Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5)

by Jacob Gowans

  Seconds after she finished patching herself up, it rang a third time.

  Chad. The Queen found the com and asked, “Did the Aegis find Berhane?”

  “They entered the sewers as you ordered,” Chad told her. “Berhane is gone. They’ve been searching for him in the service tunnels, but there are kilometers and kilometers of walkways. It could take—”

  “He’s heading for the N Tower. Get the Aegis back there and have them wait until we know exactly where Berhane is. Once we do, attack him. He’ll tear through the Aegis like paper, so have a team of Thirteens ready to go down to hit him hard in a second wave.”

  “No Hybrids?”

  The Queen grinned. “Not yet. Let’s come at him in waves. We’ll wear him down.” Her eyes narrowed on her reflection and she grinned at herself.

  “I also have a report on the trace you ordered on the fox.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in Orlando. Across the city in another safe house.”

  “He can wait for now. I’m coming to Rio. Once Sammy is exhausted, I will be ready to break him like a porcelain doll.”

  22. Elevators

  Tuesday, November 11, 2087

  THE AIR IN the forest was so hot Sammy could taste it, bitter and metallic like the large key in his hand. His shadow had given it to him as he did every time Sammy had the dream. To the right, a vast lake called to him with its usual promise of a cool and refreshing eternity. A raft bobbed and splashed in the choppy waters, silently inviting him to use the key, unlock the padlock, and float away into infinite peace. But to the left was the cave … it beckoned to Sammy in a whisper so faint he couldn’t actually hear it, yet in a voice so sweet he craved more.

  His feet took him toward the cave, seemingly of their own accord. Into the blackness. It was cooler here, especially on his wet brow, and the further in he walked, the cooler it grew. Had he not been in abject darkness, Sammy would have seen his breath. Yet he continued to sweat.

  Finally he reached the steps. Countless times before, he had stood on the precipice, his wet, cold toes dangling over the edge of the first stone stair. Though he’d thought about it numerous times, he had never gone down.

  You’re going to die. Don’t you want to know what’s down there?

  That one suggestion was all it took. Step after step Sammy descended, still dripping sweat that fell in small plops onto the stone. He could tell when he was nearing the end because the scent changed, gradually growing so fetid and rank that breathing became painful. At the bottom Sammy bumped into what could only be an iron door. He ran his fingers along the paneling and touched the bracings until he found the large keyhole on the left side. Its shape perfectly matched the head of the key in his other hand.

  “Sammy,” a weak female voice called to him from inside. “Save me.”

  Jeffie.

  It was her voice. He knew that. And yet he also knew that it wasn’t her. Something in his gut told him to get away, get out, RUN.

  “Sammy … she’s hurting me. She’s killing me!” Jeffie pleaded with more urgency. The pain in her voice put his nerves on edge.

  He held up the key and tried to decide.

  Something jostled him. The darkness, the cave, the smell, the key, and the door … all of it faded away. He was huddled in a small nook with Jeffie and Vitoria cramped in with him, the girls still asleep.

  Sammy swore under his breath. He had told Jeffie and Vitoria he would keep watch. A glance at his watch told him he’d been out for over four hours. Stupid. Careless. Yet he’d needed the rest. And I didn’t wet myself for a change. Even a few hours of cramped, fitful sleep was better than nothing.

  After a drone had spotted Vitoria in the sewer, the three teammates had dashed to grab their equipment packs and head down the tunnel they had carved into the city block’s foundations. Once inside the foundation’s service corridors deep in the earth, they ran for over two hours carrying their heavy packs. The service tunnels were a vast and byzantine maze that connected not only to the N Tower, but multiple skyscrapers in the vicinity. Sammy had committed the whole of it to memory, down to the small nooks and crannies like the one they slept in now.

  He sat up, dizzy and fatigued. The air around them was thick with the scent of drilling chemicals and body odor. We need water, Sammy thought. He knew which pipes carried it, but also knew that bursting a pipe would be the same as flashing a sign at the Aegis saying, “Here we are!”

  Sammy activated his com to check in with Justice and Thomas, but he was too far underground to get any reception. He checked the time. 0542.

