Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5)

by Jacob Gowans

  “General Wu ordered me and Emily to go in first for reconnaissance. It was one of the first missions using stealth cruisers—not nearly as good as the ones we have now. Our team arrived in the dead of night. We entered the main government building through the roof. Black clothes, skin and hair painted black, black goggles over our eyes. We spent three days in the ventilation systems, in the walls, in the crevices of the buildings. Took pictures and video, planted over a dozen mics and cameras to provide the NWG with constant surveillance.

  “Emily hated it. After only a few hours, we knew it was a hostage situation, but no word came down from Wu to take action. She wanted to forget orders and call in reinforcements. But Emily was never one to disobey her commanding officer.”

  “You were her commanding—?” Samuel asked.

  Byron nodded. Emily’s face floated in his mind, and it made his heart ache. With everything going on these days with Albert and Marie, their constant arguments, Albert’s recent turn to drinking for solace, Samuel’s difficulties … I could use her smiles. Her laughter. Her soothing embrace.

  “For some reason being on the same squad worked well for me and Emily. I would not recommend it for most couples, but we loved it. It seems to work for you and Gefjon too. We had each other’s back, and preferred it that way. Maybe it was from all those hours we spent in the flight simulators together.” Byron’s eyes met Samuel’s, and he nodded, certain that his memories were still fresh in Samuel’s mind. “Days went by, but still no orders, no contact. Our team continued to search for solutions to present to Command. We sent a recommendation to have snipers take out key targets. We advised an advanced clandestine operation to sneak out the hostages. We must have given them a dozen different plans.

  “Despite all our communications, we got no answers and no orders. After a week in Quebec and no contact from anyone on Capitol Island, things grew tense. Everyone knew something was going on back home with the higher-ups, but we were all in the dark. The government trains us to be tough, you know that. But something about that mission … we broke down mentally faster than we should have. We were all young and inexperienced. Almost all the jobs they had sent us on up to that point lasted two or three days. Now we were well over a week in enemy territory, tight dark places, no contact from Command, no warning that there would be loss of communication.

  “We had seven Psions there: me, Emily, and Victor, of course. And Blake Weymouth, Muhammad Zahn, Annalise Havelbert, and Jason Ling. Called ourselves the Lucky Sevens. Unlucky would have been more apt. Only Annalise and I are still alive.

  “On day ten with still nothing from Command, the team asked me to override our orders and formulate a plan of action. Even Emily advised me to disobey orders.”

  “Your wife told you to ignore Command?” Samuel asked in a skeptical tone.

  “At first, I made the call to wait. No engaging the enemy, only surveillance. But the situation with the hostages got worse. The CAG agents’ treatment of them … It started with beating, starving, then turned into rape and torture. The things they made the hostages do—my conscience forced me to disobey orders.”

  A throbbing phantom pain started in the commander’s legs, long past the joints where his bionic limbs attached to the stumps of his thighs. The pain wasn’t so constant now as it had been months ago when he’d first been injured. He tapped his feet and rubbed the metal legs together until the sensation passed.

  “It was Quebec where we met the Thirteens for the first time. They already had the red eyes. We assumed it was something contagious or a side-effect of something they were using— some chemical or drug. No one imagined they had done it intentionally.

  “We planned an attack, executed it, and were beaten. Nothing prepared us for the Thirteens’ ruthlessness in combat. Even now, twenty years later, I do not know how we all survived. Victor nearly died. Emily saved him and Havelbert. Jason Ling lost two fingers on his left hand. Bitten off. Cameras caught us fleeing, and after we left, the Thirteens massacred everyone in the buildings. Hundreds of people, Samuel.”

  Commander Byron put a hand to his mouth to regain control over his emotions, always so close to the surface these days. Part of growing old, he figured. But the emotions were so strong, so fresh. Guilt he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “You would think that people would remember the carnage, but no. They remembered us surrendering, essentially, running from the scene. That was what news footage showed. Officially, the CAG disavowed the actions of the assailants, but almost all the targets were government officials blocking the secession of Quebec to the CAG. They announced their intent to withdraw from the NWG while our reinforcements were en route from Capitol Island.”

