Psion Gamma

by Jacob Gowans

  She detested being told to bring someone in unharmed, but sometimes her orders were just that.

  Not this time.

  No, she could do all kinds of fun things to him. Though she’d already had time to think it over, her ideas kept changing. This would be an important kill. Maybe something similar to what I did to my parents? Her tinkering had been rudimentary and unpolished. Her skills had grown since then.

  She relished the anxiety. The cocktail of emotions made the hunt joyous. Would she catch the boy? Yes. No prey had eluded her yet. She was the Queen, the Eve, the first Thirteen. Most of the Thirteens revered her for that fact alone.

  But why Topeka? The question lingered. Is something else going on that the fox doesn’t know about? The thought bothered her. Not much went on in the world that the fox wasn’t aware of. She left the house and started the drive back to Rio where she’d be picked up and taken to Topeka. During the six hour drive, her thoughts dwelled on the situation in which she’d been placed. Years in the Wyoming prison had taught her much, like how to focus her mind to think more clearly.

  Something isn’t right. As someone who’d been involved in almost every CAG-NWG battle since the prison break, she knew the strengths of the Fourteens. She knew how to beat them. An entire cell of Brothers and Aegis should be able to handle a platoon of kids.

  Either the Rio cell had completely botched the job or she was dealing with something particularly dangerous. She’d visited several interrogation centers in Brotherhood strongholds. They were secure, usually deep underground or underwater. A single kid couldn’t escape that, could he? Would having Anomaly Eleven make that much difference?

  Perhaps a true savant, a rare wunderkind that comes along only once a generation. The fox wanted all the anomalies handled in some way or another. For most Elevens, and all Fifteens and Fourteens, they had to be extracted. For Thirteens, collected and trained. But for the Fourteen named Sammy, the fox was very, very direct: his DNA had to be utterly destroyed.

  She would find him. It was only a matter of time.

  18. North

  Mid March 2086

  SAMMY AND TOAD SLEPT OUTSIDE each night, taking what little shelter they could find in the wild. The days ranged from cool to mild, and the nights were always cold. Most mornings Toad woke up hysterical from dreams of his parents dying. Once he realized where he was, he could calm down, but it unnerved Sammy to see someone so near his own age lose all mental stability in his sleep.

  As much as Sammy wanted to empathize, he could only watch Toad as a cold observer with a faint memory of a similar experience. When he heard Toad quietly crying out in the night, his brain told him he should be weeping, too, but his eyes were as dry as the dust on his hands, and his heart felt nothing for his travel companion.

  During the days of walking, they talked for hours at a time. It helped Sammy come to think of Toad less as a burden and more as a friend. He opened up to Toad and told him about his family, his friends, his abilities, but never about headquarters, the mission to Rio, or about what Stripe had done to him.

  Talking about himself to Toad made Sammy aware of another strange thing going on inside his head. When he recounted some of his memories, he’d sometimes reach a point where part had been rubbed away leaving a white spot—a block. Whenever this happened a sensation of total helplessness hit him, and when the moment passed, he was left feeling despair like he had in the building with Stripe. The depression would last for a few hours, during which time he had no desire to talk or listen to Toad.

  One time, in the middle of the night, Toad tried to wake Sammy up because he was yelling in his sleep about crocodiles. Still in a sleepy haze, Sammy thought Toad was a Thirteen sneaking up to kill him. He reacted by seizing Toad around the throat, and throwing him to the ground. Just when he was about to bash Toad’s skull into pieces with a rock, he recognized the face and remembered Toad was his friend.

  Toad never woke him up after that.

  On their fifth day past Lake Texoma, they came to another ghost town: Stillwater. This one was much bigger than Cedar Mills, but just as cleaned out. Their provisions were all but exhausted. They had only a handful of oats remaining, and the last of the canned foods had been eaten yesterday.

  Knowing they couldn’t go five or six more days with a handful of oats, they were forced to spend a day searching the town for food. As they explored a neighborhood of homes, Sammy finally convinced Toad to tell him how he’d been caught by the Aegis.

