Psion Gamma (17 page)

“Geez . . .” Dr. Rosmir said. “What do you make of all this?”

“Looks to me like a bomb shelter. Who knows how old it is, but I see no sign of Samuel.”

Trying not to let his hopes get too high, Byron circled the room looking for any definite sign of habitation. If Samuel had been here, he did an excellent job of hiding his tracks. Byron felt a touch of pride at that.

Dr. Rosmir, meanwhile, got busy with his kit. Byron had seen him use things like this before and knew better than to offer help. The kits were expensive, complicated, and extremely handy in investigations such as these.

Rosmir took out a long skinny can and sprinkled powder on the floor all around where the two Alphas landed. Then he sprayed the powder with an aerosol can, and waited. Byron marked areas around the room with a special pen that could only be seen with wavelength altering contacts. Both he and Dr. Rosmir had one to wear when they needed it.

“Come see this, Walter,” Dr. Rosmir said.

The commander noticed that his friend had used his first name, something he only did on rare occasions.

“What is it?”

“Can’t you tell? Look . . .” he said pointing to small color variations on the floor.

“You seem to be forgetting that I did not attend medical school, and never bothered to memorize the color code for chemical traces.”

“No—no, I haven’t forgotten,” Dr. Rosmir said with a bemused smile. “I’m trying to prolong your suspense.” He pointed out several spots to Byron. “This faint orange is caused by a reaction with hydrochloric acid. See it?”

“Not really, no.”

“It takes lots of practice. Hydrochloric acid is found in the stomach. It comes up with vomit. But since it’s such a common acid, even in cleaners, there’s only one way evidence of vomit can be used in a court of law.”

“How’s that?”

“Pepsin and pepsinogen—enzymes also secreted by the stomach, but never found in your household cleaners. All I have to do is spray this over it, and if it turns blue—”

With a quick spray over the orange spots, even Byron could see traces of blue.

“Voila!” Dr. Rosmir exclaimed.

Byron smiled and clapped him on the back. “Well done. So we know someone threw up here.”

“And not too long ago,” Dr. Rosmir added. “Within the last six—maybe seven months.”

“Any signs of blood?”

“Yep. But nothing like what we’d have seen if the boy had fallen down the shaft to his death . . .”

“Can you get a DNA—?”

Dr. Rosmir shook his head. “Not from vomit. I can run the blood when we get back, but it still won’t tell me if he survived or not.”

Byron frowned. No trace of Samuel here. None upstairs. What if he hadn’t fallen down the hole? What if his body had been taken away with all the others?

“I marked some areas for fingerprints,” he said, pointing around at the pen marks he had made. “Take that side of the room.”

None of the places Byron circled yielded results.

“I must be missing something,” Byron said with a frown as he turned around on the same spot, letting his gaze fall everywhere. “A little blood and vomit. No note, no fingerprints. No fingerprints anywhere.”

Dr. Rosmir held his hands in the air like he was about to play an invisible piano. His eyes were closed. “The kid wakes up here. He’s alone. He finds food and water. What does he do?”

“Stays, hoping someone will come and get him.”

The doctor nodded. “I go along with that. But how long does he wait? A week? Two? A month? More?”

Byron shook his head and kept looking around the room for clues. “So he lives in here for some time. After a while, assumes no one is looking for him. Then what? Where does he go? What does he do?”

“That’s what I’m figuring. He has to know he can’t stay here forever, but just in case someone comes looking, what does he do? He leaves . . . something. Maybe a note? A sign? Nothing at all?”

“Samuel is smart; too smart to leave a note. Maybe . . . something.”

“So what? Where? Where would he leave it?”

They spent a half hour searching for and talking about possible messages or symbols Samuel might have left to tell where he might go. They found nothing.

Byron scratched his head in frustration. “All we have is a spot of vomit and old blood. Come on, Samuel. Where would you leave a message?”

Dr. Rosmir snapped his fingers. “What is the last place he touched? A door? A light switch? Maybe turning off the generator?”

A smile spread across the commander’s face. “You want to do the honors?”

