Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5)

by Jacob Gowans

  “When—when did you let it out? Why?”

  The fury that a moment ago had emanated from Samuel’s very being now dissipated like a popped balloon. The younger Psion’s frame slackened and bent. He regarded the commander now with an expression of deep remorse that seemed to reach his bones. He didn’t answer, didn’t speak. Commander Byron put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I understand now, but you need to talk to me. When did—”

  “When do you think? Why do you think? I didn’t have a choice.”

  Commander Byron had seen the footage of Samuel fighting the Thirteens in the basement of the Joswang Tower in Detroit, but he hadn’t believed Samuel had used the Anomaly Thirteen. Surely Samuel had shown restraint and good judgment. His obvious prowess and speed in battle, that had all been the rush of adrenaline and Samuel’s other natural gifts. That was what he had told himself.

  I was wrong.

  “There is always a choice, Samuel,” Byron finally said.

  “It helped me. I couldn’t have gotten Brickert out of there without it.”

  “You do not know that.”

  “I do know!” Samuel clenched his fists tightly that his knuckles whitened. “I know what I’m capable of.”

  “I told you to keep your emotions in check. You cannot use the anomaly. Not even a step down that path!”

  “It’s too late. Okay? And I’m not sorry because I saved my best friend’s life.”

  “There is no good excuse. There is not one excuse good enough for that. How many times do I have to tell you that you are—”

  “The most important asset in the war?”

  “Yes! You are too valuable to lose.”

  “I’m fully aware that Command licks their chops at the prospect of having me for a lifetime of service … provided we win this war, of course.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Valuable to me is what I meant.” Byron’s grip on Sammy’s shoulder tightened. “As far as I am concerned, you are my son. Have I not told you that?”

  “More than once, sir,” he whispered.

  Byron let go of Samuel’s shoulder and grasped him behind the neck. Before Byron knew it, Samuel had wrapped his arms around him.

  “I’m sorry, sir. But I couldn’t just let him die. I had to do everything I could.”

  “I know, but the darkest deeds are often done by desperate people who mean well. Promise me. Never again.”

  “I can’t.”

  Byron released Samuel so he could look into his eyes. “You have to. I want your word. You will never again use the anomaly.”

  “I can’t give you my word, sir. I can’t promise I’ll never do it again.”

  “Samuel … Sammy …”

  “No. Because I don’t know what the future holds or if someday I’ll have to break that oath.”

  “Nothing is worth—”

  “Some things are. Brickert’s life. Jeffie’s life. Yours. I refuse to accept someone’s death when I can do more to save him.”

  “Sammy—”

  “I’m done talking about this, sir. Tell the committee I’m not feeling well, and I withdraw the idea I submitted to them. And—and give them my apologies.” Then Samuel left before the commander could respond.

  * * * * *

  Back at his house, Sammy threw himself on his bed. His room carried the faint smell of sweat and old laundry. Dirty clothes littered the floor. Across the hall, in Brickert’s room, things were tidy, almost pristine. Nothing in there had been touched for days. But in Sammy’s world everything was a mess.

  And my fault.

  A noise came from the kitchen, distracting him from his misery.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  “Hiya stranger,” came Jeffie’s voice.

  Sammy dropped his head back to his pillow. “What do you want?”

  “To see my boyfriend.” She appeared at the door to his bedroom, smiling like it was Christmas morning.

  Sammy groaned in response. He knew it was rude, but didn’t care at the moment. Jeffie frowned and sat by him on the bed. Her fingers combed through his hair; he closed his eyes and savored the sensation. In a world as screwed up as his, it was nice to have one thing to provide a little comfort.

  “Can we spend some time together this weekend, Sammy?” Jeffie asked. “Just us? Doing something fun?”

  “I don’t know,” Sammy said. “I’m really busy.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been busy since Detroit.”

  The idea of being alone with Jeffie, having to talk about feelings and pretending to be happy so she could be happy, did not appeal to him. A big pile of fake happiness between them. But if he wasn’t with Jeffie, he’d be by himself. And he didn’t want that either. Neither did he want to be around other people. Truthfully, the only person he wanted to talk to was Brickert. He wanted to know his friend would be all right. Wanted to tell him sorry for everything, that punching him had been a mistake, and that he’d never regretted anything so much in his entire life.

  “Sammy? Are you even in the room with me?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Sammy asked.

  “The question that’s been on my mind for weeks. You’re AWOL. I call. You don’t answer. I send you messages. You don’t respond.” She snatched his com from him and pulled up his screen. “You’re not even opening them!”

  Sammy grabbed it back from her, his face red and hot.

  Jeffie seemed to swallow her anger as she pressed on. “Even when we’re together, you’re somewhere else. Like now. You’ve been distant ever since Detroit, Sammy. Distant and different.”

  “I’m not—what does—I don’t have time for this, Jeffie.”

  Jeffie gestured to his bed. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were so busy laying there and all. Should I leave so you can get back to that?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Sammy turned over onto his side so all she could see was his back.

  “Please talk to me,” Jeffie pleaded. “You’re a fighter. You always have been. Look at all you’ve accomplished—”

  Sammy laughed harshly. “No thanks.”