  “I already told you my dad works at the hub. Every year his work pays for all the kids of employees to go to this summer camp. I go so I can hang out with my best friend, Braden Barreiro. His dad is the chief engineer.”

  “I don’t suppose they taught you canoeing at the camp?” Sammy asked darkly as he closed another set of empty cupboards in a desolate kitchen.

  Toad glared at Sammy, then followed the look with a long sniff. “No. There’s a pool, but no lake. We do archery, obstacle courses, sports . . . all those things. If you’re on the yearly program like me, they keep track of all your progress so you can see if you’re getting better.”

  “Wow,” Sammy replied in a dry voice. “Just skip to the part where you used a blast. I’ve heard about two dozen of these kinds of stories.”

  “What do you mean?” Toad asked. “Blasts are what you do, right?”

  Sammy nodded.

  “I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “Then how’d they get you? How’d they even know you were a—” Sammy almost said a Psion, but he stopped himself. “What’d you do?”

  “I was getting to that part!” Toad exclaimed as he slammed a pantry door shut. “It was my stats, I think.”

  Sammy wore a confused expression, but waited for Toad to continue.

  “I killed everyone’s record in archery. I mean it wasn’t even close. I beat everyone but the oldest kids at the obstacle courses and races, too. Someone must have noticed that I did something unnatural, so they called the Safety Agents. When they came for me, Braden tried to stop them. They shoved him down so hard his head was bleeding. I don’t even know if he’s okay.”

  “You never shot energy out of your hands or feet?”

  Toad shook his head.

  Then it dawned on Sammy. “Holy crap! You’re an Ultra!”

  “What?” Toad asked as he sniffed.

  “You’re an Ultra! Anomaly Fifteens are Ultras. I learned about your anomaly in my training. Ultra-kinesis, they call it. See, I can shoot energy out because I have Anomaly Fourteen. You have Fifteen.” Sammy wracked his brain for more information about the anomaly, but he could only remember bits and pieces. “Did you have trouble concentrating when you were in school?”

  Toad nodded. “When I was younger they said I was hyperactive. A doctor wanted to put me on meds but my dad said no way.”

  Sammy pointed at Toad excitedly. “That’s one of the earliest signs, if I remember it right, because your body processes more energy from food than the average person. It gets better—”

  “As I get older?” Toad finished. “I don’t have that problem as much anymore. My mom’s really glad about it, too. Especially when we’d go to mass. Sometimes I just couldn’t sit still no matter how hard I tried.”

  “This house is empty.” Sammy jerked his thumb to the door. “Let’s go to the next.” They crossed the lawn and checked the door. Locked. They broke the window and went inside. As they searched, Sammy tried to recall more information about Anomaly Fifteen. “So you say you’re fast, huh?”

  “Yep. I ran the hundred meter dash in nine point nine seconds.”

  Sammy swore quietly. That was a pretty darn fast time, amazing for someone Toad’s age. “Where were your parents? Were they there, too?”

  “No, they weren’t at the camp. My little sister was—”

  “You have a sister?” Sammy asked, embarrassed he hadn’t already known that.

  “Two,” Toad answered. “Both younger. I already told you that, remembe
r?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot.”

  They went through the next kitchen in an awkward silence. Sammy recognized the feeling of depression coming on whenever a hole in his memory appeared. He tried to fight it by keeping the conversation going. “Why would someone get you in trouble? It was a camp for kids. I mean, I know the signs: KEEP THE PEACE! CALL IT IN! But that doesn’t mean people have to do it.”

  “Don’t you know?” Toad gave a loud sniff as he looked over at Sammy skeptically. “About Safe Homes and Schools?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Okay, where did you grow up? The moon? It’s for terrorists—a law to catch terrorists, but I guess it’s for people like me, too.”

  Sammy shook his head. He still hadn’t told Toad about his NWG citizenship. “Why would anyone call it in, though?”

  “They advertise it on TV,” Toad said. His look of skepticism had changed to sheer disbelief. “You can get a reward if it leads to catching a terrorist.”