  Samuel’s face mirrored the remorse Commander Byron felt deep in his bones. “You blame yourself for this, Commander? For the secession of Quebec?”

  “The CAG was waiting for us to intervene, Samuel. They knew we were coming and blocked our communications when we got there. It was an elaborate trap designed to make the NWG look weak while also removing the last barriers of Quebec’s withdrawal. And I gave the order to send us into their snare. Wu removed me from command of the Psion Corps. It is one of the reasons I was in charge of Beta for so long.”

  “I thought it was because you liked teaching us, sir.”

  “I do. But they would have promoted me long before you were recruited were it not for that black stain on my record.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Samuel asked with a tone of obstinacy.

  Commander Byron sighed. “I guess I like talking to you. Most of my conversations these days with Albert end in him shouting and leaving the room.”

  Samuel looked away and nodded. For some reason this made Byron feel even older. Emily, it should have been me who died, not you. You always knew what to say.

  “I rarely talk about my regrets, my mistakes. But with you, it comes easily. I know what happened in Detroit weighs heavily on you. You think I cannot imagine—”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I can,” Byron said sharply. “When Quebec seceded, I did not understand the ramifications at the time. I was a soldier—one with responsibility, yes—but still a soldier. Over the years that followed, the Silent War years, I realized that losing Quebec was a massive blow to the NWG. We lost important footholds in CAG territory. If I had not blown that mission, Quebec might not have seceded. If Quebec had not seceded, neither would have the other remaining NWG territories in North and South America. You see, Samuel, my actions—my decision—profoundly impacted the NWG in a terrible way.”

  Samuel shook his head. “It’s not the same. You were doing your best in a messed up situation.”

  “So are you.”

  “I—I messed up. His face—their faces, I see them in my dreams. I watch the tower fall over and over and over every night. The metal twisting, the glass shattering … I see it all, Commander. And their blood stains me. Who else is to blame?”

  There was an edge in Samuel’s voice that the commander didn’t like. And he said “his face.”

  “Why does there have to be blame?” Byron asked.

  “Because I messed up!”

  “Every Psion who has died in the last three decades has been a friend or a student of mine. With each death I wonder what I might have done better as a teacher and mentor to prevent that death. In your nightmares you see nameless faces, I see men and women I knew and taught and recruited to a shortened life. And those who live? What kind of life have I brought them?”

  “So then why did you keep doing it? You would recruit again tomorrow if you could. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I would.”

  “Why?” Samuel almost shouted the word. His eyes flashed either rage or confusion, the commander couldn’t tell which.

  “‘War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.’ John Stuart Mill.”

  Samuel sighed. “So then what?”

  “Learn from it. Try not to repeat it.”

  In the silen
ce that followed, Samuel’s face lit up and his eyes stared through the commander as though he were a ghost. “No …” He whispered. “No, we have to repeat it. Excuse me, sir. I need—I need …” He got up, his eyes still unfocused.

  “We have the leadership committee in twenty minutes. Are you going to be there this time?”

  “I know …”

  “But—” Before Commander Byron could argue, Samuel was gone. “At least you didn’t shout at me like Albert,” he muttered to no one.

  A half hour later, the commander sat next to his father in the old air traffic control tower in Saint Marie, the neighboring city to Glasgow. These two towns formed the two halves of the resistance’s headquarters. The air tower had long been the meeting place of the leadership committee.

  To the commander and many others’ surprise, Samuel arrived shortly after the meeting started and took his place at the table without fanfare in between Anna Lukic and Justice Juraschek. Across the table from Byron sat Albert, his eyes red and his face drooped. Hungover again, he thought with a sigh.