Dr. Rosmir sprayed a small aerosol over the generator kill switch. Sure enough, a nice fat fingerprint appeared in green. Byron used his scanner to make a copy of the print, but hardly needed to see the results of the analysis. And yet, he hadn’t needed to see anything so badly in a long time.

It was Samuel’s print.

Byron’s knees almost gave. He caught himself as they bent. It was too much to believe.

“Walter, are you all right?” Dr. Rosmir asked. “Wasn’t it his?”

The commander dropped the scanner at the doctor’s feet. Rosmir picked up the scanner and belted out a laugh.

“He’s alive . . . what a lucky kid!”

The two combed every centimeter of the underground shelter, making sure that nothing was overlooked. When Byron believed they could glean no more information from the bunker, he told Tango squadron to prepare for takeoff. Dr. Rosmir was just about to climb back out when Byron put his hand on his shoulder.

“I need to talk to you privately,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Only we know Samuel is alive. I want it to stay that way . . . for now.”

“But why?” Dr. Rosmir asked. “How can we organize a search if—”

“Tomorrow, I am going to bring Tango Squadron right back here to start a search, and I am going to forbid them having any contact with Command other than myself.” Before Dr. Rosmir could protest, Byron stopped him. “I have my reasons, and I’m leaving it at that.”

“What are you telling Tango? And Psion Command?”

“I will tell Tango what they need to know . . . tomorrow. Command will think we found no sign of his body or of survival.”

“Walter—”

“I need your trust on this. I will keep you up to date with everything Tango finds, but I need you to have some faith in me.”

Rosmir responded with a sound of exasperation, but Byron knew he had his confidence. He patted the doctor on the back and climbed out of the hole. The rest of Tango waited in the cruiser. Byron told them he and Dr. Rosmir found nothing in the bunker.

Once in the cruiser, Byron pointed them back to Capitol Island. Not long into the journey, he sent a text to his son:

A critical matter requires your urgent attention back at A. headquarters. Can you return to base immediately following the ceremony? Bring Chin and Djedaa. Samuel is alive.

All speed, Dad.

He and Dr. Rosmir spent a good length of the trip discussing in private how he was going to explain the disappearance of Tango squadron. He’d need to come up with a very good excuse. Eventually things were going to come out, and Psion Command would be furious with him. Technically, he had the authority to give such orders, but he knew he’d be in hot water with General Wu. Before they landed, another thought struck him, and he sent a second text to his son.

And do not say anything to anyone. Even Gefjon or Marie.

He had much more work to do than he’d anticipated. And he was thrilled about it.

March 3, 2086

J
EFFIE AND BRICKERT
moved down the aisle between the two large sections of chairs in sim room one looking for a good place to sit.

“Over there,” Brickert suggested, pointing to her right.

Jeffie counted the number of available adjacent chairs. “Not enough for everyone.”

“You mean, not enough for Strawberry and Antonio,” Brickert said, “which is more than fine by me.”

Jeffie reprimanded him with a look and continued meandering up the aisle, waiting for the crowd of Alphas, Command, and Betas in front to clear out.

“Do we really want to sit that close?” Brickert asked. “I’ll get sick during the highlight video.”

“Oh, quit whining!” She punched him on the arm playfully.

Brickert smiled back, and all she could do was shake her head. She looked back to see if their friends were following behind when someone tugged on her sleeve urgently. It was Al trying to squeeze between three members of Marie’s family. He wore a very strange expression.

“Hey, Al! What’s up?” She hadn’t seen him since his own graduation.

“I need to speak with you in private.” He kept his voice quiet, and she barely heard him over the din. “You know . . . after this is over.”

“About what?” she asked.

Brickert turned an ear to catch a piece of their conversation.

Al opened his mouth to speak, but Marie’s father cut him off. “Al, let’s hurry now. It’s about to start.”

He shot her a look of hopeful reluctance and mouthed: “After.” Then the tide of the crowd pulled him away from her and to the front of the audience where family received special seating for the ceremony. Jeffie’s mind froze on Al’s expression and she forgot all about trying to find a seat.

“Jeffie?” Brickert snapped his fingers in her face. “Earth to Jeffie?”

“What?” she finally answered.

“What did Al want?”

“He wants to talk to me after this is over.”

