by Jacob Gowans
Al disarmed the Aegis before they could recover from Sammy’s blasts, keeping his gun trained on them. “Move and you’re dead,” he told them.
The bald, scabbed Thirteen groaned on the floor as he tried to get up despite blood pooling out from his legs. Sammy quaked with rage as he approached him. “Why did you kill her?” he asked the monster. “Why? TELL ME WHY!”
The Thirteen grinned. “Last chance I got to bleed someone before you take me back to prison.”
“Don’t let him goad you, Sammy,” Al cautioned. “It’s what they want. They’re waiting to see if you’ll make a mistake.”
Sammy stared at him, then back at the Thirteen. “No. He’s not going back to prison.” He looked around the room at the girl, still unable to mentally and emotionally process her death. While his back was turned, the Thirteen with the horn-devil hair moved to grab his gun. Sammy spun and shot him in the head with the syshée. Sokama gasped and pressed herself into the corner.
Sammy brought the gun back around to shoot the last Thirteen.
“Don’t,” Al said again. “He can’t hurt anyone now. He’s done.”
That wasn’t good enough for Sammy. He needed justice to be done. His finger pressed on the trigger. All he saw was the little girl dying in front of him with perfect clarity.
“Please, Sammy—”
Sammy pulled the trigger and watched the Thirteen die. As he did so, all traces of discomfort in his leg vanished. A fleeting thought told him he’d never experience that pain again.
“Now he can’t hurt anyone.” His voice was cold and empty. He turned to Dr. Sokama. Junko Sokama. When he trained his gun on her, she began to quiver in the corner.
“Please,” she pleaded as she clenched and unclenched her hands. “You have no idea. They made me do . . . things. I want to forget them all. I want to die. Please kill me. Please. I didn’t know it—they—would be like this. Monstrous things!”
Sammy punched through the wall right next to her face.
“What did you think!” he shouted, hating the pleasure he felt as she sunk to the ground. “You thought you were helping people by letting this filth out of prison? Are you serious?” He kicked the wall next to her. She yelped. “Are you really serious?”
“Please kill me!” she screamed at him. “They made me drink something. It tracks me, and they can kill me at any time. Just end it now!”
“If I kill you, then what was the point of all this? These kids die for nothing! Their parents died for nothing!”
“I don’t know anything. They never gave us orders like they promised. They said there was a plan to help us escape, but there was nothing! No plans. Nothing! They were never even going to help us!”
“Then what was the boat for? Huh? No plans to escape? THEN WHAT WAS THE BOAT FOR!” Sammy felt his sanity tearing, fraying, splitting.
Control your emotions, Byron’s voice urged.
I can’t!
“We got the boat. We rigged it ourselves. Please kill me! I’ve told you everything. Kill me before they do it.”
Sammy stared at her, wondering how to grant her wish. Everything in this house, in that mud-filled cave he’d been trapped in, the boat accident—all of it was because of her. Her treason, her willingness to let these people do all manner of horrific acts. Why? How could she stand and watch, or even participate? He punched her in the face. Then he punched her again. Why? How? He punched her a third time.
“Sammy?” It was Al. He placed his hand on Sammy’s shoulder as gently as a falling leaf. Sammy tried to shut him out and raised his syshée to Sokama’s head while she cried. Her once pallid face was now purple and blue and red. It suited her better.
Al put his hand on the gun and pressed down on the barrel. “Our orders are to bring them back alive.”
Sammy began to cry. “Look around you, Al. Look what they did. You saw them—I watched—they shot that girl.” He glanced over to the bed, hoping that what he’d seen would be gone, but it wasn’t. “I saw it, Al. She—they did that. This woman did that. How can I let her live? These people will torture and kill and they won’t stop. They would’ve killed me, too, in that room with Stripe. I can’t let her live!”
“Let me handle it. You go outside, and I’ll deal with it.” Al eased the syshée away from him. “Okay?”