  Jeffie grabbed him and twisted him around. “Stop. This isn’t healthy. Whatever it is that’s causing this, we can talk about it. We can get through it.”

  Sammy shook his head. “You don’t even know what’s going on. Why do you think you can fix my problems?”

  “Because I love you.”

  The words were not what Sammy had expected to hear. And judging by the shocked look on Jeffie’s face, she hadn’t expected to say them.

  “Take that back, Jeffie. Take it back now and say it was an accident.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t mean it.”

  Jeffie’s gaze focused on something far away. She was looking past Sammy, or perhaps through him. Her hand slipped into his, and though her touch warmed and comforted him, he wanted her to let go. She sensed this and tightened her grip. And when she looked at him again, she smiled. “Actually, I think I do mean it.”

  It was wrong. It was all wrong. Not because she loved him but because of what he was, what he’d done. The only reason she could think she loved him was because she didn’t know him. Not really. She couldn’t see the ugly reality behind the person everyone thought was a hero.

  “I’m a monster.” He thought he’d said the words in his head, but he’d spoken them aloud. Jeffie stared back at him with confusion. Sammy crawled off the bed, putting distance between himself and Jeffie. “Stay away from me. This is over. It has to be.”

  Just as he’d run away from Byron, Sammy walked as fast as he dared, closed the door behind him, and then fled while Jeffie shouted his name.

  6. Extraction

  Wednesday, March 26, 2053

  KATIE JERKED AWAKE. Her heart punched the inside of her ribs with each beat. Sweat soaked her clothes and bed sheets, cooling rapidly as the night air hit them. She fumbled in the dark until she found the switch to her lamp and flipped it on. Her eyes went straig
ht to her hands, but there was no red on them. They were clean.

  “A dream,” she whispered as her head hit her cold pillow. But even still, she had to examine her palms and fingers again. Once satisfied, she dropped her hands to her sheets and felt the wetness there. Katie sniffed her hands. It wasn’t sweat.

  “Oh no.”

  She worked in silence; ripped the bedding off her mattress, changed out of her soiled clothes, and threw it all in the washer. Her parents couldn’t know, which meant she had to stay up until they had dried so she could put the sheets back on the bed.

  Once she had the machine running, she slumped onto the couch in her robe and tried to read the book she’d been assigned for her Literature course: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. After a few paragraphs, she set her tablet down. It was no use. All she could think about was the dream. Priyanka had been voted prom queen, Katie the princess. Priyanka taunted Katie as she passed her on the dais to receive the queen’s crown. Katie tackled Priyanka and smashed her face in with the crown until Priyanka’s blood covered her hands and face.

  Then the dream had changed. Katie walked barefoot in the cold forest. The smell of the earth and the leaves filled her nose. The shadow version of herself joined her again. Katie stared at the shadow for a long time, realizing that it was not as scary as it seemed the first time. It was her, only without color.

  You can be free, Shadow-Katie said. Do you want that?

  “Free from what?”

  Katie caught a glint in Shadow-Katie’s black eyes. The shadow grinned as though filled with pure euphoria. Everything.

  “How?”

  Shadow-Katie raised a hand, and Katie knew that it was an invitation for her to touch the hand with her own. Hand slightly trembling, she raised her limb and placed it against the shadow’s hand. And then woke.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Katie said as she rubbed her head. “Stupid dreams … go away.”

  A beep from her tablet alerted her to a new message:

  Someones up late … What are you doing?

  It was Mark, her boyfriend. If she didn’t answer soon, he’d start talking dirty. So she quickly replied:

  Homework. Just finished. U?

  Mark answered.

  You dont wanna no. It aint homework. You really doing homework? Or “homework?”

  Katie made a grossed out face and wrote:

  REAL homework, perv. I’m so beat. Lit is gonna kick my butt. See you tomorrow. xoxo

  She rolled her eyes at the lameness of her own message, but it was what all the girls did when they signed off with their boyfriends. Mark buzzed her again before she could end their chat:

  Hey wait. Heard Pri’s gonna ramp things up tomorrow. Gettin ugly.

  Katie had no choice but to respond.

  What’s she doing?

  Mark’s answer came quickly:

  Posting pictures of you at a slumber party with stuff all over your face. Just stupid stuff but it makes you look dum. Says something like “prom queen or court jester?” I dunno. Damien was telling me about it. Sorry babe.

  Katie laughed as she finished their conversation:

  Wow. If that’s all she’s got, I’m not really worried. Night.

  The next day, when Katie saw the pictures, she wished she’d taken Mark’s warning more seriously. Someone put them up during first period, and they were everywhere when she left her class.

  The pictures were horrific. She recognized them from a slumber party she’d gone to at Courtney’s house. Katie had been the first girl to fall asleep, so her friends had taken a bunch of shots of her in weird poses. Now, with several undressed men doctored in, the photos made Katie look like a slut.

  “PROM QUEEN OR PORN QUEEN?” they read.

  Crowds of students gathered around the photos, gawking at them. When Katie saw the first one, she tore it down, but there were dozens of them plastered all over the building. Students jeered and whistled at her when they saw her, calling her filthy names and wagging their tongues.

