by Jacob Gowans
No look of surprise came over the man’s features. His eyes stayed steady on hers.
“Right now you get to choose between your three beautiful daughters and a boy named Sammy Berhane. That’s all I care about for today. You can either tell me where I can find Sammy, or I’ll do the most evil, perverse things you can imagine to each of your three beautiful daughters.”
Doug sputtered through the slime of his own fluids covering his face, but the Queen continued.
“I won’t kill your wife, Doug, because I’ll want her to live the rest of her life having lost her entire family. However, I will tie up each of your daughters after paralyzing your wife in her bed, and I’ll do things you have probably never imagined to each of them.” She spoke to him now as if she was telling him a bedtime story, still petting him in that soothing way. “And when your little angels finally realize, after screaming and begging for help, that no one will ever come to save them, I’ll kill them. One at a time. In the most creative way I can come up with that day. Do I need to describe those three beautiful deaths for you?”
Doug shook his head frantically. “Please don’t—please—they’re innocent.”
The Queen watched him. This was the most important part of breaking the person. It was imperative that he trusted her. He needed to know she meant it deep, deep, deep down. “I have no reason to go after your family. Your wife isn’t involved in this little group here, is she?”
“No! Of course not!” Doug answered, but again she saw through the lies.
“I didn’t think so,” she whispered, but now, in her mind, the wife was already dead, too. “So it’s your choice, Doug. And if you lie to me, the first thing I’ll do is go to your home, do you understand? I know you can see your three daughters screaming and crying for you while I hurt them, can’t you?”
“Yes!” Doug cried. “Please—I beg—please—don’t hurt my girls. They’ve done nothing!”
“Look at me, Doug!” shouted the Queen, grabbing his face and holding it still. “I’m not ugly or cruel, am I? Aren’t I beautiful!?”
Doug nodded, and the Queen noted with satisfaction that he did not lie.
“Does this look like the face of someone who would lie or kill because she enjoyed it?”
Doug hesitated, but finally answered: “No.”
“I only want Samuel. Will you give me the information I need?”
Doug didn’t answer for several seconds, and right before the Queen had to say something else, he said, “I’ll tell you.”
Late into the night, Doug finally died. The Queen tried reaching her NWG contact, Wrobel. He did not answer. She tried him again with the same results.
He put me on this job. He should be answering!
She slammed her foot into Doug’s lifeless body and heard a satisfying crunch from his ribs. She thought for a moment about her options . . .
“Diego,” she said aloud.
Her com screen flashed blue and white for a moment, and Diego’s badly scarred face appeared. “Only you would call at this hour. What do you want?” His tone was a perfect blend of sarcasm and reverence.
“I want a team.”
A curse in the animal-like language of the Thirteens ripped through his clenched teeth. His face formed a sneer. “Everyone’s wanting a team these days. Why didn’t your Newgie traitor ask me directly?”
Her mood was getting fouler by the minute. A perfectly good body lay at her feet and she wouldn’t have time to do anything with it. Half the fun of a kill, gone. She now knew that the little bastard was somewhere in the city, but Doug wouldn’t tell her, no matter what she threatened. Yet he’d sung about their upcoming excursion to Offutt Air Field, the hidden message in the news broadcast, and how the kid planned to return overseas Friday morning. Plus, Doug’s people knew about the designed attack on Baikonur. As for Diego, right now she had no patience for him.
“I want a team. In Omaha. As fast as you can manage.”
Fortunately, the exact location of some new resistance mattered little right now. Once she snagged the boy at Offutt, she could bring a dozens of Brothers and Aegis back to Wichita and snuff out the whole operation. For now her attention was on Sammy. She wanted to kill him so badly, the cost no longer mattered. All this time spent hunting him had made her slightly obsessive. She saw nothing wrong with that.
Weeks of foreplay . . . I’ll have my big finish.
“Tomorrow?” Diego spat.
“In a few minutes it’ll be today.” She tapped her watch with a nasty smirk.
