by Jacob Gowans
“Every family I’ve known has died. Stripe told me that pain is what makes us who we are. It molds us.”
Al’s face showed Sammy that he understood. “I’m not going to die. And I’m your brother. Jeffie and Brickert are your family, too. Pain teaches us . . . yes . . .”
His face went deathly white.
“But it’s how we love . . .” Then Al’s voice stopped. His eyes rolled back and then closed.
“HELP! HELP US!” Sammy shouted over and over again. Finally, the door burst open. Byron and Dr. Rosmir and an entire squadron of Alphas behind them stormed in. Byron saw Al first and ran toward him. Rosmir was right beside him ordering instructions to his medics. Another Alpha came and cut the remains of Wrobel’s cuffs off of Sammy’s limbs. Once they were off, the Alpha began to rub them to help the circulation and soreness.
“Wait here,” the Alpha told him. “A medic will look at you.”
“I’m fine,” Sammy said, trying to get up, but his leg would not allow it.
“Kid, you’re an awful mess. Sit there and wait.”
Byron glanced at Sammy for just the briefest of moments, then he turned back to watch Dr. Rosmir and his team of medics remove Al as quickly as possible.
Sammy breathed a little easier when a medic announced Al still had a pulse. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in a very long time. It was hard to believe. It was over. He couldn’t wait to see his loved ones. Especially Jeffie, he thought with the beginnings of a smile.
31. Home
May 5, 2086
SAMMY RODE IN THE MEDIC CRUISER with Al, Byron, Dr. Rosmir, and Rosmir’s team to the NWG hospital. Less than ten minutes into the flight, Al’s condition had stabilized. Byron’s careworn face still seemed troubled, but he thanked the doctor and the medics profusely. Then he returned to the pilot’s seat where he remained for the rest of the flight.
Once the medical team’s attention left Al, they strapped Sammy onto an exam table and got to work on him: First they removed all the large glass shards from his legs, hands, and backside.
“I can give you something for the pain,” Dr. Rosmir told him, “but it won’t do much. You’ve had so much sedative today, it’s not safe to give any more.”
He did, however, give Sammy a biting stick while they worked on him. With all his adrenaline gone, Sammy was left to feel most of the effects of the pain.
They reset his nose in place and injected a bone fastening solution. Then they examined his leg. Dr. Rosmir informed Sammy that his vastus lateralis had been almost completely severed from the blitzer. The skilled medical crew removed the damaged tissue and reattached the muscle. Dr. Rosmir apologized over and over while Sammy just kept biting down on the block in his mouth and tried not to scream. They squirted orange goo over the wound when they’d finished operating. “That’ll speed up the healing and reduce scar tissue,” one of the medics told Sammy. It burned almost as badly as his thumbs. Finished with the leg, they turned their attention back to the smaller pieces of glass embedded in Sammy. In the end, forty-seven pieces of glass were removed from his skin, the largest almost as long as his little finger. The last thing Dr. Rosmir looked at was Sammy’s thumbs.
“How did you manage to do this?” he asked. “These are third degree burns.”
They used a burn gun on his thumbs and a couple other areas where the blitzer had singed him.
When it was all over, Sammy rested for a good three hours. When he woke, his head was full of cobwebs. The cruiser was on top of the Alpha infirmary, where Al was being moved to another cruiser to fly to the main hospital on the island.
“Hey, bud,” Dr. Rosmir said when their eyes met. “I got a call from the psych center. You’re scheduled to check in tomorrow. I’m going to have to get a good look at that leg again while we’re taking you there.”
“Do I have to go?” Sammy asked. “I feel fine.”
Dr. Rosmir’s look reminded Sammy that the subject wasn’t up for debate. Then Byron came over and helped Sammy into a wheelchair. The short ride to Byron’s cruiser sent all kinds of awful sensations through Sammy’s body, forcing him to close his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” the commander asked.
“Great . . .” Sammy responded slowly, his eyes still shut. “Am I going home now?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, just for the day. You deserve some time with your friends.”
“I know.”
Something else was in the back of Sammy’s mind that he wanted to ask the commander, but his brain was too muddied to remember what it was. As Byron pushed him up the ramp into the cruiser, Sammy’s head went light.
“Whoa,” he mumbled, gripping the arms of the chair tight.
“Easy there,” Byron said.
Sammy laughed at that, but he was not sure why. “The chair’s kind of comfy,” he commented.
“Try not to get used to it,” Byron warned. “You will only need it for a week at the most.”
Sammy laughed again lightly. Byron stopped the wheelchair for a moment and reached into his pocket. “Here, smell this.” He held something small under Sammy’s nose.
Sammy sniffed.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, jumping in his seat at the intrusion. His head was clearer, but the smell was biting and rancid. “What is that?”
“Smelling salts,” Byron answered. “Dr. Rosmir gave me it while you were asleep. I need to speak candidly to you while we still have time.”
“About what?”
Byron locked Sammy’s chair into place and got into the pilot seat. Within a minute, they were up in the air, flying to Beta headquarters.
