ceremony took place right after the game. Australia, without its star player, had lost in the bronze match to the Territory of Oceania. Jeffie stood in the center of her team on the tallest platform covered in red carpet, with the Spanish team on the right, and Oceanians on the left. The judges came and placed the gold medal around her neck. She’d waited for this moment—dreamt about this moment—since she was six.

As the NWG anthem played, most of the Norwegian team cried. Not Jeffie. Her father would never have let her hear the end of it. All three teams stood in the sign of respect with the left hand tucked behind the back, and the right hand over the heart.

Raquelle stood on the very end of her team’s platform. About halfway through the ceremony, she bent over and threw up, clutching her stomach and crying. Jeffie looked down at the gold medal swaying softly against her red and blue jersey. It was not as shiny nor as pretty as she’d imagined.

*

Of all the players to be stuck fighting, why did it have to be Kaden?

With her aching limbs ready give out any minute, Jeffie had to make this quick. Kaden was stronger than her; his arms were much bigger. He moved in close, oozing confidence in his ability to end the Game in his team’s favor.

“You’re not taking my victory away from me,” she grunted through her teeth.

Then she lashed out with a swift kick to his solar plexus. Rather than taking it, Kaden swung his body backward in a tremendous display of his strength. Using his momentum to carry him forward, he gripped his legs around her like a vice, and pulled. Jeffie resisted with everything she had left, squirming her hips and torso to give him less grip on her, making him work just as much.

Kaden let go with one hand and shot a blast at her helmet. In such close range, Jeffie had no choice but to use her own hand to shield. She felt their two opposing energy forces pushing against each other like two magnets repelling them. If she didn’t get her other hand back on a hook in a few seconds . . .

Apparently Kaden was in the same boat. He jerked his hand back up to grab a hook, and Jeffie did the same. She also managed to pull herself up and wrap her feet onto Kaden’s chest until they were both almost completely horizontal. Before she could send a foot blast at his helmet, Kaden released his grip on her with his legs. As he pulled away, Jeffie kicked him savagely in the side, then blasted his chest with her feet. The noblack suit absorbed most of the blow, but Kaden was rocked back, his hands fumbling to keep his grip.

Jeffie knew she could win it right here with a well-placed kick to the groin. The suits could take a lot of impact to protect the Betas from hard falls, but they could only do so much for some areas of the body. Technically there were no rules, but still . . . she knew it was totally wrong.

Kick him in the groin!
Coach Tvedt told her.
You want to win, don’t you?

She saw herself applauded by her peers for winning her first Game as honcho. She tasted victory in all of its sweetness.

Tvedts are born winners. It’s in our DNA.

She saw herself with a gold medal around her neck.

But instead she reached out to blast his helmet.

Seeing the danger, Kaden rolled his body up between his arms in a neat flip. His head was now completely out of reach for her shot. He let go of the hooks and jumped on her. Still off balance with only one hand supporting the weight, her grip slipped off the hook and she tumbled. In the air, they fumbled around until their hands locked so neither could blast the other’s helmet. As the suit sensed her rapidly increasing velocity, her helmet clamped over her face, muting out the stream of swear words she shouted all the way down.

“A draw!” she stormed in the cafeteria during dinner. “A stupid . . . freaking . . . draw!”

“Let it go, will you, Jeffie?” Kawai requested matter-of-factly. “At least you didn’t lose.”

“Besides,” Natalia added, “No one wins their first turn at honcho.”

Jeffie refused to be consoled even though the day was almost over. In her family’s case, being a winner also meant being a terrible loser. It did not bother her in the least that her friends were exasperated with her mood.

“It’s true,” Asaki said, overhearing them from her table with Brillianté and Rosa. “I didn’t win my first—in fact, I don’t think anyone has. Even Al. It just takes time. But you were really good.”

“That’s right,” Kawai agreed.

“How can—?” Jeffie tried to finish her sentence, but the words caught in her throat. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t believe this!”

