Psion Gamma

by Jacob Gowans

  A woman jumped back from him, screaming in alarm. Sammy froze in surprise. The woman was incredibly beautiful with long hair so dark it was almost raven black and naturally tanned skin—perfectly tanned, now that he thought about it. And she was tall, too, almost as tall as Sammy. Her body was flat against the wall and her head snapped toward him.

  Her eyes, wide in fright, were a very dark blue, but devoid of any red coloring typical of Thirteens. Either she was an Aegis in casual clothes, or a civilian.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who are you?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He was still caught off guard by the magnificence of the woman standing in front of him.

  “Uh . . . who are you?” He lowered his gun, but kept his blasting hand ready.

  “I’m . . .” she said breathlessly. “My husband works nights here. I heard shooting.” She looked him up and down, and he realized he must look ridiculous with a nail gun.

  “You’d better go. There’s a break in.” And I’m the one breaking in. He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

  “Can you walk me out?” Her voice had an overtone of pleading to it. He looked back into her eyes, which looked like the color of an ocean at night. He didn’t see the same fear there that he heard in her voice.

  He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t trust her. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  She tugged his arm again. “Come on, Sammy.” Her phony scared face melted into a flirtatious smile. She puckered her lips at him. “Walk me out, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Sammy ripped his arm from her grasp and brought his gun up to shoot. Her left hand emerged from behind her with a jigger.

  “Mine’s better than yours.”

  Sammy gazed back at her and found that the darker side of him did not mind bantering at all. “One Thirteen. That’s child’s play. You can even have my gun.” He offered her the nail gun with a smirk.

  The woman laughed. It chilled Sammy like putting his feet in ice water. He heard her confidence, and it made him nervous.

  Why isn’t she afraid?

  “Keep it. I’ve studied up on you, buddy. You probably think you’re hot stuff, but the ones you killed in that factory . . . amateurs.”

  “I doubt that.” He pulled the trigger and sent a blast from his left hand; he wanted as much distance from her as he could get.

  She fired, too. The braxel fell harmlessly to the floor, and Sammy’s blast launched her down the hall. Sammy was impressed to see her neatly tuck her body down and make a graceful landing a few meters away. He expected her to retaliate, attack him as he had seen before, but she stood there calmly waiting for him to make a move. His muscles tensed—he prepared to launch himself at her. Then a thought struck his mind: Toad.

  She’s keeping me from the main battle, where I need to be.

  He turned and sprinted back to the hangar, shielding himself from behind as he ran.

  27. Blood

  May 3, 2086

  THE HANGAR WAS CHAOS. Sammy mentally beat himself up for spending precious time away from the fight. He looked around the hangar frantically for Toad but saw no sign of his friend.

  The resistance was pinned. A couple of Thirteens and several Aegis, with their large plastic shields, had taken spots around the perimeter of the hangar, trying to form a ring of death around Thomas’ men. Many of the resistance members were hidden at strong defensive points near the legs of cruisers and jets, but Sammy saw two of their own on the floor motionless, with dark red puddles beneath them. This defense would not last long. Already the Thirteens were climbing up the hulls of aircraft, gaining superior positions of attack. One was atop the same bomber Sammy and Toad had taken refuge on only a few minutes ago. Sammy launched himself to the top of the jet, and the Thirteen turned to greet him. He was a short, tanned man with tiger stripes carved into his skin.

  Sammy sent strong blasts at the Thirteen. He sidestepped them, but the ricochet off the vertical stabilizer spun him around. He quickly caught his footing and fired several rounds at Sammy from two automatic handguns. Sammy jumped over the spray of bullets and retaliated with more hand blasts, but they were just as easily evaded. Sammy stayed in the air as much as possible, using his nail gun and left hand as both offensive and defensive weapons.

  He waited for the impending reload moment, when he typically took advantage of a toothless Thirteen. When it came, the Thirteen reloaded so fast that Sammy had no opportunity to strike. He sent a blast at the Thirteen, followed immediately by a nail. The Thirteen dodged the blast, but the nail got him in the arm. He jumped at the Thirteen with feet blasts, ready to shield should the Thirteen fire at him, but instead the Thirteen timed Sammy’s attack perfectly and smacked him hard across the face with the back of his hand.