  “Let’s give the floor to Commander Byron,” his mother, Lara, said, “for a report on the NWG efforts.”

  The commander had been serving as the NWG-resistance liaison for almost four months now. Part of his duties included speaking at each meeting, briefing the resistance as to what the NWG advised or wanted the resistance to consider. In return, he provided the NWG information about the resistance’s plans. At least twice a week, the commander communicated with either General Annalise Havelbert or Ivan Drovovic, the NWG’s first Tensai. In the wake of General Wu’s death during the initial attacks on Capitol Island, Havelbert had been appointed by President William Marnyo as Director of Military Operations, and Drovovic as Deputy Director.

  “NWG leaders anticipate a new push … another offensive strike from the CAG in the coming weeks,” Commander Byron informed the committee. “They are making preparations to defend against these assaults and minimize casualties. If losses are kept to a minimum, they plan to respond with an offensive strike of their own. They are asking us to consider a joint strike and request that we submit several ideas to them by the end of next week.”

  Samuel raised his finger and caught Lara’s eye. She recognized him and gave him the floor. “According to my calculations,” he began, “we have the firepower to hit nine major towers that hold Hybrid cloning facilities—”

  Justice shook his head. “No … we have far more than that. Twenty to twenty-two was my latest count.”

  “Yes,” Samuel agreed, “if our plan is to continue our assaults with the same conservative approach we’ve been doing, then we can hit twenty or more towers. But let’s think bigger for a moment. Let’s envision something so big that we grab the world’s attention. So bold that every last citizen of the CAG wants out of the war in an instant. Gloves off. Total warfare.

  “We could simultaneously hit a maximum of nine towers if we orchestrate a multi-faceted strike so big the CAG will be crippled. Massive damage in urban areas followed by a precipitous drop in support for the war on the side of the CAG. Clone production would be cut nearly in half.”

  The commander felt light-headed as his eyes met Samuel’s. For a moment he thought he must be misunderstanding Samuel’s proposition. But when he realized he hadn’t misunderstood anything, he paled and stared at the young man. His head shook very slightly from left to right. Why would you suggest such a thing?

  Justice muttered to himself, his eyes sweeping side to side as though searching for the answer. Then they widened when he too realized the breadth of the idea proposed. “Whoa. That’s wild, Sammy. That’s … a little too wild.”

  Lorenzo Winters raised a hand. “Are you suggesting we obliterate ten city towers? Kill tens of thousands of people?”

  All eyes were on Samuel, and his expression changed from one of confidence to someone swimming in shark-infested waters. “I’m saying we need to consider the ramifications of doing something drastic to tip the scales in our favor. All we’ve done so far is cling on, scrape by, and pray for miracles. Our sabotages of the clone production centers haven’t had the desired effect. They have too many of them. But after Detroit … the public is waking up. Multiply that effect by nine, combine it with a similarly brutal strike from the NWG targeting more urban areas, and the war may come to an end. Isn’t that what we want? To win the war?”

  “With what cost attached?” Lorenzo asked. The shock on his face made Samuel wither. “Thousands of lives? Innocent people?”

  “It’s the bigger picture I am thinking about,” Samuel said.

  “Tens of thousands of victims is a pretty big picture,” the commander’s father countered.

  “Casualties are a part of war,” Samuel told Thomas, feeding him his own words. “‘How can I forget that stillness prevailing over the city of three hundred thousand?’”

  “Enough,” Thomas said firmly.

  Lara stared at Samuel aghast, a hand over her mouth.

  “I’m offering a suggestion, that’s all,” Sammy finally explained. “It should at least be considered since it will work. Does anyone else have ideas?”

  “I agree with Sammy.” The words came from Albert, but a couple others nodded. “If we can end the war, we should.”

  Commander Byron didn’t have time to react to his son’s statement before Duncan Hudec spoke up.

  “Who’s to say it won’t escalate things?” Duncan said. “We bomb cities with our ordnance, they pull out a nuke. Pretty soon, ain’t no one left standing.”