“Is this still about that kid the Newgie sent you after?”
“Does it matter?” she said, intentionally lacing her voice with warning. “I want a team.”
“That kid killed more than a whole team already. Practically single-handedly. They weren’t the best team, but—”
“Do you have a point?” she interrupted.
Diego dropped his reverential act. His whole face changed, and the Queen didn’t care. “Yes! This kid fights better than anything I’ve ever seen, Katie. It’s . . .” He paused to search for words, oblivious to his mistake.
He had crossed the line by using her name. And she did not like being warned about a juvenile Fourteen. “I WANT A TEAM!” she screamed for the last time.
Diego jumped and let a stream of curses fly from his disgusting tongue while his scars reddened and burned. “You can have your team . . . It’s not very big, but they’re available, six Thirteens, ten Aegis. Whatever losses you incur are on your head, and you make sure the fox gets a good word about me from you.”
“Of course.”
She sent him her sweetest smile and put her com away. There was nothing worse than having a pressure mark on her face from the stupid thing. She checked her watch again. It was a designer style by Favaracci. Nearly indestructible and priceless in value.
Twenty-four hours.
Time to sleep. In the evening, she’d meet up with her team. When this little band of resistance fighters showed up, she’d be waiting. Hungry. And there would be hell to pay for little Sammy.
26. Caper
May 3, 2086
MOVING SIXTY-TWO PEOPLE out of Wichita proved to be quite an operation. Thomas insisted that they take great care to avoid drawing any attention to the ghost city. During the night before and the morning of the caper, cars were positioned throughout downtown Wichita by means of underground tunnels excavated over the last decade. The tunnels were few and crude, but useful. Between the twelve different vehicles, they had ten different exit points. Sammy was impressed.
One car left every twenty minutes or so. By noon, the last of the ten cars reached the freeway heading north. Sammy and Toad rode in a van with Thomas, Lara, and two other men: Dr. Vogt and a man named Stewart.
It was the largest operation the resistance had carried out in over ten years. Sammy tried not to think too much about stealing the cruiser. Each time he did, his arms and chest began trembling, and he had to grip his knees to keep them under control. And every time the thought I’m finally going home! popped into his mind, he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Whenever Thomas saw it, he shook his head and laughed.
The older Byron was in rare form, too. He chattered almost non-stop, whether reviewing plans over his com, discussing tactics, or simply quoting more of his favorite poems, he did not stop talking. Lara warned him to stuff it or she’d drop him off on the side of the road, but Thomas’ mood was infectious to all but Toad.
Toad wouldn’t say a word. He and Sammy had talked late into the night about stealing the cruiser and flying to Capitol Island.
“What if something goes wrong in the hangar?” Toad had asked Sammy once the adults went to bed. “I’ll be in the thick of it. You’ve only given me basic combat lessons.”
“You’ll be fine,” Sammy reassured him. “I’ll watch out for you.”
“And I hate flying! What if we get shot down?”
“We won’t. I know how to fly.”
“I’m not even s
ure about moving to the NWG and becoming an Ultra. Maybe I should just stay here with Lara and Thomas . . .”
“They are really nice,” Sammy agreed.
“Lara even hinted that I can stay with them if I want.”
Sammy had been playing with a tennis ball, blasting it against the wall and catching it, then blasting it again. “You can do that. I bet they would let you.”
His words hung in the air. Toad looked at him expectantly. “Okay . . . And? What do you think?”
“It’s your choice, Toad. Not mine. I chose to become a Psion because I didn’t want to go to prison. Some people choose it because they want to become a superhero. My friend Brickert did it to get out of his family’s poverty. You . . . I don’t know. Do you want to stay here and wonder forever what it’d be like or will you not care?”
Toad fought back his tears, a reminder to Sammy of just how untrained this kid was and how recently he’d been traumatized. “I miss my family. I don’t know what to do.”