  Off balance, but now too close to the Thirteen to be anything but deadly, Sammy fired his blasts at the same time the Thirteen fired his gun. His blasts blocked the bullets and knocked the Thirteen off the plane, still firing as he fell.

  Sammy shielded the round of volleys aimed at his chest and head. Rolling low to a new position behind the cover of the vertical stabilizer, he took aim again and fired the nail gun.

  Spit! Spit!

  Two nails poked out of the Thirteen. One embedded in his stomach, the other in his groin. The Thirteen doubled over, clutching his crotch. Sammy aimed at the Thirteen’s head. The Thirteen smiled back as though Sammy had just told him the greatest joke in the whole world. The nail went into the Thirteen’s eye and his head dropped to the floor.

  Forgetting Toad for a moment, Sammy looked for the woman he thought of as “Beauty.” Then, with a loud shriek, an Aegis spun around and faced Sammy. Two more followed his lead. They moved toward him behind their shields. From the other end of the hangar, Sammy heard noises and, at the same time, Beauty emerged from the hallway with four other Thirteens. Sammy cursed softly.

  Where are you, Toad?

  Then, in the cockpit of the cruiser closest to Beauty and her Thirteens, Sammy saw his friend. Behind the glass, Toad jumped and waved his arms like mad trying to get Sammy’s attention. Sammy doubted that the Thirteens had seen Toad yet, but they were much closer to Toad than he was.

  Small cheers erupted from the resistance. Sammy peeked around the stabilizer and saw more resistance arriving from the blown hangar door: at least ten more men and women, all armed. The three Aegis turned to meet the new wave of help.

  Sammy jumped off the jet and raced down the hangar toward Toad.

  * * * * * * *

  Commander Byron sat in the co-pilot seat of the stealth cruiser anxiously patting his hands on his knees in a mindless rhythm.

  “Prepare for evacuation,” the Elite pilot announced, probably sensing Byron’s impatience. Even now, en route to Omaha, it seemed too good to be true. But he knew Samuel was there. He knew the message was meant for him. No doubt in his mind.

  But how?

  He looked back at Tango Squadron, undersized for what could potentially be a combat mission, but all he could bring under the circumstances. General Wu had chewed Byron’s backside for almost an hour. Byron had never seen him so angry. Despite all this, he still hadn’t told the general about a possible mole in the Psion ranks.

  Not now. Concentrate on the task at hand.

  If anything else went wrong tonight, he would face a crucible of heat from his superiors, least of all being sanctions from General Wu.

  “Evacuation in thirty seconds . . .” the Elite pilot said.

  The Offutt Air Base runway stretched out in view of the cockpit window. Blue and red lights lined the pavement. The lights led the way to the hangar, which grew larger as they approached. One cruiser was already on the runway, not far from the building.

  Behind it, light blazed through a crack in one of the hangar doors.

  And there was something else.

  “What’s that thing right there, pilot?” Byron asked.

  The Elite punched his console. “Nothing my scanners are picki
ng up.”

  Byron kept his eyes trained on the unidentified object.

  My goodness, he thought, has Samuel already escaped?

  “Sir, that’s wreckage of another cruiser down below,” the pilot announced. “Looks like it was shot down.”

  Questions raced through Byron’s mind. Had Samuel’s cruiser been shot down? Not now. Not after all our work. His hand gripped his knees tightly.

  “Okay, everyone,” he said in a loud voice, “Something’s going on down there. I do not want to take a single casualty tonight.” He let the words sink in for a moment. “Hear me? Be smart.” He tried to sound tough and hard, but he felt like they couldn’t land soon enough.

  With a stomach-lurching swoop, the cruiser suddenly dropped low enough for them to jump out and land comfortably on the ground using strategically placed blasts. The doors opened quietly and stayed open even after the team vacated it, leaving only the Elite pilot. As they ran toward the hangar, the cruiser landed two dozen meters away from the wreckage.

