Psion Gamma (6 page)

“I’m fine. No thanks to your stupid joke,
man
.” Sammy took several breaths to calm himself. The last time he’d been this mad, Byron had pulled him off Kobe in the cafeteria.

“It’s a miracle! The knives! They—they flew! Did you see that? The holy saints are watching over you, man!” Fernando crossed himself multiple times with great fervor.

Adam lay on his butt, staring at Sammy with a pale face and frightened expression. Finally, he managed an apology and began cleaning up the mess he’d caused. But the damage was done. The mood in the back of the store turned quiet and awkward. Adam said nothing else and went out of his way to avoid looking at or being near Sammy. When Floyd returned, his son immediately took his lunch break.

Another big order came in right after Adam left. Since Fernando needed help, and Floyd didn’t want Sammy carving the meats, Floyd sent him up front to man the cash register until Adam got back.

Sammy had only been up front for about thirty minutes when a large white van pulled to a stop across the street about thirty meters up the block. On the rear side door was painted a pink square with a suspicious looking man in black. And in big bold letters above him:
KEEP THE PEACE!
And below him:
CALL IT IN!

A group of kids who’d been playing football in the street scattered and didn’t come back. Sammy swore under his breath as the air in his lungs grabbed hold to the walls of his chest. The doors to the van opened and six men in strange clothing clambered out. He didn’t need a second look to know what was going to happen next.

Adam
. . .
what have you done?

The six men were Aegis, the soldiers of Thirteens. Sammy was sure of it. They weren’t wearing their usual mottled green and brown uniforms. Instead, they’d chosen to go with black suits and ties, white shirts, dark fedoras, and large sunglasses covering their faces. One man had a white stripe on his hat and another running down his tie. He motioned with his head and the group broke in half.

Sammy’s mind began calculating a way for escape, but there was no way he could get away without a fight. And if he chose that path, he’d draw all kinds of bad attention to the Hernandes family.

Three of the Aegis, including the striped man, sauntered toward the front of the store and three disappeared around to the back, cutting off his escape. While he could see them, they couldn’t see him. He looked around the store quickly. He grabbed the ticket under the register, slipped it into a small plastic bag, and stuffed it into the darkest corner of the nearest cabinet, beneath a can full of old receipts. No sooner had he finished, the bell over the door jingled.

Sammy wiped down the counter by the register as if nothing was wrong. An observant inspector would have noticed his slightly shaking hands and his breath coming a little quicker, but these men didn’t seem to be anticipating any problems.

Floyd came out from the back just as the man with the stripe crossed the threshold. Sammy didn’t know if Floyd recognized these men, but judging by the way his boss’ eyes moved back and forth between the three men and the van parked across the street, Floyd sensed something terribly amiss.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Floyd asked. His voice was cool but controlled.

“Actually, you can, Mister . . .?” The striped man stepped forward with a hand outstretched.

“Hernandes. The owner. You guys are government?”

At that moment, the other three men in suits emerged from the back of the store with Adam and Fernando in tow. Hernandes let out a strangled cry and started toward his son. Two of the men stepped in and blocked his path.

“Calm down,” the man with the white stripe said. His deep voice had a uniquely nasal tone that struck Sammy as odd. He also had a small scar above his upper lip that twisted up to his left nostril. “We’re here because of a call placed about thirty minutes ago. Someone reported an unusual incident here.”

“What do you mean?” Floyd demanded. “Who called you? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The striped man lifted his sunglasses so Floyd could see his eyes. They were light gray and colder than the meat locker. Whatever doubt Sammy had that this man was an Aegis was now gone. Fear flooded his very soul. “We ensure the safety of our citizens. That’s all you need to know. Now, who placed the call?”

“No one here placed any—” Floyd protested as he turned his head back and forth between the Aegis and his employees. He stopped when he saw Adam step forward with a trembling hand raised into the air.

“I did.”

“Adam?” Floyd faced his son and put a finger to his chest. “What on earth were you calling about?”

“Albert’s a freak, Dad!” Adam said.

“No, it was a miracle, man,” Fernando insisted. “You should have seen it, Uncle! It was a miracle.”

Floyd turned now to the man Sammy thought of as Stripe. “I have no idea what’s going on here. My son made a mistake. Please leave.”

“Is this the boy you called about?” Stripe questioned Adam, but looked at Fernando.