“At Psion headquarters, Thomas’ son is in charge. He’s a very good commander. I’m sure whoever is in charge at Ultra will be someone like him. And even look past that. When you graduate, you become an Alpha. So do I. We could possibly be in the same squadron. Maybe even roommates.”
Toad calmed himself down.
“There will be girls there your age, Toad. Don’t forget that, too.” He gave Toad a wink, which made Toad laugh, then sniff.
“Cute ones?”
Sammy laughed, too. “No doubt.”
Toad smiled, but Sammy could tell he still wasn’t convinced.
“Look, Toad. I will watch out for you in Omaha. I promise. There’s going to be a lot of us there. All of Thomas’ people will be armed. I think we’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Toad said, nodding. “Okay. You’re right.” He took a hesitant step forward, then hugged Sammy. Sammy felt awkward at first. He couldn’t remember Brickert ever hugging him. At the same time, it felt good. “I know it hasn’t been easy traveling with me and stuff. I thought you were going to kill me a couple times.”
Sammy chuckled. “Me, too.”
Toad got into his bed and lay down. “Yeah, so, thanks for not killing me.”
The caravan took variations on the same route until they all reached the freeway. The middle of America, beautiful in its own way, wasn’t necessarily interesting to watch through the window of a van. Sammy counted cows for a while, then horses. He lost count several times, something that would never have happened before he met Stripe.
Don’t think about that right now, he told himself as a familiar ache crept up his leg.
Around 1900, they exited the freeway. Twin missiles towered over the landscape, proudly announcing their arrival to the base. Sammy blew out a big puff of air. He could hardly wait to stretch his legs. Security booths stood at every entrance housing guards who checked ID on each vehicle and eye-scanned each driver. Fortunately, the team would not be entering the airfield grounds by the gates. Instead, they drove to a city park in nearby Bellevue for an informal picnic dinner. While Sammy and Toad set up the picnic with Lara, other resistance members reported to Thomas that their groups had arrived without trouble.
They had only one glitch: the last group called in from the road and reported that Doug had never arrived back at headquarters. After waiting as long as they could, another assignment had been made, and the group had left without him.
“It’s not like Doug to miss an assignment,” Thomas commented to his wife, Dr. Vogt, and Stewart. “And something this big—something he helped plan . . .
“Could be a family emergency,” Stewart suggested.
Thomas shook his head. “Sheesh. I hope he didn’t get hurt or take a fall somewhere.”
“He smokes like a chimney,” Dr. Vogt muttered. “May have had a heart attack for all we know.”
“Call his family,” Thomas said. “We have to follow protocol. Tell them to get to a safe house until we know where he is.”
“Is there a chance we’ve been compromised?” Lara asked.
Sammy and Thomas exchanged looks. You know I have to get back, Sammy silently told him. The understanding passed between them. “It’s possible,” Thomas said finally, “but we’ve come this far—we’ve sent the message out. No turning back.”
Lara accepted Thomas’ decision. The picnic was casual but quiet. Ten people were assigned to eat at that particular site. Similar picnics were held in other parks across a radius of six kilometers. Thomas stayed busy handling questions and protocol about Doug. Word came back that Doug’s wife couldn’t reach him, either. Thomas was still resolved to go forward with the plan.
As the evening wore on, Toad’s anxiety returned. Sammy didn’t know what to do or say to help his friend. Thankfully, Lara noticed and invited Toad to take her on a walk. With an hour remaining before the groups had to move to positions, Sammy thought she’d made a wise decision. Better to calm Toad down now than deal with him during a crisis. As the two walked away, Sammy could faintly hear Lara speaking to Toad in a soothing, matronly voice.
“And you?” Thomas asked Sammy. “Are you nervous?”
Am I nervous?
The response came quickly. Nervousness was trying to act normal around Jeffie or facing Thirteens in a death match. It was not stealing a plane.
“No,” he answered. “I’m not. Are you?”
“Just a little.” Thomas chuckled, but without his usual bravado. “I haven’t saved the world like you and Walter.”
