by Jacob Gowans
Hold on Samuel . . .
* * * * * * *
Aside from the oversized hand cannon in her right hand, Beauty was unarmed. Even now, Sammy found her to be an imposing sight: tall, strong, and thin, utterly beautiful. But she had an intangible quality that Sammy also noticed. A cloak of invisible evil that she wore. It permeated the air around her and unlocked more of the darkness still inside Sammy.
This woman was death.
“You must be important, Sammy,” Beauty said. “But from looking at you I wouldn’t know why.”
“Hold that window, Toad,” Sammy muttered. “Don’t let them in.”
“Maybe I should kill your boyfriend first,” she offered, with a grin that showed off her perfect teeth.
Sammy attacked. Beauty shot off her cannon. Sammy easily shielded the shrapnel before it could spread. He threw a punch at her jaw, but she was already too far away before his fist was even close. Her legs landed on the cruiser wall, and he aimed a blast at her chest. She jumped over him, directing her cannon point blank at his body, too close for him to use his hands. He used a foot blast to jettison himself out of the way.
Beauty immediately changed her aim to Toad’s backside. Sammy caught it just in time. With one powerful blast, he turned her weapon away, blowing the passenger seat of the cruiser into chunks of leather, stuffing, and tearing small holes through the cruiser’s side. The frame of the chair hit the floor. The cushioning smoldered, making the air reek of burned plastic.
Beauty charged into Sammy, faster than he had time to react, sending him crashing into the wall of the cruiser with a dull thud. He returned her the favor, blasting off the wall, turning himself into a projectile. She sent another round at him, then crouched low like a spider, allowing him to sail harmlessly over her. While mid-air, another blast from his hand forced her off balance, driving her face into the floor. Sammy heard a sharp snap.
A grunt escaped her.
Sammy landed on the other side of the cruiser. Toad had turned away from the window. His face was pale and sweaty. The Thirteens had stopped trying to shoot into the cockpit.
“Take whatever cover you can find,” Sammy told him.
Please, brain, I need your help. I need to see how to beat her.
Beauty screamed and shrieked a string of vile curses at Sammy, shoving herself off the floor. Her nose had broken, and blood flowed freely from it. Her cannon shot again. Sammy shielded himself, but the shrapnel had enough spread to rip into the sides and paneling of the cruiser. She shot again. As Sammy shielded himself, she rushed him. He focused the concentration of his next blast, but she anticipated it, flipping her lower body over the blast. Sammy ducked and rolled under her. In the corner of his eye, he saw Toad hiding himself behind the one remaining pilot’s chair. He was aiming the nail gun, but his hands were shaking badly.
Come on, brain! WORK FOR ME!
Beauty used her hands to rebound off the wall and doubled off the ceiling to aim her body at Sammy. He tried to blast her again, but she whipped herself around too fast. The toe of her shoe caught Sammy in the ribs, but he rolled out of the way as her hand cannon tore a large chunk out of the flooring where he had just been. He used his foot to kick out at her, connecting with her knee, bringing her down to the floor in a tumble. As she fell, she whipped her cannon down on Sammy’s shoulder. He yelled in pain, as a sharp crack of lightning spread from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers followed by a tingling numbness.
Sammy heard Toad pull the trigger of the nail gun, but all that came was a puff of air. Toad cursed. He was out of nails, and the spare cartridge was in Sammy’s pocket.
Beauty got up first, leaping to her feet. In that moment, Sammy knew he had lost. Beauty had only shocked the nerve with the blow to his shoulder, but he couldn’t move his arm. His other arm was caught underneath the damaged frame of the chair Beauty had blown apart only a minute ago.
She was too fast. Too strong. Too smart.
He knew there wasn’t enough time to react. He tried to lift his legs so he could use his feet as shields, but he wouldn’t make it in time. Her weapon was already pointed straight at him. Toad screamed somewhere near him. With no words, no grins, not even a look of victory, Beauty finished the job and pulled the trigger.
“Sammy!” Toad cried.