  “Really?”

  “Haven’t you heard it?” Then he started singing a little tune that sounded as if it were written for kids: “If you see something strange, or something you can’t explain—You gotta be safe—oh yes, you gotta be safe! So call Safe Homes and Schools . . . they’ll protect your home in a hurry, so you don’t have to worry! Okay, are you serious? You haven’t heard that? The signs are just the newest thing. They’re a year old, maybe a little longer. My mom says they’re an eyesore.”

  Something on the top shelf of the cabinet next to the old stove caught Sammy’s eye. He reached up and grabbed it. “Check this out!”

  He tossed Toad a sealed pack of spaghetti noodles.

  “Can we eat these?” Toad asked.

  “You don’t have to, but I will.”

  Unfortunately, the bag of noodles turned out to be the only thing they found in their search. Sammy figured they couldn’t afford to spend another day in one place, so they took shelter in a different house that night. Sammy thought about using one of their three good matches to light a fire, but decided against it.

  The journey turned less pleasant after Stillwater. The temperature dropped again and frost stayed on the ground each morning for three or four hours past sunrise. The oats were gone, and if they were to make the noodles last until Wichita, all they could eat was a few noodles apiece each meal. Being constantly cold and hungry put Sammy into a foul mood. Toad, on the other hand, seemed much less affected.

  They would talk for a few minutes, then walk in silence for much longer after one of them said something that brought back too many memories for the other. On the second day out of Stillwater, Toad reached his limit with Sammy’s depression. Without warning, he sat down on the ground and folded his arms. “Okay, I’m not going any farther until you tell me who you are. There’s no way you haven’t heard that stupid song on TV! Everyone I know makes fun of it.”

  “Fine.” Sammy looked at Toad with a large measure of indifference. “Good luck.” He took a few noodles out of the pack, set them on Toad’s lap, and walked away.

  “Wait!” Toad called out, sniffing rapidly. “You’re not going to just leave.”

  “Watch me.” And Sammy meant it.

  Panting and huffing, Toad came jogging up from behind. “I wish—you would tell me—why you’re so—”

  Sammy had only to look at Toad to cut him off.

  “You fight like . . . a ninja, but you don’t know anything about what’s going on around here! And you don’t talk like—like a normal kid.”

  When Sammy said nothing, Toad kept going.

  “And you almost killed me outside that building when we got out. Remember?” Toad paused and stared at Sammy’s face from the side. Sammy could almost hear the wheels turning in Toad’s small brain. “Did they hurt you?”

  “YES!” Sammy screamed so loudly and suddenly that Toad fell back to his butt. He got up quickly and brushed himself off. Sammy wanted to run at Toad, knock him back to the ground, and beat him senseless for asking such a question. Instead he asked, “Didn’t they hurt you?”

  Toad turned pale and shook his head. Then he whispered something very quietly, but Sammy still heard it. It was laced with anguish. “They already knew who I was. And I told them what they wanted.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you got out when you did,” Sammy continued, “because you would have been dead real soon!” He allowed himself to breathe and felt his anger drop, along with his volume.

  “I know,” Toad mumbled, “but I wish you’d trust me.”

  Sammy snorted, not because of Toad, but because he suddenly remembered Brickert saying almost the exact same words about trust several months ago. Perhaps he hadn’t fully learned his lesson.

  He sat down on the ground and looked up at Toad with open arms. “What do you want to know?”

  Toad seemed wary about Sammy’s sudden willingness to talk.

  “I’m not joking,” Sammy said. “What do you want to know?”

  Toad pointed to Sammy’s hands with interest. “How do you know how to use those—those things you can do?”

  Sammy answered in a very plain tone, “I’m a Psion, a soldier training for the NWG. I was accidentally left behind on a surveillance mission in Rio by my team.”

  Toad stared at Sammy, his expression slowly souring. “Okay. If you’re not going to be serious, then let’s just keep going.”