  One of the Alphas checked the intact cruiser for enemies inside. When he gave the all clear, Byron signaled to hijack it. The rest of the team followed him to the gaping hole in the hangar door. Using blast shields as cover, he peered around the corner into the building. What he saw wasn’t what he expected to see.

  Thirty or forty men and women in civilian clothes were in a stand-off against several Thirteens and Aegis. He scanned the room and saw no sign of Samuel. He remembered the saying taught by Nicoletta Clardovic, his Elite combat instructor: “The enemies of your enemies are your friends . . . until they shoot at you.”

  “Who has more ammo?” one man in casual clothes yelled out to several nearby.

  Shrieks came from several Thirteens in response to the man’s outburst, and they moved in closer as a unified body. A hand signal brought Byron’s team ready to move in and break the Thirteen’s formation. Both Byron and the squadron knew their surprise appearance would throw the Thirteens off for only a moment.

  Three fingers raised . . . two . . . one . . .

  * * * * * * * * *

  Sammy blast-jumped onto the top of the cruiser where Toad was hiding. Several gunshots burst below him. Instinctively, his hands fanned out, deflecting away any projectiles that could strike him from beneath. He raced down the length of the cruiser until he reached the cockpit. Firing several shots from his nail gun into the glass, he then used a blast on it. The glass gave, but not enough. Through the window, he saw Toad run into the cockpit looking up at him, relieved. Sammy gave him a nod.

  Below, the shrieks and cries of the Thirteens told Sammy they were close. Lying on his stomach, he blasted the window again and again. Shards rained down into the cockpit.

  “Can you jump out?” Sammy called to Toad.

  “I don’t know,” was the response.

  “They’re coming. You gotta get out!”

  Toad was pale and shaky, and Sammy feared the kid might lose his nerve.

  “You can do it. Just don’t jump into the glass.”

  “Will you catch me?” Toad asked.

  Sammy glanced in the direction of the Thirteens. He could no longer see them.

  They must be surrounding the cruiser.

  “I’ll help you,” he told Toad, “but you’ve got to clear the glass. Those sharp edges will rip you open if you don’t jump right.”

  “Okay . . . okay,” Toad whispered as he readied himself to jump. “Three . . . two . . . one . . .”

  Sammy grabbed Toad underneath the arms and heaved until Toad’s feet landed on the edge of the glass. There was sharp crack, and the glass cracked loudly under Toad’s weight. Sammy darted forward to grab Toad before he fell. His fingers wrapped around Toad’s wrist just as the whole section shattered. The full force of Toad’s weight hit Sammy, jerking him forward down into the cockpit. A grunt escaped him as he landed on Toad.

  “Oof! You’re heavy!”

  They both got up. Sammy’s hands and arms were bleeding in several places from small pieces of glass. Toad had gotten a couple cuts himself; a small one on his face and a long, thin one on the arm.

  Several thumps were heard above.

  “Here they come,” Sammy muttered.

  Toad brandished his pipe like it was a sword.

  “Where’s the gun you got?” Sammy asked.

  Toad frowned. “One of Thomas’ guys asked for it.”

  Sammy swore as he took the pipe from his friend. “You’ll live longer if you use the nail gun. Don’t worry about anything else. Just shoot Thirteens.”

  Toad nodded, but Sammy was worried. He handed the nail gun over to Toad and crouched to the floor holding the pipe in his right hand, steadying it with his left. When the first Thirteen appeared at the site of the broken glass, Sammy shot the pipe off like a rocket, impaling her face. She was thrown back from the glass out of sight.

  As Sammy stood back up, Toad threw up behind him.

  “What is wrong with you?” Sammy asked.

  Toad retched again, but managed to hoarsely whisper, “That was disgusting.”

  Sammy understood. It had only been a few months since he’d first taken a life inside the factory in Rio. Now it didn’t faze him at all.

  “Just watch my back,” he told Toad. “Don’t let anyone sneak up on us.”

  “Okay, I know what it means to watch your back!”

  Gunshots blared from above them, raining down through the hole in the glass. Sammy shielded, but couldn’t see the gunmen.

  “Stop them!” Toad shouted.

  “I’m trying! Chill out!”