Adam shook his head. “Him,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Sammy.

“Let’s go.”

Three pairs of hands seized Sammy at the same time. He’d been expecting this, but Floyd and Fernando had not. They both started forward to protest Sammy’s removal, but as soon as they moved the other three Aegis pulled out weapons.

“Don’t do anything foolish. We’re just taking this boy in for questioning. Public safety.”

“Questioning?” Floyd shouted. “Do I look stupid? Why the guns if he’s only going in for questioning?”

“To ensure your safety. This boy could be dangerous. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I’ll be fine, Floyd.” Sammy gave his friend a look that begged him to drop the matter. “Thank you so much for your help.” He didn’t want harm to come to the family, even if Adam was a dirty little rat.

Fernando and Floyd gave only empty protests as Sammy left the store in the hands of six Aegis. As he crossed the street he heard the fading sound of Floyd screaming at his son.

“You should have talked to me before you called someone! We took him in! He was practically family!”

One of the Aegis slipped thick magnetic cuffs around Sammy’s wrists and activated them. They clamped firmly, locking his arms together, robbing his wrists of any movement, and forcing his palms to face each other. Sammy wondered if he could break them with a strong enough blast, but knew that attempting it would expose him immediately as a trained Psion. At this point, as far as he could tell, the Aegis had no idea who he was. He saw no need to tip them off. They opened the rear doors of the van and tossed him inside. He landed hard on his shoulder. The thick door shut tightly behind him. A wall of solid black material sealed him off from the rest of the vehicle, extinguishing all light to his section of the van.

From the vibrations in the floor, he felt the van’s electric motor whir to life. As he was carried away, his mind surged with frustration. What more did he have to do to get back home? He’d only been hours away from the air rail.

Lying on the thin rug with his arms bound tightly behind him, he tried to formulate a plan to escape without using his blasts. It was impossible. He decided that his best chance would be surprise.
One good blast should do it
. . .
As soon as they open the doors, I’ll pounce.

Within the pitch black compartment of the van, he lost all sense of direction. He felt the van lurch down a short, steep drive, then level off. After coming to a quick halt, he heard the muffled sounds of doors opening and slamming shut. He tensed his muscles, ready to try to break the magnet cuff seal with a strong blast. Then he heard the sound of hissing gas and knew he was in trouble.

January 7, 2086

“I
T SOUNDS LIKE
you got yourself some good kids, Walter.” Commander Wrobel’s voice came through the cruiser’s speakers loud and clear.

Commander Byron and Dr. Maad Rosmir sat in the pilot chairs of Byron’s personal atmo-cruiser. Behind them, in the passenger seats, three nervous recruits stared out their windows as the cruiser cut through the snowy fog over Western Europe. The last time Byron and Dr. Rosmir had taken this trip together was almost a year ago. Samuel had been in the back of the cruiser, strapped down with several Elite guarding him.

“No bad ones yet. Am I right, Maad?” Byron smiled at the doctor.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Rosmir replied. “That Albert kid is a bad apple if I ever saw one. Not very bright, either.”

Wrobel’s laughter was loud enough to make the sound break up in the speakers. Byron chuckled, too.

He and Dr. Rosmir had just finished picking up the last of the recruits from a city in the Territory of Mediterranea called Ancona, right on the Adriatic Sea.

“A new record breaker, is that what you told me?” Wrobel asked.

“Correct,” Byron answered. “Youngest Psion ever—sitting right behind me.” The recruits couldn’t hear his conversation due to the soundproof partition Byron had activated. It sealed off the cockpit, but he could still watch them on screen.

Commander Wrobel snorted. “You and your statistics.”

“More important to us,” Dr. Rosmir added, “is they’re all healthy. Makes my job much easier. I don’t think Psion Command appreciates how difficult my work can be.”

Commander Byron gave Dr. Rosmir a quick nod. “Victor, I will check in with Command when we get back to headquarters. Until then, you take care.” He pushed a button and ended the call. A moment of silence passed between the commander and the doctor. Then Byron tapped the digital clock on the control panel. “Two hours from Rome to the Island . . . What do you want to talk about?”

Dr. Rosmir laughed and let another long silence pass before he spoke. Byron didn’t mind the quiet, it was Rosmir who rarely left time unfilled with conversation. Two things the commander had learned about Rosmir very quickly: he liked to talk and he wanted everything neat. The second attribute made him a very fine surgeon.

