Psion Beta (Psion series #1)

by Gowans, Jacob

  Kawai picked at the rest of Brickert’s food. Her tone sounded as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “It’s a betrayal for her to tell you directly what Jeffie says about you.”

  “But it’s okay for Natalia to tell you, even if she knows you’ll repeat it all to me?”

  Brickert snorted his agreement.

  “Duh, Sammy,” Kawai said. Again, this was supposed to be obvious to him. “And by the way, you’d better be willing to play more games now. Everyone wants to beat you.”

  Kawai wasn’t kidding. Interest in Star Racers Turbo exploded now that he’d lost. Betas played almost every night after dinner, and those who didn’t play, watched. And Sammy did not disappoint the waiting audience. Over the next few weeks, he lost convincingly to Jeffie three more times, never letting anyone else claim the honor of defeating him.

  Sammy searched for a sign that things between him and Jeffie were improving. Two weeks after her first win, she glanced at him without a scowl or frown. He considered it a step in the right direction. Days later, at lunch, she muttered, “Pass the salt.”

  Sammy dismissed this until he saw the salt right in front of him. But before he could react, she quickly added, “—Brickert.” But still . . . it was something.

  And only two days ago, during dinner, her foot accidentally kicked his. She pretended not to notice, but Sammy wondered if she had meant to do it. When he mentioned it to Brickert, his friend gave him a strange look.

  With such thin strands of hope to cling to, Sammy was grateful for anything to boost his spirits. Free time on Sundays, passing his Geography exam, and time in the Arena all helped, but nothing compared to the day he finished his sims session and saw this:

  Accuracy: 1/20

  Timeliness: 1/20

  Efficiency: 1/20

  Overall: 1/20

  This pleasant surprise was followed by another, less-welcome one the next day. Sammy stumbled into the cafeteria early Saturday morning. It was 0210, and his eyes barely focused on anything. He had gone to bed just over two hours earlier. Only a few other Betas were there before him. He looked into the flashing panel for the Game instructions and waited for the blurriness to leave his eyes.

  Team 1:

  Covas, Miguel

  Covas, Rosa

  Nujola, Kawai

  Plack, Brickert

  Reynolds, Kaden

  Reynolds, Kobe(*)

  Zheng, Li Cheng

  Team 2:

  Alanazi, Cala

  Covas, Marie(*)

  Enova, Levu

  Morel, Brillianté

  Petrov, Ludwig

  von Pratt, Gregor

  Yoshiharu, Asaki

  Team 3:

  Berhane, Samuel(*)

  Hayman, Albert

  Ivanovich, Natalia

  von Pratt, Parley

  Trector, Martin

  Tvedt, Gefjon

  Victory: 3 Wins

  Maximum Game Length: 75 minutes

  Start Time: 0245

  “I’m honcho?” he muttered to himself. “I’m honcho and he gave me the smallest team?”

  His oatmeal tasted bland and landed hard in his knotted stomach. What’s Byron playing at? I can’t win in these conditions. Al soon came in with Marie, and before sitting down to eat, offered Sammy a few reassuring words and a hearty pat on the back. When Brickert saw the panel, he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

  “Figures it’d be Kobe the first time you play honcho. And you only have six guys!” Brickert’s grin stretched ear to ear. “With Li and Kaden on our team—we’re gonna waste you.”

  Sammy flipped his oatmeal at him, but Brickert shielded it away.

  “Should I hope you do well or hope you lose?” he asked Sammy. “I mean, it won’t give me any pleasure to see Kobe beat you, but he is my honcho.”

  “Just play your best game, and I’ll play mine,” Sammy grumbled as he noticed the look of displeasure on Jeffie’s face as she read the panel. Across the cafeteria, some of the older Betas on Kobe and Marie’s teams were huddled together, talking quietly. Sammy wondered if they expected to be beaten in the Game just like in Star Racers.

  “You’ll do great,” Brickert continued. “You got Al and Martin, plus Parley and Natalia won’t give you any grief. “

  Sammy lowered his voice. “Do you think Jeffie will try to sabotage me?”