The commander turned so he could look Sammy right in the eyes.
“Thank you,” Byron said. His voice was very heavy.
Sammy realized he couldn’t really imagine what the commander had gone through today, nearly losing the last member of his family. The commander continued to stare at Sammy until the seemingly impenetrable dam of his emotions broke. It embarrassed Sammy to see such a towering, solid person like Byron break down.
“I—I was just doing what we’re supposed to do.”
“No,” Byron told him as he tried to collect himself. “You did more than anyone could have asked. When—when I was forced to make that choice, I was not sure if I had seen you move or not. I was going on something beyond hope—faith, really. I thought that was it. And then you came alive again, Samuel. What you did in there was unbelievable. I cannot—words cannot—” Byron gathered himself again before the dam crashed once more. “I am in your debt.”
“There is something special about you, Samuel,” Byron continued, but now not quite meeting Sammy’s eyes. “You have got strong stuff inside you. I hope you know how much faith I have in you.”
Sammy’s face felt hot. He could barely stand to look at Byron, but he still nodded.
Byron turned back to the controls as Beta headquarters approached quickly on the midnight horizon. Sammy thought about how great it would be to go back home. He smiled even though it hurt his nose.
“Sir, what am I going to do when I finish everything here? I mean, I’m almost done with the sims and instructions.”
Byron answered as though he had been thinking the same thing. “Some are suggesting that you graduate before you turn nineteen. Maybe even at sixteen. What do you think? Would you like to leave early?”
Sammy saw the rooftop door, the one he knew led to the stairs and then to home. He thought of who was behind the doors waiting for him. Then he thought of Al’s words about the point of it all. “Not if you can help it, sir,” he answered. “I’d rather stay.”
“Noted,” Byron said as he landed the cruiser. Then he wheeled Sammy down a ramp to the door of the rooftop. “Wait here,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sammy joked.
The night air was cool and the wind was strong up on the rooftop. It whipped Sammy’s hair, but felt wonderful on his wounds. Had he not been so anxio
us to get inside, he could have stayed up on the roof for a couple of hours to just enjoy being alive. A bowl of ice cream would be nice, too.
“Do you think my anomaly is back?” he asked the commander. “I mean, I fought well against Katie today. A lot better than last time, but it still wasn’t the same as other times. Does that even make sense?”
“No idea. But keep me informed. You can speak to Dr. Rosmir about that, too. When you have your psych evaluation, there will be specialists who can help you. Some of them deal with the Tensais on a regular basis.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
Byron went into the cruiser and came back with crutches. “If I help you, can you walk down the stairs?”
Sammy used his armrests to push himself into a standing position. Byron folded the wheelchair and carried it in one arm with the crutches. Sammy took Byron’s free arm and limped carefully down the stairs. When they reached the third floor, Commander Byron set the chair on the ground and helped Sammy back in, setting the crutches on his lap.
“This is where I leave you,” he said warmly.
“Thanks, sir.”
“No, Sammy,” Byron said. “Thank you.”
“How am I going to get downstairs to my dorm?” Sammy asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” came the reply as the commander walked away.
“But, sir, my com . . .”
The lights were all off in the hallway as he wheeled himself to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. His com was downstairs in his room, so he couldn’t call anyone to let them know he was here. He struggled to get his chair into a position that would allow him to swing open the door. As he did so, he wondered if this was Byron’s way of urging him to get out of the chair as soon as possible. If so, it would certainly work.
Finally he got a handle on the door and pushed it open, forcing his chair through enough to stop it from closing again. A light came on in the cafeteria, blinding him.
Who would be up this late? Jeffie again? Does she know I’m coming?
His pulse quickened as he manipulated the wheels to push himself into the room. No sooner did he push himself through, than his ears were filled with the sounds of cheers. His own tears blurred the images of his friends clapping and rushing forward to greet him. Even people he didn’t recognize.
Sammy grinned.
Home at last.
* * * * * * *
After seeing Sammy safely to headquarters, Byron returned to his cruiser and left the building. He set his sights to the far northern edge of Capitol Island. The flight wasn’t very long, and he had so many thoughts occupying his brain that it seemed even shorter. From far above he saw the blinking lights outlining a short landing strip. He called ahead to announce his arrival and request that a guard be there waiting for him.
When he touched down, a stern-looking woman stood at a safe distance from the landing strip holding an umbrella outside her car. She moved into position to help keep Byron dry in the pouring rain.
“Thank you,” he told her, not expecting any response.
After she checked his clearance with a handheld print scanner, she drove him from the landing area through the gates surrounding the facility. Once in the building, they took an elevator deep into the earth. After three more clearance checks, Commander Byron came to the interrogation room where Victor Wrobel was being held. Byron watched his old friend for several minutes through the two-way mirror, remembering the words that had been shouted at him. Some of them were truer than he wanted to believe.
Victor’s Alpha Command flight suit had been replaced with a bright orange jumpsuit. His head was shaved, and heavy shackles adorned his feet and hands. According to the record hanging on the wall, he’d been force-fed the anti-Anomaly Fourteen pill, too.