  One of the gunmen turned out to be a gunwoman. The ugliest woman Sammy had ever seen, in fact. Her skin was a pale gray but only lightly scarred, and she had only half her teeth (and they weren’t anything to brag about, either). Before Sammy knew it, she was in the cockpit with a gun aimed at his head.

  While Sammy shielded, Toad fired at the same time she did. Both missed. Sammy blocked her shot, and she dodged Toad’s, quite a feat at such a short distance.

  The second, unseen Thirteen fired two more shots at Sammy. A shriek from the Thirteen in the cockpit told the other to stop.

  Once Sammy focused on just shielding and let Toad take care of attacking, the fight ended quickly. Using one hand as a shield, he battered the Thirteen with his other elbow. Then he picked her up and half threw and half blasted her body back out the cockpit.

  “What are we going to do now?” Toad asked as he held his position following Sammy’s order. Bullets began pouring through the broken cockpit window again and the Thirteens stomped on the glass and the roof, creating tremendous noise. “Back through the glass or out the door?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Sammy said. “I need to think.”

  “No time for that right now, Sammy,” came a voice in the back of the cruiser.

  It was Beauty’s.

  * * * * * * *

  Sounds of gunfire, booms from hand cannons, and shouts echoed around the hangar. The Thirteens and Aegis reacted quickly, just as Byron knew they would. Only one Aegis died from their initial surge. Three more fell, injured. More importantly, however, their circle around the civilians was broken, leaving the enemy badly outnumbered and at a strategic disadvantage. The commander heard scattered shrieks and cries from the enemy, probably coordinating a new plan.

  Byron held a syshée, his weapon of choice in most battle situations. Using one hand to shield himself, he fired at the nearest Aegis.

  The Aegis ducked behind his body shield, but each time a syshée hit the shield, its barbed bullets tore softball-sized chunks out of the thick plastic. Most of the Alphas went air born, landing on the tops of jets and cruisers, drawing fire away from the civilians. The civilians were fairly well covered given their circumstances. Byron was impressed with their resourcefulness, despite many of them using only crude pistols.

  Where are you, Samuel?

  The Alphas’ attack turned into an effective wedge through the enemy formation. The few re
maining Thirteens and Aegis gave up ground, seeking shelter from the aerial attack of the Alphas. Not one Thirteen looked afraid or defeated, there was only the recognition of a loss of the advantage. If the beasts had a card up their sleeves to change their odds, they would have used it. Byron suspected that they had anticipated coming here to mop up a riff-raff band of civilians and one Psion.

  Two more of them went down.

  “All Alphas,” Byron broadcasted from his com, “push the Thirteens to the east side of the hangar. Force retreat through that exit.”

  As fast as anyone could move, the enemies were out the door and gone.

  Several armed civilians left their defensive cover to give chase.

  “Shamila,” Byron announced to his com. “Get a visual on Samuel.”

  “Yes, sir,” came her reply.

  Byron directed his com link to the pilot. “Are the Thirteens headed to their cruiser?”

  “No, sir,” the pilot answered. “Not one, they’ve disappeared into the dark. I can’t get a visual on more than two or three from here.”

  Byron was not surprised. “Va’pua, tell whoever these men and women are that the Thirteens are too dangerous to follow. They should retreat a separate way.” He’d seen in the past when the Thirteens had fallen back only to set new traps and reengage under more favorable conditions. “Shamila, any success?”

  “We’ve spotted a cruiser at the far west end of the hangar,” Shamila reported. “Just found it, sir. At least three Thirteens there, too.”

  “On our way. All Alphas to the far west end of hangar. Full attack on the cruiser!”

  He sprinted down the hangar with his team. The cruiser Shamila had mentioned came into sight quickly. Three Thirteens were gathered on top of the cruiser, all around the cockpit window, all shooting and stomping at the glass. Byron fired his syshée at the nearest of them. It was a large black woman with wild hair. She grabbed her shoulder, soaking her hand in blood. The syshée had turned it into a bloody mess. All three Thirteens had turned their attention to the approaching Alphas. From the fires blazing in their eyes, Byron knew he was in for a battle.