  He nudged Jeffie first. “Hey,” he whispered, “wake up.”

  Jeffie’s eyes opened, one completely blood shot, the other only half so.

  “Hiya,” she muttered, her voice hoarse and dry. “How do I look?”

  “Hotter than ever.”

  She laughed weakly. “What time is it?”

  “Four hours left. And some change.” They had coordinated with Commander Byron to activate the kill code at 1000 Rio time and 0800 Orlando time because Rio was two hours ahead of Orlando. The march on Washington D.C. would begin at sunrise, which would occur at 0645. By the time the marchers actually reached downtown D.C. the CAG agents would be dead.

  Jeffie watched Vitoria for a long time. “Is she going to make it out of here alive? Will she even go when she’s done her part?”

  Sammy sighed and tried to rub the sleep from his face. “Can we make her do anything she doesn’t want to do?”

  “We don’t have a suit for her,” Jeffie added.

  “If it comes to that, it comes to that.”

  “I can hear you,” Vitoria muttered.

  “Oh good,” Jeffie responded. “Because it’s time to get up.”

  Toad’s sister cursed in Portuguese. “Am I in hell? Because it’s blazing hot and I’m stuck with the two of you.” Sarcasm laced her weary voice.

  “What now?” Jeffie asked. “We still have a lot of time to kill before we need to be in the white room.”

  “We have four hours.” Sammy kicked his large equipment pack. “It’s going to take us a while to get back to the N Tower. I led us far away to lose the Aegis. But I bet they’re still looking for us. Maybe Thirteens too. We need to drink as much water as we can stomach and make our way to the elevator without them finding us.”

  Sammy pulled his gun and fired a round to burst open the pipe. Cold water sprayed out in a wild gush from above, splashing onto Sammy’s face, in his mouth, and running down his neck into his clothes. It was the greatest thing he could remember. He drank and drank, letting the water cool his body and refresh his spirit. The pleasure of it reminded him of his dream—the cave and the lake—and he wondered why the cave had ever enticed him. After he, Jeffie, and Vitoria drank their fill, they picked up their packs and hurried away.

  It took Sammy well over an hour to lead them to the right elevator. The moment the lift doors opened, Jeffie destroyed the video camera inside it with a single shot. Sammy popped the top hatch of the box and jammed the elevator’s rails so it couldn’t move while Jeffie helped Vitoria climb up through the top. Once they were all on top of the elevator Jeffie lit a flare.

  “How far up is it?” she asked.

  “Is what?” Vitoria asked.

  “The crawlspace,” Sammy answered. “This elevator won’t take us to the white floor. It’s not even part of the N Tower. It’s one of many that service all the levels of these utility tunnels. But this one in particular runs up to the ground level of a building across the street from N Tower. And,” Sammy nodded his head toward the empty space above them, “up there is a crawlspace that connects this elevator shaft to the shaft of elevator number 13 of the N Tower. Elevator 13 does reach the white, black, and red floors. But those floors are much deeper than where we are now.”

  “So we go up, over, and down,” Vitoria said.

  “Up, over, and down.” To our deaths.

  The air in the elevator shaft was much
cooler compared to the furnace-like heat in the utility tunnels. As they climbed the elevator’s thick cables, the sweat and water soaking their clothes chilled them. By the time they reached the connecting crawlspace, Sammy’s arms and legs were cramped and his fingers raw.

  They rested in the crawlspace for as long as they dared, but getting caught or trapped inside the small passageway would mean being turned into Swiss cheese by enemy guns. Sammy had no idea if Elevator 13 was above or below them, but he guessed it was above. When it was time to enter the second elevator shaft, Jeffie dropped a flare. They watched it tumble down out of sight. Then, warily, they started the descent. According to Sammy’s com it was 0715. Almost three hours to kill. Or be killed.

  Halfway down, the second elevator shaft grew lighter, the illumination coming from beneath them. Sammy cursed; he’d been wrong. The elevator was below and moving upward rapidly.

  “Jump on it,” Sammy said as the box approached. “Try not to make any noise.”

