XGeneration (Book 4): Pressure Drop

by Brad Magnarella

  “I was just saying—”

  “This is a stealth operation,” she cut in. “We’re not going to be wasting anyone, unless and until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Creed scowled and stalked off.

  “Now, if Creed had done his job,” Steel told the others, “he would have informed you that the silo is an open plan, consisting of three descending levels connected by ladders. The launch console is on the bottommost level. Janis will take the lead. Her trainer has her practicing a technique that we’re going to test in live simulation for the first time. Entry team, proceed.”

  Janis’s chest heaved once. “Ready?” she whispered.

  Jesse watched Scott nod his circuit-webbed helmet and fell into step behind them. He was their contingency plan. If the crap hit the fan, he was to start swinging.

  Beyond the doorway, a short hallway became a platform, and the interior of the fluorescent-lit silo opened beyond. Jesse was impressed by how quickly simulation exercises, like this one, could be set up. It had something to do with the Barn’s design and all of its moving parts. He watched the other two creep forward, descending to hands and knees to peek over the platform’s edge.

  “Think you can access the computer from here?” Janis whispered.

  “I’ll try,” Scott replied.

  “All right, I’ll create a blur over us.”

  Scott cocked his head. “A blur?”

  Jesse inched forward. He’d become curious, too.

  “That’s what Mrs. Fern is having me work on,” she whispered. “Sort of like what Tyler’s doing with the silo’s electronic surveillance, except I’m doing it with the minds of the people inside. Blurring their perceptions of us—or attempting to. Never tried it on more than one person, though.”

  “Still,” Scott said, “that’s way cool.”

  “No unnecessary talking,” Agent Steel called from outside.

  “No unnecessary talking,” Creed mimicked from somewhere.

  Janis and Scott fell silent as they bent to their work. Jesse still couldn’t understand what they did or how they did it. His own powers made sense: strength, durability. Creed’s and Tyler’s were pretty straightforward, too. But this mind stuff? The idea made the muscles in Jesse’s temples harden with suspicion. Something about it struck him as unfair.

  “The security on this thing is serious,” Scott whispered. “Lots of electronic trip wires.”

  “Halt!” someone shouted.

  Jesse wheeled around to find a half-dozen members of Agent Steel’s assault team storming toward the silo’s opening. Margaret was down. A streak of laser fire stung Jesse’s shoulder. With a grunt, he gripped the lower lip of the raised door and drove it to the floor.

  “Stay back,” he called to Janis and Scott.

  “Um, not much protection that way,” Scott said. “Soldiers are coming up.”

  “Sorry,” Janis said. “I got distracted and lost my hold over them.”

  Bracing the lower lip of the door with a foot, Jesse rounded his torso toward the metallic rattle of boots climbing ladders. By all appearances, the stealth campaign was a bust.

  “No worries,” Scott said. “It’s why I’m wearing this.” Aiming his visor over the platform’s side, he ripped off a red blast. Shouting and clattering ricocheted from below. “You and Jesse aren’t exactly slouches either,” he added.

  “I was sort of in Steel’s ‘unless and until necessary’ camp,” Janis said, raising an arm. “Oh well.”

  Jesse cleared his throat. “I’ll get us out.”

  He removed his foot from the door. As the door rattled upward, laser fire streaked through the opening.

  Jesse reached out and grabbed an arm. A man in an armored suit flipped around like a hooked fish as Jesse drew him inside and then cast him back out. The toppling guards became a path for Jesse to charge through.

  “Follow me,” he called back.

  Laser fire stung his stomach and arms. Guards he hadn’t seen from inside the silo were flanking the door now. Jesse managed to pummel two of the armored men before staggering to his knees, his stunned muscles turning to insensate slabs of meat. He was absorbing more damage than he would have been able to even a month before, but he still had his limits.

  Guards flooded past him and into the silo.

  “That’s enough,” Agent Steel called, hitting a button that set off red-flashing lights. “End simulation.”