  It took time, but Sammy convinced Toad he was telling the truth. After demonstrating more blasts and some basic maneuvers, Toad became fascinated with Sammy’s abilities.

  “Can you teach me how to use my anomaly?” he asked.

  Sammy told Toad he couldn’t. “I don’t know much about it.”

  “I’m sure the principles are the same, right?”

  Sammy just shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s terrific! How am I supposed to learn to defend myself if you can’t teach me?” Toad picked up a rock and expertly threw it at the tip of Sammy’s shoe.

  The rock didn’t hurt Sammy, but a deep and sudden urge for violence flooded his body. It rose up from that darker half of him that had been born of Stripe’s cruelty. He forced himself to think of something—anything to get his mind off it. He thought back to Byron’s earliest sim instructions and recited them over and over until he calmed down.

  What’s wrong with me? he asked himself once he was under control. Why do I feel like this?

  Toad seemed to realize that he’d gone too far and immediately apologized.

  Cold winds swept across the flat plains and deserted farmlands of Mid-American Territory, dropping the temperature even at noon to cool levels. Sleep was difficult during the windy night. They walked long after dusk, following the North Star shining brilliant and high in the cloudless twilight, trudging along until their legs nearly gave out in exhaustion. Only then were their bodies so tired that even the cold could not keep them awake.

  Sammy’s faith, meanwhile, was stronger than ever. It had to be. If ever he had a chance of getting home, it was in Wichita. He just knew it. Deep down, he felt a resonating assurance that the resistance would be waiting there. The fantasy of getting home became sweeter the hungrier he grew. He couldn’t perfectly remember his friends’ faces anymore without glimpses of Stripe poking in, but he wasn’t worried. Home was happiness.

  By the start of the third day from Stillwater, Sammy knew they weren’t going to make it to Wichita. Their precious bag of spaghetti noodles was diminishing faster than he’d expected. Sammy blamed Toad. Twice he’d caught Toad sneaking extra noodles. Not a lot, but it didn’t matter. It really pissed him off, and all Toad had to say about it was that he couldn’t stand the hunger any more. But Sammy couldn’t complain. He’d sneaked extra noodles, too.

  It was impossible to keep his mind off food. His energy was low. His stomach never seemed to stop growling, even after his small portion of noodles. The temperatures dropped even further as they walked farther north. It didn’t he
lp that the only thing Toad wanted to talk about was the amazing Robochef at headquarters. Sammy wished he’d never mentioned it.

  He kept track of how far north they were based on the highways they crossed. He knew the farther they kept away from I-35, the better off they were, and the less chance they’d come across unfriendly eyes.

  That night, Toad spotted a house alongside the highway. The back wall had been torn off, probably by a tornado, exposing almost the entire interior. He pleaded with Sammy through trembling lips that it was as good a shelter as any they’d find. Sammy was compelled to agree. They hiked over to the house and found the least drafty spot to sleep.

  “Can we start a fire?” Toad asked through trembling teeth and a loud sniff. “Please? We still have two matches left.”

  Sammy was too tired and cold to argue. The condemned house had a fireplace, and the boys shoved anything they could find that would burn inside of it. The kindling caught well, and soon they had a crackling fire.

  “If someone is following us, this might make it easier to find us,” Sammy muttered to Toad as he put his hands and feet close to the flames. “But you know what? I don’t even care right now. I’m warm.”

  They munched on a few noodles while Toad told camping stories. When they’d settled down and brushed their teeth (Sammy saw no need for their supplies to go to waste), Toad quickly fell asleep. Sammy, however, did not. His mind was elsewhere.

  Wichita is so close . . . Just a few more days.

  With this musing came daydreams of his friends at headquarters. His heart longed to laugh with them again. His stomach ached to eat real food again. His body yearned to sleep in a real bed again. And a shower would be great too.

  He chuckled silently to himself—an old man’s laugh—about the first time he had taken a shower at headquarters. He remembered something funny had happened then, but couldn’t remember exactly what.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a soft rustling noise coming from the damaged section of the house. It was so faint that he thought he’d imagined it. Then he heard it again.