Sammy didn’t know what to do. How could he not deal with it? Everything was muddled. Nothing was right or okay. He turned from Al and Sokama and started to walk out. On the other end of the room was a small vanity, the perfect size for a little girl. It was painted pink, but the paint was peeling. Stickers of stars and flowers decorated it. On the side in a little girl’s scrawl was written: Havanna.
Sammy walked over to the vanity and knelt in front of it. The mirror reflected his face back at him. He saw murder in his eyes. No red sclera, no scars intentionally carved, but the expression of pure, devilish hatred was etched into his skin. It transcended sanity and reason, reaching into the very depths of the emotions he had the ability to feel. He stared into his own eyes that looked more like dark pits and realized that he looked no different than the enemy. No different at all.
21.
Debriefing
Saturday August 3, 2086
“Psion Command,” Al said to his com, his gun still trained on the Aegis, “This is Albert Byron. Charlie honcho is currently incapacitated. We have successfully captured Junko Sokama and two other targets. Requesting air support to remove the fugitives from our coordinates. All other targets have been eliminated. Do you copy?”
Al listened for a moment, his eyes on Sammy. Sammy looked away.
“Copy that, Psion Command. See you in a few minutes.”
Sammy hated the silence in the room. He didn’t know what to do or what to say.
“Why don’t you go outside?” Al suggested. “Get some air. I’ll take care of everything.”
That sounded like a fine idea to Sammy. “I’m sorry, Al.” His words sounded lifeless. He didn’t even know what he was sorry for at the moment. Everything was wrong.
He left the room and went downstairs. As he crossed the house to the front door, he pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and put his guns on a small table by the door. The weather outside was still beautiful; the sun shone brightly down on him. He sat on the front step, noticing now that several people had gathered around the property to see what was going on. The numerous blood spatters staining his white shirt from his chest to his short sleeves made him feel like he had a giant sign on him: Killer.
As the neighbors observed him, many of the parents sent their children away. Sammy watched them go with his head hanging down. In the distance, he heard the sirens of police cars.
“Did something happen to the Jónssons?” one of the women at the curb asked.
Sammy looked at her without answering, then he got up and went to the backyard to retrieve his medical kit.
“Medics on their way with damage containment,” a voice that sounded very official announced in Sammy’s ear. “Please secure the premises from any bystanders.”
In less than twenty minutes, Dr. Rosmir arrived with several Elite and other agents. While Dr. Rosmir tended to Sammy’s injuries, the Elite removed the bodies from the house and other agents made sure no video footage of the incident had been recorded. Reporters arrived on scene within an hour, and they had to be corralled and kept away from anything too sensitive for public knowledge. From the bits of conversation Sammy overheard, the story would be spun as the Jónsson family had relatives visiting, but one suffering from schizophrenia had gone off the deep end and started killing the others. Officers responding to the call were caught in a gun fight, which ended in the death of all but three of the family members.
Sokama and the two Aegis came out of the house in cuffs just after plastic screens had been set up around the entrance, shielding the events from the view of the crowd. Elite led them to the waiting vehicle that would take them to the NWG prison for interrogation. Sammy noticed that
all three of them were sweating profusely. One of the Aegis moaned with each step he took. Sokama’s clothing was soaked under her arms and at her lower back.
“Please . . . ” she muttered incoherently, “kill me. Kill all of us now.”
“Shut up,” one of the Elite told her.
“Please.” Sokama slurred her words and fell to her knees. Two seconds later, the Aegis who’d been moaning collapsed to the ground.
“What’s going on?” Al asked Dr. Rosmir, pointing to the fallen captives.
Dr. Rosmir looked over at the situation and his eyes widened.
“Get back! Get away from them!” he shouted and flung his arms wildly at the Elite and other agents on the scene.
Sammy tripped as he backed up, but his eyes stayed fixed on the prisoners. He scooted backward until he bumped into something hard: Al’s legs. Al didn’t seem to notice Sammy. He, too, stared, his eyes glued to the horrible scene he was witnessing. All three prisoners writhed on the ground, dampening the grass with their copious sweat. Smoke wisped out of their mouths each time they exhaled. Their eyes bulged in their sockets. Worst of all was the screams.