Almost everyone looked up to see what she was shouting about.

“What?” Natalia’s eyes were wide with bewilderment as she spoke. “What’s the matter?”

“Sammy! Sammy is the matter! He did it. He won his first time as honcho. How can you guys have already forgotten that?”

No one said anything, everyone just looked at each other.

“I haven’t forgotten, Jeffie,” Brickert said solemnly. He swallowed hard as he spoke up, but his characteristic red spots weren’t there. “He was honcho against Marie and Kobe. You were on his team. So was Natalia.”

“Did you hear what you just said?” Her voice rose in accusation at everyone but Brickert. “Do you guys even listen to yourselves?”

“I’m sorry,” Kawai said. “I didn’t mean to downplay what he did.”

“What he
can do
, you mean to say, right?” Jeffie said even louder. “You all act like he’s dead! ‘Was my best friend.’ ‘Downplay what he did.’ You even act like what he did wasn’t special.”

“We all loved Sammy,” Natalia quickly offered. “He was great. No one said he’s dead.”

“You guys all act like he was some sort of god,” Antonio declared from across the room. He was a tall kid, about as tall as Sammy. His jet-black hair was trimmed close on the sides with a long wavy style perfectly in place on top. He had a confidence in his hazel eyes perhaps only Kobe or Al could match. He put up his hands when she looked at him. “I don’t mean to disrespect him. I’m sure he was good, but I’m good, too. Hey, I might even be better. Who knows, right? No reason other people can’t do just as well as he did here. Right?”

Everyone in the room turned to watch Jeffie. On their faces she saw expressions of fear and caution. Kawai and Brillianté looked ready to pounce if things turned ugly. She ignored them all. Slowly, she placed her hands flat on the table and stood up. Cold fury flooded her veins as she faced Antonio with no desire to hide her emotions. He did not look nearly as confident under her glare.

“He. Is. Sammy. You have no clue what you’re talking about. There will never be another Sammy.”

She turned and left, heading for her bedroom. Once around the corner, she heard Brickert. There was no kindness in his voice, either.

“I’ll tell you, Antonio, you’d better run it by one of us before you try to speak to her again.

February 17, 2086

A
LPHA HEADQUARTERS
shared little resemblance with its Beta counterpart. While Psion Beta was just a single building, Alpha was a sprawling campus built to house and support thousands of Alpha operatives. That included the Elite, Psion Alphas, Ultra Alphas, and Tensai Alphas: Anomalies Fourteen, Fifteen, and Eleven.

Exercise and training facilities claimed their own spaces, and other small structures housed things like the food courts, recreation areas, and shopping centers. Each Alpha had his or her own comfortable but efficient personal living quarters. Some lived alone, some Alphas preferred having roommates, and others were married with families. Housing occupied almost a fourth of the total area. The rest of the property was dedicated to work: mission planning centers, hangars, weaponry stations, simulators, intelligence stations, and a transportation hub.

Before landing on the airstrip, Commander Byron called for a small ground car to meet him. He’d never actually lived at Alpha, but he had no problem finding his way around. After all, years ago he had designed most of the layout, and more recently he had helped Albert move into his new quarters.

The scenery was a frosty one. The roadways were clear, but the trees still bore heavy snow and most of the grounds were pure white. The air carried a clean and fresh scent which Byron let drift in through the half-opened window of his one-man vehicle. The quiet droning of the car’s electric motor allowed his thoughts to stray ahead to what he wanted to say to his son.

He drove along at a slow pace. Several Psions going about their business waved at Byron, but he hardly noticed them. After a five minute drive, he pulled up to number seventy-two and rang the bell.

“Come in,” his son’s voice shouted from behind the door.

“Hello,” Byron called out as he entered.

“I’m back here in the kitchen. Just grab a seat.”