“Did he say what about?”

“No, he didn’t.” But she had a pretty good idea.
It’s about Sammy. What else could it possibly be?

Brickert ended up choosing their seats, as Jeffie was too lost in her own thoughts to really care anymore. Twice, he had to steer her by the jumpsuit so she wouldn’t walk into someone. Natalia and Kawai arrived shortly and sat with them. Just before the ceremonies began, Strawberry ducked in with Antonio, taking the seats to Jeffie’s right.

“Where’s Hefani?” Antonio asked.

Jeffie pointed two rows up where the other new kid was sitting. She hated having Hefani around. He was nice, polite, and extraordinarily humble, but he shared too many similarities with Sammy. Often, Jeffie would see him and immediately think of her best friend. It wasn’t that they looked exactly alike. Sammy was taller, bigger, and much better looking with his strong chin and cute, stubby nose. Hefani kept his hair long and hardly ever spoke unless Antonio was around. But his dark skin and hair often made her do a double-take.

She didn’t remember much of Marie’s ceremony. It seemed as though a box of fireworks had been crammed inside her head and lit, causing her imagination to explode with daydreams of both wonderful and devastating tidings. What news could Al possibly have? Had they heard from Sammy? Were they going back to look for him? So many thoughts and ideas battled for the spotlight that she began to hate Al for making her wait for their conversation.

“I am not telling you how many boys I’ve kissed,” Strawberry whispered in mock offense.

“Come on. Don’t be such a prude,” Antonio answered under his breath. “I’m sure someone as cute as you has had a little experience!”

“Oh, right. Nice try, but—”

“Can you two act mature for two hours?” Brickert hissed, leaning across Jeffie to talk to his sister. “I’ll tell you . . .” he added under his breath to Jeffie, who answered with an indulgent smile.

“Sorry,” Strawberry replied, beet red.

Antonio hitched a cheesy grin on his face, and they both turned to watch the proceedings.

“Thank you,” Jeffie breathed to Brickert. “I didn’t want to have to say something.” No matter how great of a roommate Strawberry was, she seriously lacked social etiquette whenever Antonio was around.

Most of the Betas were getting bored with the graduation ceremonies. This was their third in about two months, after attending Al’s and Gregor’s. They were all fairly similar except for the highlight reel; an impressive collection of recordings of the graduate in the Arena and simulation fights. That was everyone’s favorite part. Each time Jeffie tried to pay attention, her thoughts strayed back to Al.
What could he possibly need to talk to me about?
Whatever it was, it seemed urgent.

Brickert leaned over and again interrupted her train of thought. “Would you mind if I sat in on your conversation with Al?”

“It’s fine with me if it’s fine with him.”

“Great. Thanks.” He beamed at her.

“Can you two act mature for two hours?” Antonio hissed at them, grinning as he did so. Jeffie glared back, and he shut up.

Finally the highlight reel began. Jeffie watched it with mild interest. When it ended to thunderous applause, Marie got up to speak. Sensing the end of the meeting, Jeffie sent several glances at Al as if her eyes could hold him in place until she reached him. He was sitting between Marie’s parents and her littlest brother, Domingo. Jeffie wondered vaguely if he, like Strawberry, had already tested positive for Anomaly Fourteen, but was too young to be recruited. Every few seconds, Marie’s mother or father would lean over and whisper to either Al or each other about something in Marie’s speech. Seeing Marie’s parents in the same room with their daughter reminded Jeffie of a late night with Sammy not long after he had beaten four Thirteens in one sim.

As he told her about beating the sim, he practiced levitating his ice cream spoon in one hand while using his other hand to spin it. Jeffie knew he’d picked the idea up from watching Kobe, but she didn’t mention it.

“I’m kinda jealous of the relationship you had with your parents,” she told him.

“Come on . . .” he responded, getting a really good spin on the spoon before it tipped over off his blast, “you make it sound like yours are terrible.”

He sat in his favorite gel chair, propping his legs up on a second one, the way he always did during their late night talks. He wore his old jeans and a T-shirt Al had given him a couple months ago with the Helsinki Hurricanes’ logo on it. Jeffie hated the Hurricanes, they were a big rival of the Oslo Otters. So, naturally, Sammy wore it more often.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way.” She watched him spin the spoon, wishing he’d put it away and look at her. “They’re not terrible. I—I just wish they had been more down-to-earth.”