  “Not everyone thinks like you,” Brickert said, giving Sammy a playful shove. “Besides, hurting you means helping Kobe—you think she wants that? If she has any ill feelings toward you, it’s a hundred times worse toward Kobe, I’ll tell you.”

  At 0235, twenty tired Psions plodded to their starting places. Sammy saw how groggily everyone moved and decided to lead his team in some warm-ups. Afterwards, he felt much more awake and noticed his team did, too. The lights dimmed, and he ordered his team into the dark Arena.

  Marie won the first Game, and then the second. Kobe won third Game, and then the fourth. But these were more than failures; Sammy’s team was routed every game. He couldn’t explain it: he knew exactly what he needed to do to win, but he couldn’t go through with giving the orders. What if his team didn’t agree? What if they decided to do something different? He had no way of knowing if they’d follow him. And why should they? He had disobeyed orders from Gregor. And Kobe. They had no loyalty to Sammy. He was younger than almost all of them. How did he know they wouldn’t abandon him?

  It was just like when he played games with his friends in the old grocery store . . . he ignored his gut instinct. Only now he knew his “gut” was really his anomaly. His stupid anomaly that gave him the upper hand in almost everything. Instead of using a winning strategy, he placed upon himself the majority of the responsibility and gave his team simple jobs and basic directions. If his orders were followed, great. If not, no big loss. It was only good fortune that Kobe and Marie had drawn in the first four matches. One more win by either honcho, and Sammy could go back to sleep and feel miserable the rest of the day.

  His team waited in the hall laying or sitting on the floor. Everyone was exhausted, ready to be done with the Game. Sammy sat alone with his eyes closed, hating himself for being who he was, but unable to change anything. Someone sat down next to him. Sammy peeked through his hands.

  It was Al.

  “Can I talk to you please?”

  Sammy thought Al sounded rather stern. Rather than answer, he sighed and dropped his hands so Al could see his face.

  Al tugged on Sammy’s sleeve. “Alone.”

  Reluctantly, Sammy got up and followed Al around the corner. Al stopped and surveyed him angrily. “Marie is never going to feel about you the way she feels about me. You’re way too young for her.”

  Sammy gawked stupidly. At first he thought he’d misheard Al, but he’d understood Al perfectly. There’s no way I’m having this conversation—especially right now.

  Al continued, poking a finger into Sammy’s chest. “You’re losing on purpose because you think you can win Marie over, the way you lose to Jeffie in Star Racers so she’ll like you, right?”

  “I—I—huh?”

  Al broke into a huge smile. “Just kidding. Why are we losing, Sammy?”

  “I don’t know. Things just aren’t going right.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. Why are we losing?”

  Sammy frowned and looked away. It was amazing how Al could talk to him in almost the same way that Byron did when giving correction or advice.

  “Al, I just can’t do it,” he said helplessly. “I know how to win, but I’m—I’m scared of everyone messing up.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. What if Parley or Natalia screws up? Or if Jeffie loses on purpose—-”

  “Like you did with Kobe?”

  Sammy’s face felt hot but his answer was defiant. “Sort of, yeah.”

  “Where has it gotten you so far?” Al waited for Sammy to answer, but Sammy knew he didn’t need to. “Maybe you should change tactics.”

 
; “But what if—” Sammy started to say.

  “Save butts for the chairs. You can trust me, Sammy. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, because I trust you. Start there.”

  He gave Sammy that familiar pat on the back and walked away.

  Sammy blew out a long slow breath. Okay—okay—I can do this. I can do this. He walked around the corner. Most of his team stared at him. He gave them a weak smile, but he felt really awkward trying to give a pep talk to a bunch of older Betas.

  “Okay. Um—we have three Games to win,” he told them. The more he spoke the firmer the conviction grew in his voice until he almost felt like a real honcho. “The other Games don’t matter. We can still win. We will win! Does anyone doubt that?”

  “Not me,” Al said. He had a stupid, cheesy grin on his face, but Sammy was still grateful for his vote of confidence.

  “Because if you do, go back to bed now.”

  “Martin, Parley, Natalia . . . Jeffie?”