  The members of her assault team trotted to a halt and lowered their carbines. A few of them raised face shields. Jesse managed to prop himself up as Scott and Janis emerged from the silo.

  “In this iteration of the simulation,” Agent Steel said, striding forward, “a nearby unit was alerted to the silo’s malfunctioning communication system and came over to investigate. In short, you took too much time. You’ll have twenty minutes to recover, and then we’ll run it again.”

  A medic appeared at Jesse’s side and pricked his right shoulder.

  “Well, how about that?” she remarked, holding a bent hypodermic needle to her frowning face. The serum inside was meant to restore muscle control. “Wouldn’t even go in. It’s like your skin’s turning to rawhide.”

  “I know you’ve already put in a long evening,” Director Kilmer said, “and I’m not going to make it any longer than necessary, seeing as how you have school tomorrow. But there are some important things we need to go over.”

  Jesse looked around the conference table. Creed had stripped his jumpsuit to his waist, and his hair hung damp in his face. Scott, who usually sat ramrod straight, was propped on his elbows. The sisters looked equally wiped. As Jesse toweled more sweat from his brow, the muscles in his arms burned. They’d run through the simulation three more times, each with its own surprise.

  They had bombed those, too.

  Director Kilmer began to pace in his black suit. “In recent days, there have been several rules violations. Creed tried to lose his surveillance team while on a date. Janis and Tyler held a private meeting at school after being instructed not to associate with one another.”

  Jesse noticed Scott stir and look over at his girlfriend.

  “And last weekend, Jesse committed the most egregious rule violation: using his abilities on the outside.”

  Jesse met Director Kilmer’s stern gaze without much interest. He’d already sat through a long-winded reprimand the night it happened. For Jesse, it had been simple. Kip and his brat pack had tried to pull a number on him, and they had to be punished. But Jesse hadn’t bothered trying to explain that to Kilmer. He wouldn’t have understood. The man lived by a different code, which was fine. Just as long as he didn’t seriously expect Jesse to live by it as well.

  “This isn’t a game, people.” Kilmer stopped and leaned his arms against the back of his empty chair. “We have rules in place for a reason. To protect you. To protect the Champions Program. Now I hate to do this, but you’ve forced our hand. We’re going to impose a curfew.”

  “A curfew?” Margaret said, as though it were a bad word.

  “When you’re not at school or in training, you’re to stay in the neighborhood. Any outings must be made by prior appointment and are subject to our approval. Requests can be submitted through your consoles—”

  “Oh, screw that,” Creed said, pushing himself from the table.

  “One more step, and you can say ‘screw that’ to your paycheck, too.”

  Creed hesitated, the arms of his peeled-down jumpsuit dangling at his sides. “You people are really starting to wear on my nerves,” he grumbled. He sat and jerked his chair back in.

  “How long will the curfew last?” Scott asked.

  “Until we ship out, whenever that may be.” He sighed as he resumed pacing. “Look, you’ve all been briefed. On top of everything I’ve told you, General Dementyev just announced war exercises in Yugoslavia for next month. That’s in addition to the other exercises across Eastern Europe. We’ve only begun training, and the window on our time to prep is fast closing.
Don’t look at the curfew as punishment. More than anything, the curfew ensures that nothing derails our training. When the call comes, we have to be ready. Because if Western Europe falls…” Kilmer raised his eyebrows as though to say, We’re all screwed.

  “I can understand a curfew for the others,” Margaret said, her eyes seeming to shift to a deeper shade of green, “but in case you’ve forgotten, I’m eighteen. I’m in college now. I have a steady boyfriend.”

  Jesse caught himself nodding his head before realizing he was falling under her spell. More of that treacherous mind stuff. He draped the towel over his head as though to blunt her influence.

  “People,” Kilmer said, “this is temporary. You’ll still be able to go out. Still be able to see your significant others. We’re just asking that you work with us for the next couple months. And it’s not just Europe we’re concerned about. I hope I don’t need to remind you of the standing threats to the six of you.”