  The elevator reached them in moments. The car was silent save for the rushing of air around them. The three managed soft landings, the Ultra with help from the Psions. Vitoria knelt and pressed her ear against the top hatch of the elevator, then signaled to Sammy that she wanted to make a move. He signaled back to do no such thing. She repeated her request more adamantly.

  With a curt nod, Sammy gave her his gun. Vitoria stayed on her knees for a moment longer, muttering to herself. Then she stood, aimed her gun in five places, and fired five times in rapid succession. Sammy and Jeffie pulled open the top hatch and found four dead Thirteens inside, each with a bullet to the head. Jeffie dropped down and whirled to destroy the camera, but didn’t fire. Vitoria had already taken that out too.

  Jeffie glowered at her. “Showoff.”

  Vitoria smirked as she pushed the emergency stop button. However, the elevator did not stop. Vitoria’s smile vanished and she pushed it again.

  “They’ve overridden the controls,” Sammy said. “We have to get out!”

  They worked furiously to cut through the floor as the car rose rapidly. Once Vitoria and Jeffie had the floor partially cut, Sammy blasted the rest away. “Take the packs and go, Jeffie!”

  After Jeffie jumped down feet first, Sammy followed. Vitoria went last. As he fell, he used wall blasts to slow his descent. When Vitoria caught up to him, he caught her in his arms with an “oof.”

  “I swear … you don’t … look this heavy,” he groaned. Despite the joke, getting them down the shaft in one piece was not easy. It took well-timed blast after blast off the walls with only his feet to safely descend. When he needed a rest, Sammy grabbed the cables and hung on with his limbs coiled around the cords, Vitoria hanging beside him.

  “Are you going to make it?” she asked.

  His arms were done, he hadn’t eaten in hours, and Vitoria felt like a boulder. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  When they reached the bottom, she fell out of Sammy’s arms onto the ground. Sammy sat down amidst the hydraulics and machinery that powered the lift. His arms hung limply at his side.

  “Destroy the elevator?” Jeffie asked.

  “No. That’s Vitoria’s only way out.”

  “Sammy—” Vitoria began, but he cut her off.

  “It’s not up for discussion.” He pointed up at the doors to the white floor a few meters above them. “As soon as you open those doors, you get yourself to safety. Then we’ll destroy the elevator.”

  They fell silent. Sammy wiped the sweat off his brow, took a deep breath, and let it out as slowly as he could. His arms still ached; the rest of his body was no better. He climbed to his feet, slinging one of the packs over his shoulder.

  “We’re here way too early,” Jeffie said. “There’s too much time to kill before Byron and Al—”

  “Things haven’t gone as planned,” Sammy answered. “What do you want to do? We can’t risk getting caught in the utility tunnels and not reaching the white floor. And we can’t hide in the elevator shaft.”

  He dug through his pack and took out three packs of energy paste and distributed them to the team. Vitoria shook her head. “You only brought four.”

  “And you need one as much as we do.” Sammy held it out to her until she took it. The paste was bitter and tangy, but gave him a much-needed boost. Yet it couldn’t fix the weariness deep in his bones that came from the knowledge that his time was rapidly running out.

  “Okay,” Jeffie said with a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

  * * * * *

  Byron sat in a cell in the depths of the Orlando N Tower, waiting for the interrogation he knew would come. His face and arms were bruised from the Aegis tackling and subduing him in the lobby of the building hours ago. He’d hoped they would believe what they wanted to see: a deranged homeless man raving about things he did not understand. Fortunately, he’d gotten his wish.

  After sedating him, roughing him up, and searching him, the Aegis found no weapons or contraband, so they chucked him in a cell without performing a more thorough examination. But soon they would return. Once they realized he had two rather expensive bionic legs, they’d draw blood and run a DNA test. Being an operative in the NWG before the Schism meant his DNA was still on file in CAG records. In minutes, they would know exactly who he was.