  “If I’m going to be up this early, I’d better win,” Martin shouted. Then he let out a war cry, and smacked the others’ helmets to fire them up.

  Everyone laughed.

  “We don’t have to beat them, they have to beat us,” Sammy said as the lights began to dim again. “Here’s our plan ….”

  Sammy’s ideas worked, and two Games later his team was one win away from victory. The matches had been rough; there were some close calls, but Sammy managed to stay active through both Games. The depressed feeling in the hallway had transformed into jubilance. Tired, but elated. Everyone, including Jeffie, tasted the victory. He discussed some things that went wrong and made suggestions for improvement. He liked that they all listened to him.

  The Arena setup was unusual. Rather than a different layout for each new match, the Arena format stayed exactly the same. This made each match last longer than the one before, and meant strategies constantly had to be altered during and between games.

  Byron had designed a dark and complex labyrinth of tall thin halls, but the halls didn’t shift or move as previous ones had. As the three teams came to know the labyrinth better through consecutive Games, specific spots were fought over to gain better position; sometimes a honcho’s approach became more cautious, while others evolved more aggressive tactics.

  Sammy led his team to their dumping room. He called it this because their entrance grew more and more narrow until they dropped five meters into a single room with only one exit. He ordered his team to keep close together, assigning three people as short range lookouts.

  The labyrinth had two levels. All teams entered on the bottom deck. The upper deck was too high to reach by blast jumping, even off the walls. One wall in the dead center of the Arena had a ladder climbing it, and as far as Sammy knew, that was the only way up. Kobe’s team had won the first Game because they’d been the first to find it. Brickert had guarded the access point while the rest had rained down blasts on their opponents from the upper platforms. In each of the six Games, almost all the battles had centered around the ladder. Sammy expected the final Game to be no different.

  He hurried his team toward the center, a circular intersection where seven narrow hallways met. Along the way, he ordered Al, Jeffie, and Parley to take an alternate route. They ran through a zigzagging maze of narrow halls, and stopped at the intersection.

  “Al, where are you guys?” Sammy asked.

  “We’re hidden behind the corner, but we can see the ladder right now. Just waiting on your orders. “

  “You see anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Staring into the intersection reminded Sammy of an old game show he used to watch. “Samuel Berhane, what’s behind door number four?” He couldn’t see Al, Jeffie, or Parley, but knew where they were. The question remained: where had Kobe and Marie chosen to take cover? If Kobe and Marie’s teams weren’t already lurking around one of the other corners, they would be very soon.

  An idea struck him. He didn’t pause to wonder if it would work. It felt right.

  He spoke quickly and quietly on his com: “Everyone but Jeffie will wall-blast to the top of the halls. The five of us who are up top will fire concentrated blasts into all the other passages until we flush the other teams out. As soon as you see movement, stop firing.

  “Jeffie, I need you to be a diversion. You need to stay down and fire blasts at them from ground level. Draw enough of them underneath Al and Parley so they can do some real damage. If you make it far enough away, double back on a different path and try and get behind some of them. Everyone clear?”

  Everyone was clear.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Wall-blasting was a hard technique to master. It required blasting off opposite walls in a continuous upward direction without turning around in midair. The backward blasts in particular took hours of practice to perfect; the timing and ankle work had to be right on target. It had been one of the hardest elementary techniques for Sammy to master before moving on in the sims.

  In near perfect formation he, Natalia, and Martin blasted up the walls. They caught themselves near the ceiling, suspended only by the friction of their feet against the walls, using their arms for occasional support or balance. They staggered themselves vertically, positioning their bodies so each had maximum targeting range.

  “Is everyone in position?” Sammy asked.

  All replies were affirmative.

  He paused to revel in the moment and then said, “Fire at will.”

  Together with Martin and Natalia, Sammy blasted into the three other passages he could see from his angle. He heard cries of surprise in two of the halls and relayed the information to Jeffie. Moments later, someone from either Marie or Kobe’s team sprinted into the intersection to scout out Sammy’s position. Whoever it was, he or she moved too quickly to be taken down and darted safely into another passage. Sammy ordered everyone to keep up the barrage of blasts into the neighboring passages. Eventually one team had enough and seven players rushed into the intersection firing blindly in all directions, but mainly up at the second floor platform. Sammy recognized Kobe and Brickert in the group.