  Janis cleared her throat. “If you could be more specific about those threats, that would help.”

  “Well, we’ve already discussed the mercenaries.”

  “You’ve mentioned them,” Janis said, “but who are they? Where are they? If our government knows about them, why aren’t they doing everything in their power to nab them?”

  Director Kilmer sat down, setting his clasped hands on the table in a gesture of conciliation. “Our intelligence isn’t that detailed, I’m afraid. Not yet. The intelligence we do have suggests that at least one group is here and searching for you. Vague or not, we have to take the intelligence seriously.”

  As Janis watched Kilmer talk, something changed on her face. A darkness that began around her eyes was spreading to the depressions beneath her cheekbones and below her lower lip.

  “They’re not Soviets,” she said, as though from a light trance.

  Director Kilmer squinted. “Who?”

  “The mercenaries. The group who’s searching for us.”

  Kilmer looked around before leaning back in his chair. “Well, we don’t know anything for certain.”

  Janis’s eyes took on a bright new focus as the shadows receded from her face. “Figures. Just last month you promised to be more transparent with us, and here you are, obfuscating again.”

  “If you’re picking up something, Janis, it’s that we’re receiving new intelligence all the time. Some of it’s verifiable. Most of it isn’t. If by being more transparent you mean sharing every bit of intel that crosses my desk, forget it. There have been rumors of home-grown mercenaries, but that’s all they are. The best we can do is act defensively. That’s why we have the security features of the neighborhood—expensive, state-of-the-art features, mind you.”

  Janis folded her arms, unappeased.

  “One more thing.” Director Kilmer held up a finger, then paused as though searching for the right words. “If anyone on the outside ever tries to contact you or suggests knowledge about your powers or claims they’re trying to help you, I want to know about it. Immediately.”

  Deep in the sediment of Jesse’s belly, his organs shifted.

  Ever wonder where you came from?

  “Let’s back up,” Director Kilmer said, his brow-knitted gaze circling the table. “Has anyone already tried to contact you?”

  When his eyes met Jesse’s, Jesse stared back, unblinking.

  But he wasn’t seeing Kilmer. He was thinking of his thick, battered wallet sitting atop his dresser, the transparent business card tucked into the bottom of one of its sleeves. He forced his head to shake.

  “Good.” Director Kilmer’s gaze lingered on his for another moment. “You’re all dismissed. And remember, straight home. The curfew goes into effect as of”—he consulted his watch—“right now.”

  7

  “What happened back there?” Scott whispered.

  “Huh?” Janis had been caught mid-stretch, the chill of concrete creeping through her jumpsuit as she arched her back beside the elevator. Beyond the wall, she could feel the hydraulics whirring away, carrying Margaret home.

  “Another vision?” he prompted.

  She sighed as her vertebrae popped in three places. “Oh, that. Yeah, I sensed that the mercenaries were real—I got that wrong. And Kilmer’s deathly afraid of them. But what I picked up was all confused. The only thing I could sense clearly was that they weren’t Russian.”

  “Confused how?”

  “Just … confused. An impression of confusion.”

  “Our confusion or theirs?”

  Janis shook her aching head. “That’s the only way I can explain it. Maybe the impressions will become clearer after I’ve had some rest.” She sagged against him and nestled inside his arms. “God, Scott. It’s only the second week of school-slash-training and I can barely stand.”

  “Our bodies and brains just need time to adjust.”

  “If they don’t adjust soon, I’m going to be a pile of burnt cells.”

  A warm snuff of laughter against her hair was followed by an unsteady silence. Janis could sense Scott grappling with two different sets of questions, and she knew what they were—as much from intuition as her abilities. To keep him from broaching one, she steered him toward the other. “Mr. Shine?”

  She felt a pause and then a nod against her head. “What you said about the wall you felt, the one keeping you from his thoughts. Well, that combined with Director Kilmer’s mention tonight of home-grown mercenaries has me wondering again—worrying, I guess—about who he really is.”