“I haven’t saved the world, either. Why are you nervous?”
“There’s a chance I might see my son. First time in—well—in a long time.”
“How long has it been?” Sammy pushed.
“A long time,” Thomas croaked. That look of anguish reappeared on his face, making him look much older than before. “Too long.”
Sammy watched as the deep lines on Thomas’ face formed a frown, then a grimace. Thomas was struggling to keep his emotions in check. He put a shaking hand to his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” It was all Sammy could think to say.
Thomas cleared his throat as he waved a dismissing hand. “Nuts and bolts, kiddo. You don’t want to listen to my sap stories. You’re probably thrilled to go home.”
“I am,” Sammy agreed, unable to stop another grin from spreading on his face. “You can tell me what’s on your mind, though.”
Thomas picked at some grass absentmindedly, long enough for Sammy to wonder if the old man had heard him.
“Ever been completely wrong about something?” Thomas looked directly at him. It unnerved Sammy to see the beginnings of tears in Thomas’ eyes. “But you thought you were right and refused to see it any other way?”
“Yeah.” Sammy thought of the first time he’d stolen food after his foster father died.
“Well, I had a wallop of an argument once with Walter.”
“Really?” Sammy couldn’t imagine the commander arguing with anyone, especially his own father. Both Byrons seemed like candidates for World’s Nicest Man.
“Worst thing is, even after I realized he was right . . . and I was being the jackass, I couldn’t do anything about it. Walter Byron doesn’t exist anymore—not on paper. So I can’t just look him up and call him. I think that hurts the worst.”
“I doubt—” Sammy started to say, but Thomas cut him off.
“No. You don’t understand.” Thomas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “My son tried to warn me about the war. He and Emily flew here at great personal risk to take me and Lara overseas. But I stuck my hooves into the ground like the most stubborn mule. Lara thought we should consider it—but me, I was just too . . .”
“Why were you so against it?” Sammy asked.
“I don’t know. I’d grown up an American, and I’d always had a chip on my shoulder about the NWG. I guess I just didn’t like change. There was lots of talk about cloning bans and gun restrictions and people were worried about losing their f
reedoms in a world government. I had unpleasant pictures in my head of what the future was like.”
“And that’s what the fight was about?”
“Just after Lark Montgomery was executed, Walter came to see me. He tried to tell me that the CAG had invaded Quebec and had plans to invade the other American territories that hadn’t seceded. I threw him out. Told him if anyone invaded, it’d be the NWG.”
“Yikes,” Sammy whispered.
Thomas nodded his head, but wouldn’t look at Sammy. “It wasn’t until later I saw the signs. The remaining NWG territories went to the CAG. There were signs of battles, rumors of a secret prison break in Wyoming in ‘63, but no one had reported it. Traveling to the NWG became nearly impossible. Then came the embargoes, and communication was cut off. Internet firewalls. The longer I watched, the more it became clear I’d picked the wrong side.
“Just over a year ago, the CAG bombed five city buses in Lima and blamed it on NWG terrorists. As long as people are more afraid of the NWG than they are of their own government, nothing will change. You saw it in Rio, didn’t you?”
“How’d you find out about the resistance?” Sammy asked. The sky grew darker as the sun sank below the horizon like an ominous countdown to darkness. It would not be much longer before it was time to go.
“I’ve lived in Wichita almost all my life, so I know the area well. After it turned ghost, I stayed behind to farm the land. There are so few farmers needed now, but it’s very profitable for those who do it well. It didn’t take long for me to figure out there was something strange going on in town. Lara thought I was going crazy, but I managed to track the center of movement around an old warehouse. Now that building’s just another storehouse for food, but it used to be the center of their operations. Boy, they about flipped all their hats off when I showed up. Of course, I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, but Lara and I signed up real quick when we met Crestan. Then most of the resistance came crashing down a few months later. Everyone the CAG caught was labeled as a terrorist—another coup for them to use to solidify power. ”