“How’s Al doing?” Dr. Rosmir finally asked.

Byron recognized the walking-on-eggshells tone in his friend’s voice. He’d heard it several times in the last month and a half from many different people. “Hard to say. Sometimes I think he might be snapping out of it, other times . . .” He checked his altitude and speed, and then turned on autopilot, something he didn’t normally do. “His graduation is in two weeks. I really hope getting out of Beta and being surrounded by Alphas helps him.”

“I’m sure it’ll do him some good,” Maad offered. His focus shifted to scouting out any bit of dirt under his fingernails.

Byron nodded, even though he didn’t necessarily agree with the assessment. “I have a couple people who will keep an eye on him. Not that I want to do that. I want him to have his autonomy, but if this obsession with his mission keeps going like it is, it could ruin his life.”

“And Kobe? Any news lately?”

“He is getting better. Though I have some other news you might be interested to hear.”

Dr. Rosmir stopped working under his nails for a moment to glance at Byron.

“Psion Command voted today to risk going to Rio and recovering Samuel’s body.”

“That’s good news, right?” Dr. Rosmir asked. “I mean, last time we discussed it, you didn’t think you’d get enough votes.”

“Wrobel and Iakoka still vetoed it, but I persuaded Commander Havelbert to change her mind. Four votes to two . . . we go to Rio.”

Dr. Rosmir flicked away whatever he’d unearthed under the nails on his left hand. “As intimately acquainted as I am with Psion politics, I still never understand you guys. You have an equal vote to the other five members of Command—”

“Only on matters relating to Betas,” Byron cut in to remind him.

Dr. Rosmir raised a finger. “Exactly, and Sammy was a Beta.”

“But Alphas are being sent to recover him, not Betas.” Commander Byron cleared his throat. “You also should know that I will be honcho on the mission since Samuel was my pupil, and that I have asked that you come along to provide your expert forensic abilities.”

Dr. Rosmir’s mood changed quickly. His expression was surly and tension crept into his voice. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

The words hovered in the air. On the window behind the doctor, flakes of ice and water streaked the cockpit glass as it seeped out of the thick clouds around the cruiser. Byron didn’t need to ask his friend how he felt about the decision. He’d known for a very long time.

Maad Rosmir was among the earliest recruits after the Psion Corps split into Psion Alpha and Psion Beta. At the age of seventeen, he’d finally gotten up the courage to learn to drive his family’s car. As his father sat in the passenger seat teaching Maad how to operate the vehicle, a large truck that had lost its brakes slammed into the side, T-boning them. Maad’s father died instantly. The only thing that had saved Maad was his undiscovered Psion abilities.

Byron investigated (just as he did almost all such accident survivors) and flew to the Territory of India. He met with Mrs. Rosmir and Maad, explaining who he was and what he had to offer. When he told Mrs. Rosmir her son had a genetic anomaly, she burst into tears, thinking her only boy was going to die. An hour later, after she’d finally calmed down, she encouraged Maad to go to Capitol Island. Maad refused, stating his duty now was to take care of his mother.

Fortunately, Mrs. Rosmir proved more stubborn than her son. India was no place for him. It still had not fully recovered from the Scourge, even after thirty-five years. India’s tightly packed urban population had been ravaged by the disease, and had lost over seventy-five percent of its population. Maad left his mother and went with Byron to headquarters, eventually becoming one of the most valuable Psions that Byron had trained.

As he watched his former pupil squirming in the copilot’s chair, the commander felt sorry for him. “Maad,” he said softly, “you make me nervous just looking at you. Relax. We are not due to leave for weeks. Besides, General Wu will assign a full squadron to come with us.”

Dr. Rosmir played with his pocket-watch as he nodded his head. With such wide eyes and a fearful expression, he looked very much like the young recruit Byron had flown in from Bombay several years ago. In another setting, Maad’s reaction might be funny, but the commander was not amused. The idea of combat or any kind of danger had never sat well with the doctor.

“Will you protest my request to have you come with me?” Byron asked him.

Still playing with the pocket-watch, Dr. Rosmir answered, “I have to get over it sometime. Even if it’s not combat.”

“You never know . . .”

Dr. Rosmir smacked his hand on the armrest. “Don’t tell me that. That’s the last thing I need to hear.” Commander Byron offered a sincere apology, which Dr. Rosmir waved off. “I know you’re just looking out for me, Commander. Don’t say sorry for that.”

