As the next week wore on, signs of deep fatigue became more evident, even to Sammy. He hardly ate, his appetite had all but disappeared. At mealtime, his friends tried to voice their concern, but he assured them he was fine. The dream came back every night now, and a few times his screaming or crying was loud enough to wake Brickert. On Wednesday during breakfast, he caught Brickert and Jeffie discussing whether or not they should go to Byron with their worries, and chewed them out until Jeffie was nearly in tears.
“I’m fine!” he told them in a voice so loud that half the cafeteria stopped to listen.
The incident only made him bury himself deeper into his work. At 2200 that Thursday, Sammy was still in the sim room. He had battled the same four Thirteens for hours. Fighting, then watching the recording. Then fighting again. Then watching again. No success. He’d stopped caring about how many attempts he had made on the trial. It didn’t matter.
“This is not impossible. It can’t be!” he screamed at the top of his lungs after another failed effort. “Why am I beating myself up like this?”
He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, breathing hard. His energy was sapped, but he wasn’t ready to call quits yet. “This has to be worth it. This has to mean something!”
He shoved himself off the ground, determined to give it one more go before going down for dinner. Without bothering to review the fight, he restarted the trial and the same four persons appeared. No sooner had the sim begun than he vividly remembered a conversation with his father from several years ago.
“You’re locked inside a paradigm,” his dad had told him. It was a bright and sunny afternoon and they sat outside on the back porch at a picnic table. His mom lay on a hammock, reading a novel and keeping an eye on them. Sammy rested his chin in his hands as he glumly surveyed the chess board after another annihilation from his dad. “You have to let go of it.”
“What do you mean a paradigm?” ten-year-old Sammy asked.
“Sometimes we get locked into a box of thinking a certain—”
“What box?”
“A box in our minds that surrounds us—blinds us from seeing the truth because we believe so strongly in the wrong thing. And when everyone is thinking only one way, no one can change things for the better. Look at examples from history: people used to believe the earth was flat, they believed in spontaneous generation—you know, that maggots were born from meat—the four minute mile. Things like that.”
“The four minute mile?” Sammy repeated.
“Yeah, didn’t you know? People used to think it was impossible to run a mile in under four minutes—that the human body was not capable of such a feat. Then Roger Bannister set out to break the mark. And he did it way back in 1954. Once he did it, people started beating his time of three minutes and fifty-nine seconds. You know why?”
“Why?” Sammy begged to know.
“Because Bannister destroyed the paradigm. Before him, no one believed it was possible, but as soon as they saw it was, it broke down the barriers in their minds. They knew it could be done, so they did it. It’s the same in chess. Playing piece for piece is the weakest way of thinking. You have to break through the paradigms your teachers taught you. They don’t know how to think in chess. You need to play your defense like a Sicilian, or attack like the Grand Master Kasparov in your offense. Position, options, strategy: these are more important than exchanging a piece for a piece. Stop believing you can never beat me, and start learning how you can. Paradigms, Sammy. Paradigms rule the world until someone brave enough challenges them.”
“Oh.” That was all little Sammy could say in response, but his dad’s words made him think.
Sammy held his ground against the four Thirteens, trying to calm his mind despite the insanity and turbulence raging in the room as holographic shrapnel bombarded everywhere around him. Let go of the paradigms. Let go of it all. Pushing out a long slow breath, his brain steadily became clearer just as it had so many times before, and he saw.
“I can do this,” he muttered through gritted teeth. And he knew he could. Maybe it wasn’t fair that he had Anomaly Eleven, and no other Beta did, but Sammy knew he’d been dealt a good deck of cards, and neither heaven, hell, nor four Thirteens would stop him from using them.
The very room he was standing in changed. It was no longer a rectangular box. It was a giant chessboard. I am a rook. They are pawns. He saw new ways to exploit his enemies. Running into a wall with two Thirteens following him, he blasted himself into the air, and shielded himself from behind. As he reached the peak of that blast, he planted his feet firmly onto the wall and blast-jumped again, aiming for the wall sharing the corner. He barely caught the third jump blast and used it to reach the upper rigging of the room that held all the projectors. Hidden in the darkness above, he looked down on the four Thirteens trying to spot him and picked out the one with the best weapon. He wondered if he were to launch himself downward, would the computer shut down the simulation to protect him?
Only one way to find out, he thought and let go of the rigging.
To achieve maximum velocity, he used his hands to blast off the ceiling, then used a second blast from his feet off the rigging. He shot down like a bullet, feet-first, projecting a broad blast shield with his soles to protect himself from the hail of shrapnel being blown at him. All the while, his mind was cold and clear, calculating the exact moment he needed to act.
Dropping from the sky, he moved too fast for the Thirteens to react properly, and snapped the neck of one particularly ugly Thirteen just before throwing out his hands for a strong hover blast to cushion the rest of his fall. When he stopped his fall, he rolled into a defensive crouch behind the dead Thirteen, keeping the others at bay with blast shields. Deftly propping up the dead body in front of him as cover, he reached around to the front and used his knife to sever the middle finger of the dead Thirteen. When the blade hit the Thirteen’s finger bone, Sammy thought he was going to barf. Fortunately, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Only his concentration through the intensity of the moment got him through it.