He dropped the spoon again, and didn’t bother to pick it up. Instead, he looked at her with that blank expression he wore when he was just listening to what she had to say.
He probably did not know it, but it was the perfect way to get her to keep talking.

“My dad was my basketball coach ever since . . . oh gosh . . . ever since I was old enough to be in recreation clubs, I guess. Did I ever tell you he fudged my age on the application to get me in?”

“No” Sammy smirked at her. “But I’m not surprised. In fact, I could see you doing the same thing.”

Jeffie threw a gel chair at him. He blasted it away without much effort. “Thanks for the workout.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway—where was I?”

“Fudging your age,” he told her.

“Oh yeah, so I was six months shy of the cut-off date, and he marked my half birthday on my sign-up form. He told me the bigger sin would be to not let me play.”

“Do you think he was right?”

“Playing with older girls definitely pushed me harder. But I was six! I mean, who cares about that stuff when you’re six? They don’t even care if you double-dribble until the eight and nine-year-old league. But if I double-dribbled or traveled or fouled out—it was like a cardinal sin!” Jeffie clutched her face in mock terror. “My dad would make me run lines after practice.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah! The same with my brothers. That’s why they’re playing professional sports all over the continent—two play for football clubs and one plays basketball. At least, that’s the reason my father told everyone.”

“He’s probably right.”

“You know, the only time my parents ever got into arguments was when my mom wanted to take us to her film shoots. She wanted us to be well-rounded; he didn’t want us to miss practice. So, finally, she decided to direct a documentary on the Norwegian territorial football squad, and my dad had to let us go. I was nine then. We liked being on her film sets so much he had to let us go more often.”

“You got to do some pretty cool stuff,” Sammy remarked. “What are you complaining about?”

“But they weren’t my best friends!” she shot back. “Aren’t they supposed to be? I don’t know. Your parents sound so great.”

Sammy shrugged in his chair, causing the gel to squish inside. “They were.”

Jeffie mocked his nonchalant shrug several times until he smiled. “My dad was more concerned with winning and getting us sports scholarships to whatever school we wanted to attend. My mom was determined to culture us in the arts, but she rarely went to my games. She missed all my Olympic games because she was filming the first basketball holo-film. Ironic?”

“You were in the Olympics?” Sammy asked.

Jeffie’s expression told Sammy that the answer should be obvious. “Of course I was. But do you see my point?”

“Yeah, sure I do,” Sammy said as he got up to get more ice cream. “Do you want more?” he called back.

Jeffie grumbled a bit to herself about whether she should and then reluctantly answered, “Yes.”

Sammy came back, grabbed her bowl, and filled hers up as well. When he handed it to her, he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I want to spend my life with someone like my mom. She was my best friend. I could trust her with anything.”

The words burned themselves into her memory. At that moment, she realized she wanted to be the person Sammy was talking about.

“What is that face for?” Sammy asked.

Jeffie mentally slapped herself. “Nothing . . . I just think you’re really lucky. And I wish my mom and dad had taken more time to be my friend.”

“You should remember that when you have kids someday.”

“Okay, can we talk about something a little less serious?”

Sammy just laughed.

Jeffie’s patience ran out about twenty seconds into Marie’s speech. She could hardly sit still, glancing every few seconds at Al, who seemed to have no problem listening to his girlfriend’s discourse about how grateful she was that her mother and father had taken a leap of faith and accepted Byron’s offer.

“Calm down,” Brickert hissed at her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Jeffie ignored this, glancing again at Al. This time he was reading a text on his com. When his holo-screen disappeared, Al sat up straighter and looked to his left and right as if he were making sure no one else read the message.

More questions jumped to Jeffie’s mind and she tried to keep track of them. As Marie wound down, Jeffie tapped her feet to a fast beat in her head and ignored the annoyed looks from Levu and Cala. A half-second after the ceremony finished, she sprang from her seat like a jack-in-the-box and made her way toward Al.