Byron looked around at Albert’s living room. Each Alpha received the same basic furnishings for their quarters, but Albert’s place looked drastically different. Over the walls hung blueprints and floor plans from the Rio factory, designs of various explosive devices, and mission timelines. Across the coffee table lay open books, each with a title describing something to do with Albert’s mission.

Byron sighed as he sat down on the couch. On the mantle over the fireplace, he saw what he had been looking for: a small holo-pic of Albert and Marie, almost unnoticeable amongst all the paraphernalia surrounding it.

Albert entered from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. A steady dripping came from the kitchen sink, each drop making a small
plop
! The noise grated on Byron’s nerves, bringing back horrible memories of being down in the sewers. Even his heart rate picked up noticeably.

“Hungry?” Albert asked his father, shaking the commander out of his reverie of bad thoughts.

“No,” Byron said. “Thank you, but I ate lunch before I came.”

Albert took a large bite of one and sat down.

“Is—is there a dripping coming from your kitchen? Do you hear that?”

Albert cocked his head to listen. With his mouth still full, he said, “Yeah. The sink. If I don’t turn it really tight, it does that. But I always forget.”

“Can you please make that stop?”

“You’re so weird, Dad.” He stood up and returned to the kitchen. When he disappeared from view Byron wrung his hands together, willing himself to calm down.

His son returned momentarily. “What’s up?”

The commander fixed Albert with a look. He didn’t want to come down hard on his son. Albert was nineteen, after all, and that made it harder to offer counsel. “Look around your home. You tell me ‘what’s up?’”

Albert’s blank expression told the commander all he needed to know.

“Look around your home,” he repeated. Albert’s eyes roamed the room for about half a second. “What are you doing to yourself? Anyone who walks in here is going to think you are obsessed with your mission.”

“Maybe I am obsessed.” Byron hadn’t seen the dullness, the lack of enthusiasm about life, in Albert’s eyes for weeks but he saw it now. His son took a second bite of his food, chewing it without any savoring. “So what?”

“We are going to Rio to recover Samuel’s body. In two weeks. All of the arrangements have been made.”

“Excellent!” His son stood up with the sandwich clenched in his hand. “Has my squadron leader approved for me to go?”

“Of course she has. She is probably too afraid to tell you no.”

“Then I’m in. With your backing, Command might even let me lead the mission.”

Byron motioned for Albert to sit back down. “Please. There is something else you need to consider.”

“What—?”

Commander Byron raised a hand and Albert obeyed, taking his seat again. The sandwich in his hand was now forgotten as he waited. Byron chose his words carefully. He’d had enough estrangement in his family to last a lifetime.

“We only have a small window of opportunity to arrange this excursion. Unfortunately, it coincides with Marie’s graduation ceremony.”

“Is there any way—?”

“No. It has to be then, or we wait weeks longer.”

Albert put the sandwich down on his plate and grabbed his head with both hands. Byron watched him, hoping he’d done the right thing by intentionally creating this scheduling conflict.

“Can’t you reschedule Marie’s ceremony? I’ve got to be able to do both!” Byron was pleased to hear the frustration mounting in his son’s voice.

“No. People, like Marie’s entire family, have already made their plans to attend. Then we begin Ludwig’s Panel, and after that is Cala’s. Then—”

“I get the point, thanks.” His son stood up and combed his fingers through his brown hair he’d always kept neatly groomed. As he stood, several books slid off the coffee table in a cascade. Byron watched everything passively, missing the days when his son’s problems were much simpler.

“Make a choice, Albert,” he said bluntly.

“What?” Albert’s expression told Byron he didn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Make a choice. Make a choice and stick with it. I know you blame yourself for what happened, but you did not make a mistake.”

“What do you know about mistakes, Dad?” Albert said in a controlled, but raised voice. “You’ve lived a perfect life! Everyone around here looks up to you and admires you. Every Psion here would lay down their life for you. My mistake killed people!”

“You were roundly commended for your decisions. Remember that? Do you think we withheld criticism from you just because of the deaths?”

Albert didn’t answer.