“GET BACK!” Rosmir yelled again.
Then Sammy understood why. A loud snapping sound ripped the air accompanied by a wave of heat so strong it knocked everyone around off their feet. The plastic barriers blew over, melting in the process. Screams and shouts came not only from agents, but from bystanders and reporters surrounding the house. All that was left of the prisoners was a gelatinous mess and the acrid smell of burning plastic and flesh.
Two hours later, Al and Sammy were cleared to leave the scene. Dinsmore picked them up in the squad cruiser.
“What’s going on?” Al asked Dinsmore. “How’s the team?
“I can’t say anything until we get to debriefing. Command orders. What happened to the prisoners? Why weren’t they picked up?”
“I can’t say anything until we get to debriefing. Command orders.”
Al glanced at Sammy with a worried expression on his face. Sammy turned to the window and watched the house disappear from view. He hoped to never return to Akureyri. By the time they landed at Alpha headquarters, it was raining again.
“Go home and get changed, Sammy. We debrief at 1700.”
Al jogged ahead, probably eager to see Marie after over a week away. Sammy walked through the rain, watching the blood on his shirt blotch and spread through the fabric as it turned pink. He touched it and thought of the little girl, Havanna Jónsson.
Was her death my fault?
If so, he didn’t know how he could live with that. Such a burden would be far worse than any torture he’d gone through with Stripe. Her face stayed in his mind; the tape covering her mouth, the bruises. He understood what she’d gone through the last few days. He wondered if it was better that she’d died than living a life like his, remembering horrors every day and trying to deal with them. Tears filled his eyes as he tried to push the flood of images out of his head.
“Doctor Rosmir,” he said into his com.
“Hello?” Rosmir answered.
“Hey, it’s—”
“I know it’s you, Sammy. What do you need?”
“I—I really think I need to talk to someone.” He cursed into the com. “I have—I need to sit down and talk about stuff. Can I come see you?”
“Sammy, I’m not a psychologist.” Dr. Rosmir said with great kindness, but it still wasn’t what Sammy wanted to hear. “I can arrange for you to meet—”
“No—no. I need to talk to someone I know. Someone who understands.”
“All right, but it must wait. I’m overseeing the care of your squadron at the moment. Are you in any danger of harming yourself or others before I see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s not reassuring. Are you contemplating suicide or harming yourself?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I’ll call you the first chance I get. Will that work for you?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Sammy arrived at his unit on the Alpha campus feeling only slightly better. He tore off his clothes and threw them in the garbage bin. He walked naked across the unit and into his shower. He turned on the water, not caring what temperature it was. He scrubbed his face, his hair, his chest where the blood stains had been on his shirt. Over and over he washed himself until his skin stung from being rubbed raw. Finally he looked at his skin and saw no blood.
He dressed in an Alpha jumpsuit and walked to the building where the debriefing was to be held. Including Sammy, ten members of Charlie Squadron were present. Commander Havelbert was supposed to run the meeting, but she had not arrived. Missing among them were Anna Lukic, Tom Garrett, Jerome Yazzie, and Brey Avery. Sammy sat between Al and Justice, waiting for the meeting to start.
“How’s your arm?” Justice asked Sammy.
“Better. They cleaned it out and put a new patch on it. Rosmir said it should heal fine.”
Justice was about to say more when Commander Havelbert marched into the room with Tom Garrett behind her. A waxy film covered most of Tom’s face, which was now bright red. Sammy had always seen him with a goatee, but now it was missing. Everyone stood at attention. Havelbert surveyed the room and told them to be seated. Garrett took his place among them, making the squadron eleven of fourteen.