The Thirteens moved to encircle him, but he grabbed the dead Thirteen’s hand cannon and held the dissected finger against the fingerprint identifier on the handle. Now things are much more interesting . . . Laying on his back, using his feet as shields, he took aim holding the gun between his knees. The Thirteens fell back immediately.
Even with their incredible ability to move, they could not avoid the large spread of shrapnel Sammy’s hand cannon dished out. All of them took damage, but even with blood oozing from their gaping wounds, the Thirteens wouldn’t give up. They relentlessly emptied their ammunition at Sammy, and spent every last ounce of energy they possessed struggling to kill him. Even nearing death, their bloodlust knew no bounds. Sammy had to carefully defend himself against two of them while he targeted the third with the hand cannon until he put enough holes in him that the man collapsed.
Taking down the third Thirteen was easier, but it cost Sammy the last of his ammo. With just one wounded enemy left, Sammy saw the checkmate. Her two automatics were useless against Sammy’s shields, plus she had a limp from taking shrapnel to the knee and thigh. And when the inevitable moment of reloading came, she tried to dodge Sammy’s attacks, but he used a strong jump blast to pummel into her, jam his elbow into her jaw, and crush her windpipe.
It was like another win among the countless he’d already had, but tears dripped down his nose as he knelt down on the floor, supporting his weight with his hands. He’d done what no one believed was possible. He was exhausted, but he was happy again. He was free.
I did it!
Over two months of hard and focused exercise and hundreds of hours spent in the room with Aegis and Thirteens—the training and fighting and reviewing footage—all for this moment.
I DID IT!
For several minutes, he knelt in silence. The emotional shock finally wore off and fatigue crept over him like a suffocating blanket. He stood on shaky legs, cleared his t
hroat, and wiped his eyes. Cool air flooded him when he opened the door. Just before leaving, he turned back and saw the lone finger, the pools of blood, the bodies, and the bullets—all of it resembling a scene of horrific carnage—disappearing like magic from the walls, floor, and himself. The computer could not erase everything, however. It was real. Even if the finger had been just a hologram, Sammy had cut it off. He had shot them. They were dead and he’d done the killing.
I did it.
When he spoke it was reverently. “I did it for you, Mom and Dad. A new paradigm.”
Craving sleep, he walked downstairs and climbed into bed. He wondered who he would tell about this and when. He promptly drifted off to sleep, not thinking at all about blood, corpses, or Thirteens.
The next day was Friday, and Sammy went to the sims again. Everything was different, most importantly, his outlook. The computer threw a five Thirteen sim trial at him, and Sammy beat it in ten tries. He spent the rest of the day feeling like someone had grabbed a big chunk of the sun and stuck it right in his chest. It felt good, and it stayed that way all day. After dinner, his body ached worse than anything he’d ever experienced, and he went to bed early before anyone could bug him.
n
15. Stonehenge
The next morning, Sammy had an urgent desire to talk to Byron—or anyone else, for that matter. Other Betas needed to know it was possible to do what he’d done. But he didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding like a show-off. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Commander Byron was already aware of his accomplishment. Why couldn’t the commander help him get the word out? Why had Byron said and done nothing?
When Sammy finally got out of bed, Brickert, only half-dressed, blocked the door.
“I’m not moving until you talk to me.” His cheeks were bright red, his dark hair, which had only grown much longer over the last few months, fell over his eyes. He looked as nervous as the day he’d arrived at headquarters.
“Did Jeffie ask you to do this, Brick?”
“I’ll tell you, you’re hurting yourself with all this extra work. I’m—we’re really worried about you. What’s happened to you?”
Sammy chuckled. Brickert had made everything much easier, whether he’d meant to or not. “Well—something has happened, Brickert.”
“Something happened? Wh—” Brickert saw Sammy laughing and threw his shirt at him. “Did you kiss Jeffie?”
Sammy caught the shirt without really thinking about it. “No, I didn’t.” As an afterthought, Sammy added, “I definitely wouldn’t mind, though.”
“So, what is it?”
“You’re not going to believe me.” Sammy threw the shirt back at Brickert, who tried to catch it, but missed. It hit him square in the face.
“We’ve been through all of this before. With you anything is possible.”
Sammy got up and dressed without speaking. The irony of Brickert’s statement was not lost on him, but the comment about kissing Jeffie had taken over his train of thought.
“Well, say something.”
“Okay, sorry. You remember what I’ve been doing in the sims, right?”
“Yeah, getting your butt kicked around by Thirteens.”
“Right. Well, the other day. I—uh—I passed the trial.”
“The Thirteens? You killed four Thirteens at once?”
Sammy couldn’t help a small grin. That little piece of sun buried inside him flared up again and the only outlet for it was through his smile. “Yeah, and then yesterday I beat five.”
“Holy—!”
Brickert smacked the wall with a loud BANG! “OW!” He grabbed his hand and winced in pain. “Sammy, do you know what this means?”
“Yes, I know what it means.”
“It means you’re the greatest Beta ever! In the history of the world!”