“What do you think you should have done different?” Byron pressed. “Tell me, please, so we can discuss it.”

Albert sat back down, ruffling his hair even more. It was plain to see these things had weighed heavily on his mind for a long time.

“I should have confirmed our exit points. The brick wall . . .”

“The intel you used to plan the mission was recent.”

“Not recent enough!” Albert paused for several seconds, as though debating whether to speak what was on his mind. “Dad, I think someone tipped off the Thirteens. Someone on our side.”

“We investigated that option already. Command was very thorough. No records of communication with CAG from anyone who knew about the mission. We looked over the ship—”

“Ho Chin and I went over the ship again. Whoever examined it wasn’t thorough enough. We found very small scratch marks on the modulator where it had become dislodged. That’s why we couldn’t send any type of signal to you that we were under attack.”

“Scratch marks? How long have you known about this?”

Albert nodded. “Since last night. Ho Chin wouldn’t tell me over the com. He told me to wait to tell you in person, too.”

The sink in the kitchen began to drip again, but Byron hardly noticed the noise this time. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No. We both figured you were the only person we trust enough to tell. All the equipment was tested two days before the mission. Then the cruiser was put on lockdown.”

“Only Psion Command, Dr. Rosmir, and squadron leaders have access to a cruiser in lockdown,” Byron added. “If it was tampered with . . .” He shook his head. It was something he never thought he’d hear himself say.

“I still could have prevented it, Dad,” Albert continued. “If I’d checked the exits . . . we could have radioed back immediately for clearance to continue. Instead, I just sent in our updates, not even checking to see if they were being received.”

Silence reigned in the room save for the occasional drip from the faucet. Byron felt like he finally understood his son’s issues. He indeed had made a mistake, albeit a small one that almost any other honcho would have made, including himself. Albert sat on his couch with his face in his hands.

“I have made mistakes, too, Albert.”

Albert made a rude sound and shook his head.

“I have. Some of them I have never been able to forget. I work with Victor Wrobel nearly every day, and seeing him reminds me about the greatest mistake of my life. I doubt he even realizes it.”

“Dad . . .”

“He and I used to be best friends. We were both in the sewers when your mother died. So was Claire and Blake Weymouth and—”

“I know all about that. You’ve told me plenty of times.”

“Our relationship has never been the same since. We are still friends, but it changed. We lost four good soldiers in that one battle.” He looked at his son, hoping Albert would look back. “And I was the honcho.”

“You think he blames you for what happened?” Albert asked. “After all this time?”

Byron didn’t answer. The truth was, he didn’t know. “For a long time, I blamed myself for what happened. It took me years to talk to him about it. We were traveling to Sri Lanka to investigate a terrorist cell. He said he had forgiven me. I should have reached out to Victor sooner. I might have saved a special friendship. If you keep this obsession up, you are going to lose Marie. Now, I need to know, are you going to Rio or to Beta headquarters?”

Albert looked stunned, staring straight into his father’s eyes. “I . . . I, uh, need to think about it. I’ll let you know.”

“If I had said something like that, your mother never would have married me.” Emotion laced Byron’s voice, and he fought it back so he could speak clearly. “Do you know why she loved me so much, Al? Do you want to know the secret?”

Albert did not respond, instead he shooed a bug away from his food.

“Because I put her first. Always. But Marie has been riding in the backseat of your life for three months now. Bless her heart for being so patient with you, thinking you are going to move past this. What happens when we find Samuel’s body? Burned and decayed. Then what? What are you going to do with this shrine?” He gestured to the fireplace, the table, the posters—all of it. “What are you going to tell Marie when you come home after missing one of the most important ceremonies of her life?”

“Dad, I—”

“No, please hear me out,” Byron said with a raised hand. “She will know she comes second in your mind. Not behind you or Samuel, but behind this war. Behind this suit you wear now. And she will still marry you, but neither of you will be as happy as you could be. Do you want that?”