The surly female guard used three forms of ID to unlock the atrium of the cell: eye-scan, voice-matching, and fingerprint analysis. Once the atrium was secure, two more armed guards, each of whom held separate keys to the room, watched as she repeated the procedure again. After she successfully identified herself, the guards placed their own keys into separate locks more than a wingspan apart and simultaneously turned them. The door to the cell opened, bringing with it the smell of stale, filtered air.
“Ah, Father Abraham,” Wrobel said with a smile. “I wondered when you’d be coming.” Then he spat in Byron’s face.
The guard reached for her electric stick, but Byron stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I will be fine by myself.”
The guard looked like she wanted to protest, but held her tongue. Commander Byron had plenty of rank in this situation. She had no choice. When she left, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the saliva from his cheek and brow.
“We were friends for a long time,” he said to Victor. “You have seen it all. You know how this will go. If you have enough information—”
“I don’t care if they execute me. I’ve been dead for a long time. Might as well make it official.”
“Are you going to—?”
“Did Sammy make it out alive?” Wrobel interjected briskly. He observed Commander Byron’s face and eyes for a long moment. Then shook his head and laughed like Sammy’s survival was the greatest joke ever told. “That lucky little kid! I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it!”
Byron didn’t know what to think. Victor truly seemed mentally unbalanced. “Will you please let me ask you some questions?”
“Absolutely. Go ahead.”
Byron ignored the sarcasm in Victor’s voice and pushed ahead.
“Why was the attack on Artemis called off?”
“How’s Al doing?” Wrobel asked in response. “Does he harbor any animosity toward you?”
Byron calmly gazed back into Victor’s green eyes, which held nothing but hate, despite the quick laughter he displayed.
Wrobel leaned forward. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” He bounced his knee up and down as if it were some hilarious joke. “You’re a cod, you know that? A sneaky, yellow-bellied cod.”
“How did you get access to the Beta building after I terminated your codes from the system?”
“How could you choose your son?” Wrobel asked. “You could have made everything so much easier—I bet everything on you choosing Samuel. It never ever ever crossed my mind you’d pick your own kid. You really are a heartless prick. You know that, don’t you?”
“Victor,” a touch of impatience crept into Byron’s tone, “you know what General Wu will do to get the information out of you. Why not talk? Give me some names of people you have had contact with.”
But Wrobel seemed to have shut down, staring straight at the floor.
“Please. You have done so much good for us—”
“Go to hell, Walt!” Wrobel screamed violently, much like he had at Baikonur. Then he immediately calmed himself. “I made up my mind long ago. This is my path, and I got caught . . . so be it. I’m not giving you anything.”
“You know they will get it out of you eventually.”
“Let them try.”
“Why do they want Samuel dead so badly?”
Victor said nothing.
“Is there something else about him I should know?”
Still nothing.
“Why did you bring Katie Carpenter into this?”
Victor sat as still as a corpse. Commander Byron brought his hand down on the table hard. The former commander jumped slightly.
“Please! I am sorry about Claire. And Emily. And Blake. I wish I could redo every decision that has led to deaths of Psions. You know I regret them, Victor. We were friends for years. Cooperate with me and undo some of this mess.”
Wrobel turned his head slowly until his eyes rested on Byron. The deadness in them chilled the air in Byron’s lungs. He saw nothing of his old friend left in his hollow pupils. Burying his hate for so long had taken Victor Wrobel to depths of insanity that Byron couldn’t fathom. And he knew for certain that General Wu could not break Victor.
He would try. Wu had to try. But this man would never break.
“You’ve got much bigger things to worry about now. So much more than before.” He wore a smile that stretched from ear to ear, but his eyes were as void of life as ever. “You have no idea, Walter—how deep it all goes. You don’t have a clue. And I sincerely pray that when you finally figure it out . . . it will be too late.”
THE END
AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading Psion Gamma! I hope you appreciated a less-cliffhanger-ish ending. As you probably guessed, Sammy’s adventures are not over. Psion Gamma will be followed by Psion Delta, Psion Alpha, and Psion Omega. My plan is to release one book a year over the next three years. I hope for your continued support and enthusiasm; it makes the writing and editing process more enjoyable to know that my Fellow Bookworms are excited to read more about our mutual friends.
The best way to continue to support the Psion series is to leave helpful Amazon and Barnes and Noble reviews, share your enthusiasm through social networking, and tell your friends and family about your favorite books. Word of mouth is the most powerful advertisement out there.
Another project currently in the works is an epic adventure series: A Tale of Love and Adventure. The first volume is already written, The Flight from Blithmore. It is not a science fiction novel, but an adventure story set in a pre-Victorian era in a fictional land called Blithmore.
As always, for more information on me, my writings, and for updates on my work, follow me on twitter @psionbeta or, even better, join the Psion Beta Facebook Fan Club.
Long live Sammy!
--Jacob Gowans
www.psionbeta.com