“No.” Sammy looked sharply at Brickert. “That’s not what it means. See? We all have the potential to do the same thing. And everyone needs to know about it, I just don’t want to be the one to tell them what I did.”
“Why not?”
Sammy threw his hands up. How could Brickert not know the answer to that already? “Because I don’t want the attention! I don’t want people to talk about me.”
“No one is going to think you’re a freak, Sammy. I don’t.”
“They don’t know me like you do. Some of them still aren’t comfortable with my Anomaly Eleven. Without it, I couldn’t do all this stuff. It’s not me, it’s the anomaly.”
Brickert’s cheesy smile told Sammy that he didn’t seem to get the point. “It is you.”
“I’d just be a crappy video game player and a so-so fighter without the anomaly.”
“Please . . . they’re going to think you’re a god.”
“No—no.” The thought of any more jealousy repulsed him.
“Then what do you want?”
“Don’t you think everyone should know how to do it?” Sammy asked back.
“I guess,” Brickert said sarcastically. “I’ll let you know when I’ve gotten that far in training.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
“I was joking!”
“Yeah, well, you’re joking, but what is everyone else going to think? Sammy the brain! Sammy the hotshot! Sammy the anomaly!” He whipped his hoodie against his bed with every name. “Still fourteen years old and he’s done something no one else can do—before some people two and three years older than him have even had a chance to try to do it.”
“Why don’t you talk to Commander Byron about it?” Brickert suggested patiently.
“I was waiting for him to say something to me.”
“He’s super busy,” Brickert reminded. “Call him, send him a text.”
“Yeah . . . yeah. That’s a good idea.” Sammy blasted lightly to get back on his own bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt a little better now.
Commander, you probably know I passed the four Thirteen unit in sims. I want to talk to you about it. Any chance we can meet? I’d really appreciate it. I think I have some ideas to help other people. Thanks, Sammy.
That was the body of the text that Sammy sent Byron. A few hours later, he got back this:
Samuel,
I am aware of your recent progress, as is Command. I think to say congratulations would be a gross understatement. Therefore, I will forebear until we are able to talk adequately. I apologize that I cannot meet. Unfortunately, we are not on the same continent, and I will be stopping at headquarters only briefly for Albert Hayman’s Panel. Please forgive that I cannot say more. What you have done is extraordinary. Continue meeting your expectations.
CWB
The Betas played a short Game early in the evening and spent the rest of the day celebrating Al’s final achievement: passing the last test of his Panel. All he had left now was the mission. Al tried to act modest about his prospects, but Sammy knew better. Al was thrilled and excited about becoming an Alpha. Festivities went late into the evening, but some people turned in earlier than expected. Sammy found out why the next morning.
When he turned up for Sunday brunch, the cafeteria was buzzing.
“Sammy!” Natalia cried as soon as she saw him. Her eyes were as big as Sammy had ever seen them. “Al’s upstairs being briefed on his Beta mission at this very moment.”
“Huh?” The cobwebs in his head filtered out every other word Natalia said. All that mattered was getting a glass of orange juice and a muffin.
“Serious. According to Marie, three Alphas came a couple of hours ago and called for him. And when he comes back he’s going to have the names of the people who are going on the mission with him.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course. Everyone’s been talking about it.”
Sammy hurried and got his food. While he waited, Jeffie and Kawai came in and sat down. Natalia had already ordered food for the other girls. She wasted no time filling them in on everything.
“So who do you think it�
�s going to be?” Jeffie asked the group.
Sammy shrugged. “Probably Martin, Gregor, Li . . . all the oldest Betas.”
“Marie, too,” Brickert added. “She’s right up there with Al—”
“Obviously not Marie,” Kawai interrupted.
“Why not?” Brickert asked her, blushing small spots on his cheeks.
Sammy glanced at Jeffie. He knew she would be trying to catch his eye, and he was right. She gave him a secret nod.
One night, less than a month ago, Jeffie had told him she was sure Brickert liked Kawai. Sammy, being the friend he was, vehemently denied it even though he knew it to be true. Brickert had bound him by honor to say nothing. Kawai was, after all, the oldest of the girls in their group of friends. It made sense Brickert would crush on her eventually. He said her exotic look was exciting and unique.
Sammy shook his head back at Jeffie. She responded with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression.
“Yes, why not Marie?” Natalia repeated.
“Because Al loves Marie,” Kawai said as if it were the most obvious piece of information in the world, “and they want to get married after she passes her Panel. Why would Al do anything to risk the life of his girlfriend?”
“Because she’s one of the most talented Betas at headquarters,” Natalia responded for Brickert while he recovered his nerve to speak, “and he won’t be risking her life. The missions aren’t dangerous.”
“Do you think she will be the only girl Al takes?” Jeffie asked Brickert.
“No, Levu and Cala are both likely to go,” Natalia said.
“Three girls, I don’t think so,” Sammy said, teasing Jeffie while he said it.
“One girl soldier is worth twenty boy soldiers,” she responded with the mocking face that always made him smile.
“Well, he’s definitely going to take Kaden, Gregor, and Martin,” Natalia said.
Psion Beta (Psion series #1) Page 22