Sammy closed his eyes and heard the hand cannon erupt. A heavy weight slammed into him as his feet finally blasted, milliseconds too late to block the cannon’s death shot. Something big hit the rear of the cruiser, away from him. Pieces of shrapnel grazed Sammy’s trapped arm, stinging and burning him. He opened his eyes.
Toad’s shrapnel-filled body was on top of him. Beauty looked dazed from her collision with the back of the cruiser. The side door to the cruiser jerked open. Sammy struggled to turn and face more enemies.
“Samuel?” Sammy couldn’t see the face yet because his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light, but he knew the voice.
“Commander Byron?” Sammy said in response. It didn’t seem possible. But when everything came into focus, he saw the commander. “Please. My friend—he’s shot. And there’s a Thirteen in here!”
“Get medical ready!” Byron spoke into his com. Then he spoke to two other Alphas. “Check out the cruiser.”
Sammy looked to the back of the cruiser while the Alphas lifted Toad off him. Beauty was gone. Then he got his first good look at Toad, but what he saw was horrifying. Toad’s chest and legs were like meaty pulp. Blood was everywhere, leaking from every hole. His face was whiter than any normal person’s face should ever be.
“Toad?” he whispered.
“Samuel, we have to go.” Byron pulled the chair frame off of Sammy’s arm and helped him to his feet.
Sammy allowed himself to be led out of the wrecked cruiser and down the hangar. Toad was already whisked out, but left a trail of blood. Sammy’s mind was blank. Everything was right and wrong at the same moment. Byron was here, but Toad . . .
I promised to protect him. Sammy tried to breathe, but choked on the air. He thought he was going to vomit. Byron’s support grew stronger.
“Did you know that boy?” the commander asked. Byron’s voice was light and casual, probably trying to keep Sammy from going into shock.
He nodded weakly. The hangar was completely different now. The Thirteens and Aegis were gone. Most of the bodies were Aegis and security. The resistance had all left, too, the bodies of their dead carried off.
I promised to protect Toad. He meant to say it out loud, but didn’t.
He repeated the words over and over in his head. Each time the resounding failure echoed deeper inside of him, mocking him along with the fresh images of Toad’s body.
Byron gave up trying to talk to him, yet Sammy leaned on Byron more than ever. He was tired and beginning to feel sick. The pilot came out of the cruiser as they left the gaping hole that had been the hangar door. His gloved hands were stained with blood and bits of flesh. Sammy’s stomach swirled again. The Elite’s eyes said everything that needed saying.
“There wasn’t anything I could do, Commander,” the pilot said. “Even if Maad had been here . . .” His voice trailed off as he pulled off the dripping gloves.
This time the sensation in Sammy’s stomach did not stop. He vomited onto the gray pavement, retching and retching until he felt he might vomit everything inside of him. In between retches he sobbed uncontrollably. He felt his mind unraveling again, fraying at the edges.
Why do things like this have to happen? How can things like this happen?
It was his fault. All his fault. If his gift had not been gone . . . I would have beaten her. I should have beaten her!
Beauty—whatever her name was. He ripped himself away from Byron and ran back into the hangar. Back to the cruiser to finish her off. He knew he could do it. Byron and several others caught up and grabbed him.
“No, Samuel,” Byron said. “There is nothing there for you now. We have to leave, or there will be more trouble than we can handle.”
<
br /> “I have to kill her . . .” he cried out pathetically. “That woman . . .” His voice sounded weak and lame, even to him. What was the point in having these stupid abilities if all they brought was death? Martin. Cala. Kobe. Toad. His parents. Dr. Vogt. The Hernandes, too, probably.
When will it be Jeffie or Brickert or Natalia or Kawai?
“Whoever she was, she’s gone now,” he said. Then he steered Sammy to the back of the cruiser. The older Alphas avoided his eyes, but still stared at the boy they had come to rescue. Sammy strapped himself in, still sobbing.
I promised to protect him.