  “It’s a good question,” she said. Mr. Shine’s detection of her presence that morning suggested at least raw psychic abilities, something Mrs. Fern said only one in a thousand were aware of in themselves. But Mr. Shine’s ability to repel her, even gently? That suggested something more.

  “And he has so much access to us,” Scott added.

  “Have you given any more thought to telling Director Kilmer?”

  “I’d need more information first. I’d need to be certain.”

  Janis could almost hear the little gears whirring in his head. “Are you thinking of an operation?” she asked, excitement stirring beneath her fatigue. It had been months since the two of them had embarked on one together.

  Scott’s eyes glimmered with their own excitement before fading. “Damn. Curfew.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Janis said.

  “But hold onto that spirit. I have some resources I can tap. Might take a couple of weeks, but we’ll look at whatever comes back. If the information suggests we need to go traipsing into the field, then into the field we’ll traipse.” Angling his glasses up to the ceiling, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “They haven’t been able to stop us yet, right?”

  “Right-o,” Janis whispered back, kissing his mouth. “I think I’ll go collapse now. Good night, Sherlock.”

  “See you in the morning?”

  “Seven a.m. sharp.”

  Janis turned to the panel beside the elevator and pressed the lone button. Scott’s footsteps receded down the corridor, slowed, and then stopped. She sensed him facing her.

  “Hey, um, how come you didn’t mention your meeting with Tyler?”

  There it was. The question she’d been hoping to avoid, at least for tonight. In the uncertain texture of Scott’s voice, she heard a second question: I don’t want you to think I distrust you, but … is there something I should know here?

  “It was hardly a meeting,” Janis said, twisting from the opening elevator door. “Director Kilmer was only exaggerating to make a point. Tyler and I spoke in passing, but it was brief.”

  “At school?”

  “Yeah, D Wing.” She’d almost said in the woods behind D wing, but caught herself. Nothing had happened, of course—nothing would ever happen—but she knew the idea of the two of them hidden back in the trees had the potential to conjure up any number of sinful images.

  “Must have been important—”

  “Not really,” she interjected.

  “—for you guys to f
launt the rules like that.”

  Scott remained a good fifteen feet from her, and Janis could feel his distance. She considered approaching him but knew it would mean getting into explanations for which she didn’t have the energy to complete.

  “Look,” she said, “he just wanted to apologize to me—to both of us—for what happened in Missouri.” She felt her vocal cords tighten with defensiveness. “He felt bad for interfering.”

  Not a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

  She thought of the folded piece of paper with Tyler’s poem sitting in her top dresser drawer. The same drawer where she kept Scott’s get-well card, team patches from her soccer and softball days, the plastic Easter egg she’d found in an early out-of-body experience, other keepsakes. She supposed the poem was a keepsake, too. But had she placed it there to hide it?

  And you still haven’t told him about the kiss.

  “Oh, that’s cool.” Scott had started to pick at the strip of white tape on the wall. He smoothed it now with his fingers. “I hope you told him it wasn’t his fault.”

  “I did.”

  “Just … be careful.”

  Janis’s cheeks prickled hotly. Was he suggesting she had something for Tyler? “Careful of what?”

  “You used your powers on the bus last Monday. You talked with Tyler at school. If Kilmer says there are mercenaries out there hunting us—and you sense they’re real—then maybe we need to start acting like, well, the hunted.”

  Janis exhaled slowly through her nose and nodded. “You’re right.” And he was. “I’m sorry.”

  Scott paced off the fifteen feet until his arms were around her again, his body warm against hers. He stroked her hair. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. The only girlfriend, granted…”

  Laughter bubbled in Janis’s chest. He was a nerd, but he was her nerd.

  “So yeah, let’s just play by the rules for now,” he continued. “In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out about Mr. Shine. Probably nothing to stress over, but I’d rather we be sure.”