Byron checked on the kids in the back by glancing at the screen. The two boys were talking to each other now. Byron didn’t bother turning on the microphone to hear them. Judging by her eyes, the girl was listening even though her focus was still on the window where she rested her forehead. He turned back to the doctor. “You mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Dr. Rosmir said heavily.

“Were you ever angry that I stopped you from taking the Psion Panel?”

Rosmir didn’t answer right away, but Byron expected that. After all, he was asking about something that had happened well over a decade ago. Maad spat out a one-word answer that Byron couldn’t hear.

“I missed that.”

“Bitter,” Dr. Rosmir repeated. “Not angry. I understood. I understood better than I let on. But honestly, how could I stay that way? You gave me exactly what I wanted. I felt trapped in that place—no offense. When you told me they were letting me go to medical school . . . it was like getting a get-out-of-jail-free card. I knew I wasn’t any good at combat.” Rosmir looked over at Byron and saw something in his face. “What?”

Byron stared back puzzled. “What do you mean, what?”

“You have that look. Okay, fine, so I was terrible at combat.”

“I said nothing!” Byron protested. But he probably had made a face, even if he hadn’t meant to. The truth was, no pupil of Byron’s had performed as abysmally in the sims as Maad had. Despite all the extra help the commander had devoted to tutoring him, Byron knew he wouldn’t pass the Panel. Psions were not created equal. It came as no shock to him. Not after Elite training. And in his tenure as the head of Psion Beta, he’d seen a wide range of abilities come through.

You have your natural fighters like Kaden and Albert, and the ones who struggle—the Gregors and the Maads. And all kinds in between. That is how life goes.

“How long did it take to get approval for me to go to school?” Rosmir asked.

“Oh . . . about six months.” Byron checked the figures in his head and confirmed it.

“All the way up to General Wu, huh?”

Byron nodded and drummed his fingers on his knees. “We lock down the Betas. Most of them never seem to miss normal life. It surprises them. Limited contact with family, friends. Cooped up in that building for years in most cases. We ask a lot of these kids. But the structure and the schedule is something they come to rely on. Most of them, at least. I thought Samuel was going to fight it a lot harder than he did. A few incidents, but . . .”

Byron brushed his thoughts away. “Yes, it went all the way up to Wu. Even his thick skull could see we needed a Psion with a medical degree. I think your case helped open everyone’s eyes. It helped people see that not every Psion is meant to be a soldier, even if they can shoot energy out of their hands.”

“I can’t complain. You put me through King’s med school and the top surgical programs.”

“And we gave you a very nice infirmary.”

Dr. Rosmir rubbed his hands together gleefully. “When I show other doctors where I work—and that’s not very often, believe me—they drool all over themselves. Every one of them.”

Byron laughed and Dr. Rosmir let out the over-the-top cackle that he was famous for.

“And look at you now,” Commander Byron said. “Every recruited Beta goes through you. Every sick or injured Alpha goes through you. You see firsthand the horrors of this war—probably more than anyone else. You know what we call you in our meetings when you are not around?”

“What’s that?” the doctor asked.

“The sixth commander. Think about it. You are at almost every Psion Command meeting. You know more than most of them what is going on around us. You work with my counterpart at the Anomaly Fifteens—”

“And I work with Elevens now, too.”

“See what I mean? Anyway, we got way off the subject. I guess what I want to say is, after all you have seen and done as a Psion, it surprises me that flying into Rio puts you on edge.”

“Flying into Rio doesn’t put me on edge. What might be waiting for me in Rio—that puts me on edge.”

Byron couldn’t stop another chuckle. He checked on the kids in the back once more. They all seemed fine. The girl had joined in the conversation, talking animatedly with both boys, who gave her their full attention. “She’s going to be trouble, that one.”

Rosmir looked at the screen. “The Plack girl? What makes you say that?”

“Years of experience. She’s outgoing. Pretty. Young. The young ones get awfully bored with headquarters by the time they graduate. Remember, she turned twelve just two months ago. I think she should room with Gefjon. They have a lot in common.” Byron kept his eyes on the screen as he answered. He always found it fascinating the way kids could just start up a conversation about anything. So much more relaxed than adults. “How many of the Placks tested positive for the Fourteen?”