The cruiser took off very quickly. Toad’s body was less than a meter away from Sammy, but he couldn’t look at it. He knew if he saw it, the guilt of his failed responsibility would fall even harder on him. It might even crush him. But the presence of Toad’s body behind him, ghostly, cold, and dripping red, stayed on his mind. He buried his head in his arms.
Not long after, one of the Alphas turned to face him and attempted some sympathetic conversation. She asked something about his being excited to get back home. Sammy stared at her with bleary eyes. He got up and went to the front, ignoring the Alphas who asked him to sit back down.
“Samuel, what—” Byron began.
“Wrobel is a traitor.” Sammy stated this as if he’d said the sky was blue. “I saw him on camera in the factory. He betrayed us.”
Commander Byron seemed to search Sammy’s soul before he answered. “Thank you, Samuel.” Then he turned to Tango Squadron and said, “You have all just heard classified information, understood?”
Byron muttered something into his com and began speaking. “Send a squadron for Commander Wrobel. He needs to be detained immediately and kept under guard. Check his office, personal quarters, everywhere. Confiscate his log reports and data systems, too. I will inform the general.”
Sammy returned to his seat. Any Alpha who hadn’t been staring at him before certainly was now. He didn’t want their eyes on him. He wanted to be alone. It just wasn’t fair. Going home was supposed to be wonderful. Toad was supposed to be an Ultra. He’d already helped Toad start his training, and for what?
Nothing.
The truth of that realization resonated like a gong in Sammy’s soul.
Life isn’t fair, Sammy. Life will never be fair.
That was it, plain and simple, laid out before his mind. At any moment it could be him, or anyone else he knew and loved, and there was no one above or below to guarantee promises of happiness or stability. He thought about his discussions with Al and Dr. Vogt about life after death and God.
Dr. Vogt is dead. And Al is wrong.
He, Samuel Harris Berhane Jr., was as alone in the world as he had ever been, dependent on his own strength and intelligence. A bolt of lightning could strike the stealth cruiser, shut down its power, and send them crashing into the sea. And the sun will rise, the Thirteens will still exist, and people will still go on knowing nothing about what’s really happening in the world.
Bitterness crept into his heart, filling his stomach and chest with its poison. It was sour and it stank to high heaven, but at least things made sense to him now. He did not matter one iota in the grand scheme of things. And it sucked.
28. Command
May 4, 2086
THE FLIGHT OVER THE ATLANTIC was uneventful, and the team arrived in Capitol Island in the late morning. Sammy hadn’t slept a wink. Members of Tango Squadron, on the other hand, were sawing logs all around him.
How can they sleep with Toad’s dead body in the back of the cruiser?
Byron left the co-pilot’s chair and sat by Sammy. “We are stopping at Alpha Headquarters. I am not sure for how long. You need to meet with Psion Command for debriefing. Tango will be there, too. So will Albert.”
“Can’t you tell them that I just want to be left alone?”
“I know you would rather forget about all of this, but since you are not in immediate medical danger, I have no way to get you out of it.”
Sammy nodded blankly and stared out the window, trying not to think of what would be done with the corpse of his friend.
When the cruiser touched down near the edge of a large airstrip, he was surprised to see several cars waiting to escort them. Byron led him to the closest car.
Sammy looked around him, trying to appreciate the fact that he was home, but unable to do so. The twilight air was cool with a fickle breeze that blew through his shaggy mane. It smelled clean and fresh, but did nothing to lift his spirits. Once seated in the car, he watched the rest of Tango Squadron through his window. They all looked tired and glad to be home.
“How long were they looking for me?” He watched the commander’s reflection in the glass as he waited for an answer.
“Weeks,” was the reply.
“They got my message?”
Byron nodded. Sammy hated the sympathy in the commander’s eyes and focused his attention back on the Alphas.
“How did you do that?” Byron asked.
“It was your dad’s idea. He wrote it.”
“Where are we headed, sir?” asked the driver, another Elite officer.
Commander Byron’s eyes stayed on Sammy for several seconds, and his face wore an expression of surprise. “Uh . . . War Offices. Then as an afterthought, he added, “If you please.”