  “Nuclear weapons have been disarmed and banned since the Scourge,” Anna argued.

  “Don’t be so naïve, miss,” Duncan shot back. “You really think countries really got rid of all their best toys? Ask ol’ Byron here if the NWG fully disarmed.”

  All eyes turned on the commander.

  “Escalation is a possibility. The NWG does have a small number of nuclear warheads at its disposal, as does the CAG. Nowhere near the numbers of, say, a hundred years ago, but enough. The course of action Samuel has suggested could drive the CAG to consider their use.” Commander Byron turned his attention to Samuel, “But in light of our conversation less than an hour ago, I am stunned you would suggest such a thing.”

  “It’s my job to suggest something if it has the possibility to achieve our goal. Am I wrong in assuming that our goal is still to win the war?”

  “You people can’t really think the CAG will respond with nukes, can you?” Albert asked. “You aren’t that stupid.”

  Commander Byron winced at the way Albert slurred his s sounds. Have you already started drinking today?

  “Let’s just blow the world to hell!” Duncan Hudec hollered from where he sat at the corner of the table with his brother. “That’ll end all wars.”

  Several people laughed uneasily. Thomas Byron and the commander both put up a hand to ask everyone to quiet down.

  “Grow up, Duncan,” Samuel responded. “I’m not proposing mass destruction. Not even city-wide destruction. Nine buildings in nine cities. Nine buildings that produce the clones we’re fighting and hold Thirteen cells. The collateral damage will be high, yes, but not catastrophic.”

  He may as well have called everyone in the room morons with his tone.

  “The CAG has consolidated power by orchestrating terrorist acts and blaming the NWG,” Lorenzo reminded the committee. “If we go and commit more terrorist acts, we’re undermining our entire argument.”

  “I suggest we turn our focus to more practical solutions,” Commander Byron said, keeping his voice light and even, “and not on something that could prove to be a catastrophic mistake.”

  “Yes,” Samuel answered, “if anyone knows about making catastrophic mistakes, it’d be you, sir.”

  While no one else in the room knew what the comment meant, Commander Byron stared at Samuel with a gaping jaw. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. Even Samuel seemed shocked at what had come out of his mouth.

  “Excus
e me,” Byron said as he stood slowly. “I believe Samuel and I need to speak in private while this meeting continues without us.”

  Samuel glanced around the room. All eyes were on him. Byron got up first and left the air traffic control tower’s main room. Samuel followed at a much slower pace, his gaze on the floor. Byron waited right outside, his arms folded and his face stone. His blue eyes searched the younger man’s. He spoke in a whisper. “What is going on?”

  “I—I—I—” Samuel rubbed his hair with both hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Sorry?” The commander raised his eyebrows as his eyes continued to bore into Samuel’s. “No. I told you something private. Extremely private. Fifteen minutes later you throw it in my face. Now you say ‘sorry?’”

  “Sir, I don’t know what—”

  “Sammy …” The commander paused as he tried to find the words to express all his jumbled up thoughts. “An hour ago I was trying to console you because I thought you were burdened by what happened in Detroit. Now you want to blow up nine more buildings. Help me understand what is going on because I am lost.”

  “Well, so am I!” Samuel shouted. In the blink of an eye he transformed from someone sorrowful to enraged. “I don’t know what’s what anymore! Now that I’ve seen how we can win, it doesn’t make a difference to me if one person or a million people die, so long as we win.”

  “Why? Where is this coming from?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The commander had his suspicions, knew what he had to do, but didn’t like it. He grabbed Samuel hard on the shoulders and shook him. “Do not lie to me! You know something. What is going on?”

  Then he saw what he was looking for in Samuel’s eyes. Rage. Samuel wanted to kill him, kill everyone. He saw a need to spill blood and revel in it. When their eyes locked, Byron took a step back, afraid of what he saw.