“First of all, you should know that Lukic, Avery, and Yazzie are all alive. Lukic was hit hardest by the explosion. Had she not been a Psion, she wouldn’t have survived. Currently, she is in a coma, which Dr. Rosmir expects her to wake from. Avery and Yazzie’s conditions are currently listed as serious. All three of them suffered extensive burns. Had it not been for the immediate action of Tom Garrett, we would have lost them. Tom dove from the cruiser, still airborne, and pulled all three of them to the surface of the water. For Tom’s heroics, Elite Command has decided to award him an Elite Medal of Valor.
Applause broke out among Charlie Squadron along with words of congratulations. Everyone, Sammy included, rose and saluted Tom Garrett. Garrett lowered his eyes and returned the salute.
“Second, I want to commend Charlie Squadron on a successful mission. Despite the tragic outcome and death of Junko Sokama, you did precisely what you were supposed to do. I want to also recognize another person’s courage. Samuel Berhane, not only did you risk your life to photograph four victims of the escapees, but you also followed a hunch that led you and Byron to the targets. You and Byron acted courageously under fire and subdued Sokama before her unpreventable death. Samuel, for your efforts we award you the Psion Medal of Courage.”
More applause. Sammy stood and faced his peers. They saluted him and he reciprocated the gesture, albeit reluctantly. He looked at Garrett, much older than him with a receding hairline of short brown hair, and Garrett returned his gaze. The admiration in Garrett’s eyes gave Sammy a terrible feeling.
I don’t deserve this, he told himself. I don’t deserve to be awarded when Garrett actually saved lives. All I did was take them.
The debriefing lasted over an hour. Garrett, who ranked highest on the squadron with Lukic and Yazzie gone, provided Havelbert with detailed information of Charlie’s activity and strategy. This information was supplemented by various members of the team, including Sammy, who was forced to give a full recount of what happened in the Jónsson house and how he tracked the targets to the premises. When he reported that Havanna, the ten-year-old daughter, was shot on his appearance, Havelbert did not seem at all affected. Others on the team, however, did.
When the meeting ended, the rest of the squadron shook Sammy’s hand and offered words of condolence and congratulations. Commander Havelbert requested that Sammy stay behind. “Sit,” she said. Sammy was unsure by her tone if that was an order or a request, so he sat. She pulled a chair around to face him. “Your Panel Mission, how did it go?”
“I don’t know.” And he meant it. He knew of no words to describe what had happened. “I hit that woman—Doctor So
kama—I lost control of myself and punched her in the face two—three—maybe even more times.”
“She deserved more than that.” Commander Havelbert paused, as if waiting for Sammy to react. “You aren’t the luckiest person that was ever born, are you?” She frowned as she reached across and laid her hand on Sammy’s. The gesture was far kinder than anything he’d expected from her.
“I guess not. I also shot one of the Thirteens after he was down. The thought of him ever having a chance to escape and do what he did again . . . filled me with such rage. I didn’t control myself. I failed.”
“Walter Byron once told me that you either get used to the violence and the horrors or you go crazy. It would be nice to choose neither, but you can’t. Wrobel went crazy. I have chosen to stay sane.”
Sammy nodded.
“Doctor Rosmir called me and said you needed to talk. Unfortunately, he’s too busy to come down and see you, but he really wanted to. He asked me if I would sit with you. So here I am.” She gave Sammy’s hand one more squeeze.
“When I was in Wichita with the resistance,” Sammy began, “a doctor there taught me that the best way to move past stuff is to talk about it. So . . . you know, I just—I wanted to talk to someone because I can’t get that little girl out of my head.”
“Please, Sammy, go ahead. I’m listening.”
It was almost three hours before Sammy finished his conversation with Commander Havelbert. She gave him good advice and seemed to genuinely care about him. The only other commander to give him that impression was Byron. After driving him to the landing strip, she handed him a box containing his Medal of Courage and a framed certificate signed by the President of the New World Government. Then she told him that since he’d passed his Panel, he should expect confirmation of his graduation date in the near future. She waved him goodbye as an Elite officer flew him back to Beta headquarters.