Byron raised a partition between them and the driver.
“You met my father, Samuel?” Byron’s voice was very quiet, which wasn’t like him. Sammy wondered if the commander really believed him.
“I met Thomas and Lara Byron. They helped me.”
Byron swallowed twice and cleared his throat, turning away from Sammy as he did so for five or six seconds. “Does he still quote poetry all the time?”
Sammy nodded. “But I don’t know who wrote any of it.”
Commander Byron looked at his watch. “We have about ten minutes before we reach our destination. Will you tell me what you can?”
Sammy struggled to give the commander a true accounting of his time since Al’s team went to Rio last November, so instead he spoke about how he walked to Wichita and found a resistance compound. Byron’s face was as impassive as stone while Sammy explained how his parents were part of that resistance, and how they’d helped him get home.
The car pulled to a stop in front of a large metal door connected to a mound of concrete the size of a small shed. When they got out of the car, Byron thanked the driver very briskly and opened Sammy’s door.
“Keep up with me, Samuel,” he said.
Normally Sammy would have been interested to take a look around at Alpha headquarters, his future home. At this moment, however, he found himself detached from everything around him. The commander walked faster than his usual pace. The door was reinforced steel and had a palm and eye scanner along with voice recognition. Byron opened it, and they stepped into the small concrete bunker. Inside was a small flight of stairs with a second identical door at the back of a large landing. This time Byron stepped in front of a camera.
“State your name, rank, and identification number, please.” The voice came from a small speaker on the wall.
“Psion Commander Walter Tennyson Byron.” Then he listed off a long number that Sammy knew he should be able to memorize, but couldn’t.
The door opened and a much longer flight of stairs appeared. Sammy didn’t count them as they descended, but guessed they numbered far more than two hundred.
The third door at the bottom required even more identification and was about a foot thick. Blue light leaked through the widening crack. Before Sammy could get a good look at the War Offices, Byron tugged on his sleeve.
“In here.”
He led Sammy to a men’s restroom and checked to make sure no one else was inside the stalls.
He spoke in a low, rushed voice: “Samuel, I am terribly sorry for everything that has happened to you. I came to look for you in Rio the first moment I could, but you had already left.”
Samm
y met Byron’s eyes. “You came to the—?”
“What Tango and I just did for you in Omaha was not known to Command. It was unauthorized. Not illegal, but I am still in a great deal of trouble. So I need you to be honest and tell them everything. I know it will be difficult. When you finish, Dr. Rosmir is going to want to see you.”
Without another word, Byron led them out of the bathroom and down a hallway with blue carpet until they came to a room with a brass plaque that read Command Conference Room. The door was slightly ajar. Sammy heard at least a half dozen voices floating out of the small space. Byron pushed it open.
“Sammy!” Al exclaimed, grabbing Sammy’s hand and pulling him into a tight hug. While Al tried to restrain himself, Sammy felt nothing more than a disjointed desire to feel gratitude. “I knew you were alive!” Al quietly told him in their embrace.
Order came to the meeting and everyone took their seats. Sammy sat between Commander Byron, who was at the head of the Command table, and a man Sammy vaguely recognized as the Alpha Doctor. He’d seen him once before, back when Jeffie broke her leg.
“General Wu cannot be here,” Byron began. “Victor will not be here, either.”
A short Asian man with a slightly bulging stomach and thinning hair spoke up. “Where are they? I was told this was of the utmost importance.”
“The general is in a meeting with the congressional subcommittee on space travel and colonization. However, one of my pupils is here. Samuel Berhane.”
Several people in the room turned to look at Sammy.
“This isn’t—” another commander began. “You mean to tell me—?”
“Yes, Mabella, I do. Samuel, those here at the table are members of Psion Command. You would normally not meet them until your Panel, but allow me to introduce you.” He gestured around the table. “Commanders Annaliese Havelbert, Chang Ling, Muhammad Zahn, and Mabella Iakoka.”