  Katie burned with rage. She pulled down every poster she saw, screaming as she did so. Several students filmed her with their phones and watches, but she didn’t care. Her cries reached the ears of a few teachers, who came out of their classrooms to investigate. When they saw the cause for her alarm, they helped her take down the pictures. It took them the better part of an hour to locate them all, but by the time they finished the damage was done. The images were so vulgar, so obscene—she looked like she’d been caught making a smutty film.

  How could Priyanka do this?

  Before Katie made it to her next class, the principal, Mrs. Simpson, approached her in the hall and put her hands on Katie’s shoulders. “Come to my office, Miss Carpenter.” Without realizing it, Katie was gripping the pictures so tightly in her hands they left small paper cuts. Mrs. Simpson gently pulled them from her grasp and led her away. Katie hadn’t taken five steps when she broke down in tears. Her life was over.

  * * * * *

  Saturday, May 10, 2087

  Diego sat in the center of the Hive watching his screens. My friends. They glittered and sparkled at him like diamonds, feeding him information and connecting him to the world. He was Superman observing the world from his Fortress of Solitude. He was an angel on top of the world. Nothing could touch him. Nothing could harm him. He was a secret, powerful and unseen. Everywhere and nowhere. Godlike. It was a nice way to live: no distractions, no interruptions, no people.

  At least that was how it used to be until a few months ago, when visitors came, including Samuel Berhane, Jr., The World’s Most Arrogant Boy. Sammy had almost ruined everything. While removing evidence of the boy’s visit, Diego had thought of many colorful nicknames for Sammy. Pubescent petulant pissant. That one was his favorite.

  It had taken him days to clean up the mess: tossing weighted bodies of Thirteens into Lake Coari for the piranhas to devour, removing lines of code from the databases and servers where Sammy’s team had hacked the systems, deleting system alerts that Sammy’s team had set off entering the Hive. Diego had wanted to tell the fox everything that had happened, to raise all the alarms, but someone had stopped him.

  Trapper.

  I should have activated the fail-safes of the Hive the instant I knew he was here. Instead, he’d let Sammy speak, and the very mention of Trapper’s name, had woken Trapper, a man long since beaten. Now Trapper had renewed purpose and strength, gathered from years of isolation. He decided he wanted a voice and refused to be ignored. And his primary mission was to stop Diego from communicating to the fox. At every turn he was there blocking Diego with threats of murder.

  Suicide, Trapper reminded Diego. Even Trapper’s voice inside Diego’s head had that maddening lisp.

  “I am not you!” Diego had screamed more than once at the intruder. “I have nothing to do with you!”

  He knew Trapper’s threats were real. Trapper would do it. He would kill Diego. Diego had woken up from the gas, even had his finger on the alert button, but Trapper had put a gun to Diego’s head. A long talk followed, ending in a compromise. Diego would allow the Hive infiltration to be covered up, and Trapper would let Diego continue his daily duties serving the fox.

  Most of Diego’s screens showed CAG and NWG news stations’ coverage of the war—the hottest story for the last nine months. Both sides spun the story in their favor, yet neither side gave very accurate details. The truth (as only a few knew) was that the war wasn’t going well for either side. The devastating attack on Detroit had demoralized the northern and eastern CAG territories. Clone production couldn’t meet demands, and the product was still severely flawed and underdeveloped. Meanwhile the NWG still didn’t have the strength or manufacturing power to mount an effective offensive strike. The data didn’t lie.

  A beep from one of his screens called his attention. Diego turned to see a purple animated fox staring back at him. He instinctively sat a little straighter in his chair and waited to be addressed to show his respect for t
he greatest man he’d ever known.

  “The Queen will visit you shortly. She is already en route. Provide her with all the information she requests. I need you to brief her on confidential matters.”

  Diego raised what remained of his left eyebrow. The Queen had never visited the inner sanctum of the Hive. And the fox had never called her the Queen. Something was amiss. “Have you seen the news recently?”

  “I haven’t. Is there some matter of which I need to be made aware?”

  “No—no … I was—never mind.”

  The graphic of the fox disappeared, replaced with satellite images of areas designated as important to watch.

  It’s not him, Trapper said.

  “I am aware of that!” Diego snapped.

  Years ago, the fox and Diego had made an arrangement that if Diego ever suspected the fox was acting under duress, he would ask the fox if he had read the news. The fox, in return, would state, “The news is never new if you knew what I know.” And the fox had not said those words.

  A hologram? Trapper suggested.

  “Or a test?” Diego countered.

  Shoot her down. The fox won’t blame you. Tell him you were acting in his best interest.

  “Don’t be foolish. I can’t just shoot down the Queen!”

  Sure you can. Wait until she appears on the radar and give the command.

  Diego’s eye socket and broken, scarred lips twitched violently as he tried to decide what to do. When the Queen appeared on his display, he kept his eye fixed on her cruiser but made no attempt to kill her.

  Do it. Do it. Do it, Trapper whispered incessantly.

  She landed on the small island and entered through the main doors. Diego watched her on camera as she ascended the stairs to the top floor. He sensed an air about her that disturbed him, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.