  They think we’re already up on the second level. He smiled wryly, waiting for them to spot Jeffie and run after her. “Take them out.”

  Sammy’s team finished off three of the seven invaders before Jeffie was spotted. The remaining four chased her down the hall into Sammy’s trap. Al reported that two of those four lay motionless beneath him and Parley, and Jeffie had gotten away safely.

  One team down. Sorry, Kobe, but not really.

  Sammy ordered renewed blasts into the other five passages, concentrating on the ones the scout had left and entered minutes ago. He figured as long as they guarded the second level entrance, they held the advantage. This went on for a couple of minutes when Natalia screamed.

  Sammy looked back in time to see her falling about twelve meters to the floor, landing hard on her stomach, helmet closing down on her. Sammy swore under his breath, not because of Natalia’s fall—her suit would absorb most of the impact—but because he’d been caught off guard by the two stragglers from Kobe’s team firing up at him and Martin. Martin turned with Sammy to finish them off when Al yelled, “Buckle up. Here we go!”

  Marie’s team of seven poured into the intersection, focusing their fire into Sammy’s hallway. Martin’s position was more suited to defend against Marie’s attack, so Sammy ordered him to defend against them while he took care of the two from Kobe’s team.

  “Jeffie, we need you back here now!” he shouted.

  “I’m coming!” she answered.

  Between the seven in the intersection, who fought with more coordination than Kobe’s team had, and the two from Kobe’s team in the rear, Sammy’s perched players were caught in a very tight place. He had just managed to take out one of Kobe’s two when Martin fell from his spot and crashed to the floor deactivated. Al reported that he and Parley were just barely holding on as four of Marie’s surrounded them below.

&n
bsp; Great. That leaves four to me.

  A well-aimed shot knocked his leg loose from the wall, and he was forced to launch himself from his perch. He tried to deactivate the remaining member of Kobe’s team while still in the air, but couldn’t, and so he landed behind him.

  Parley’s voice came over the com: “We took out one of Marie’s—aurgh!”

  “What happened?” Sammy screamed, louder than he meant, still aiming a blast at the head of the person he just realized was Brickert.

  “We just lost Parley,” Al answered.

  “Jeffie, we need you now,” Sammy cried.

  “I’m trying to find you guys, but I’m a little turned around!” she shrieked. Her voice was shrill and desperate, more so than he could ever remember hearing it.

  “Please hurry,” Sammy answered.

  He and Brickert were locked in a battle that needed to end quickly. All of Marie’s team had left to gang up on Al.

  “I need help here real bad, Sammy,” Al said. “There are five of them on me!”

  “I’ll be right there,” Sammy said in a cool voice, then to Brickert he added, “Sorry, buddy.” He performed a dazzling array of acrobatic blasts and jumps, leaving Brickert completely turned around.

  “That’s not right!” his roommate cried out in frustration.

  In a neat flip off the right wall, Sammy gracefully soared over Brickert’s head and laid a hand on his roommate’s helmet. A gentle blast deactivated Brickert. Then Sammy landed in the intersection.

  He looked up to see Al moving in a flurry of defensive blasts and foot attacks, letting go of his hold on the wall just long enough to blast and regain his footing. As bizarre as Al’s movements were, Sammy was impressed he’d had managed to stay up so long. Two of Al’s enemies turned on Sammy as soon as he appeared in the intersection. Sammy parried and evaded their blasts, sending out his own from the ground and from the air in mid-jump.

  Two more of Marie’s stopped attacking Al to help take out Sammy. Desperately, Sammy launched into an all-out barrage of attacks, figuring his defensive maneuvers were now worthless against four. Just as Al picked off the one who had stayed to attack him, Sammy hit Marie in the helmet, but the cost was a shot to his own helmet from Cala. As Sammy arched backward from the blast, slowly falling through the air, his eyes caught hold of something just as the helmet covered his face.