  Still a little groggy, the commander lay on the floor wondering how many other people had been trapped in the same four walls surrounding him. Sammy had spent weeks on the black floor in Rio. How many other terrified children, broken parents, and lost souls who ran afoul of the Aegis and Thirteens had been imprisoned here? He ran his fingers on the smooth surface of the white wall, and stopped when he felt a series of scratches.

  He peered at them in the dim light. It took almost a minute of squinting and running his fingers over them before he made out the words: We are alone. Each letter was fainter than the one preceding it. Some poor kid had gouged the words into the wall. Had Sammy carved something similar almost two years ago? Byron touched them again and nearly lost his composure.

  “God … what have I done with my life?” he asked in a whisper. “I have led children … even my own son … to the slaughter. Is this what you wanted from me?”

  Not two years ago Commander Byron had possessed such vigor and enthusiasm for his work. All the way up until he was removed as the head of Beta headquarters. He had trained all the Betas, the best fighters and the worst. He thought of Victor. Could Wrobel’s betrayal of the NWG and subsequent madness have been prevented with a little more attention and care from a friend? It both amazed and terrified Byron to think that in the great and vast river of life, he’d had enough influence and power to shape the course of events large and small. It was a burden so few men and women ever experienced.

  What if I could have prevented this war? What if one decision somewhere along the way made the difference?

  Before Commander Byron could ponder on these questions further, the door opened and two Aegis grabbed him under the arms and led him out of the room. To keep up appearances, Byron mumbled incoherently to himself in Amos’s voice. “This ain’t no bread house. Where’s Marjorie? She said they got the best bread at the bread house, don’tcha know?”

  “Shut up, old man,” one of the Aegis said, twisting Byron’s arm so hard he nearly broke it.

  Byron groaned and complained in character, though his arm pulsed painfully each time he moved it. He hoped he hadn’t torn a muscle.

  They led him down a hall to a room with a black door. Inside was a chair, which they thrust him into and slammed the door shut. Then they stripped off his clothes leaving him naked and cold. As he’d suspected, they quickly noticed his bionic limbs. The Aegis who first spotted them drew his weapon and pointed it between Byron’s eyes.

  “Move and you’re dead.” Then, using the jerking and shrieking language of the Thirteens, he told his fellow Aegis to secure Byron and call in back up. Minutes later, seven more Aegis and a Thirteen arrived. One of the Aegis, under the Thirte
en’s orders, removed the commander’s bionic legs while another drew his blood. His method for extracting the blood was crude. He cut Byron with a knife and caught some in a vial.

  The bionic legs that Dr. Rosmir had fashioned for Commander Byron after the battle on Capitol Island were beautiful and well-designed with an implant attachment surgically integrated into the commander’s bone so the limbs themselves could be removed easily for updates and reparations. Had they not been so easy to disconnect, the Aegis might have simply hacked them off with a butcher’s knife.

  It wasn’t ten minutes before the DNA test identified him as Walter Tennyson Byron, former Elite-turned-NWG government agent. They even had access to his pre-Schism classified medical files, which revealed that he was a Psion.

  The atmosphere in the room changed. The Aegis drew their guns and pointed them at the commander’s chest. The sole Thirteen in the room fixed his blood red eyes on Byron’s. He had burned a ring of triangles onto his face, all pointed inward, making his face look smaller and more menacing. His teeth were ground into sharp points as well. The scars on his throat and the deep, raspy voice told Byron that the Thirteen had badly damaged vocal cords.

  “Why are you here, poet?” Triangle-Face asked. “Another bomb? Planning to take down our towers one by one?” He shoved a knife up into the commander’s nostril, but didn’t put enough pressure on it to open the skin. “Your D.C. diversion won’t work. Every tower is guarded. We already have a team sent to detain the infiltrators at the Rio Tower.”

  The pressure from the blade increased until the commander felt a stream of blood tumble down onto his lip. Commander Byron blew it onto the face of the Thirteen, who grinned and licked at it. Then he pulled the knife through the commander’s skin, creating a flare of pain. “Remember those creams we used to use on our more stubborn prisoners?” Triangle-Face asked one of the Aegis. “Why don’t you go find some so we can use them on this one? This poet will tell us everything he knows rather quickly.”