Psion Delta (Psion series #3)

by Jacob Gowans

  Sammy pointed a finger at the major. “And you think you’ll be picked to replace whoever leaves Psion Command to fill Byron’s place in Alpha?”

  Major Tawhiri hemmed and hawed but Sammy saw through the act. “There are three majors in Psion Alpha, myself included. I’m the only one of three to serve as the head of Psion Beta. I dot my I’s and cross my T’s.”

  Suddenly the world of government service no longer seemed as pristine or glamorous to Sammy as it had once been. “I—I don’t want to speak about this anymore. May I be excused?”

  “Have I offended you?”

  “No, sir, but I’ve told you I want to stay here as long as possible, and I don’t think you want to help me with that.”

  “What you really want is to become an Alpha. You only have to realize it.” They stared at each other for several seconds, not glaring or menacing, but in an understanding way. Tawhiri broke eye contact first, which gave Sammy a fleeting moment of pleasure. “Listen, Sammy. I’m not after power. It’s important you see that, okay? I couldn’t care less about that stuff. For me, grandchildren are only a few years away. My wife depends on me and wants me to stay out of combat. And I think I can make a difference in Psion Command. These things aren’t wrong to want. Do you have a person you care about? The lifestyle that Command offers would let you see her every day.”

  Sammy’s thoughts automatically went to Jeffie.

  “If I am promoted to Command, Sammy, I’ll guarantee your movement through the ranks as long as you continue to excel. If you want the kind of life I’m talking about, you need my help.”

  “And you need mine?”

  The look on Tawhiri’s face answered Sammy’s question. “Commander Byron is a popular man. Not in Psion Command—no, too much jealousy there—but in higher circles. With popularity comes power. I need to have the same kind of respect from the Betas that Commander Byron had. I’m not him, and I’m not trying to be like him or copy him. However, if I can run Beta as effectively—or more so—as the commander, I’ll get that spot. And you’re the first person who is going to evaluate me when you graduate. Whether or not you’re aware, your opinion will carry a lot of weight in circles here at Psion Beta and much higher.”

  Sammy let the major’s words process. What was the better choice? Three more years of training at Beta, watching Jeffie date Kobe, going through the same sims and instructions again and again? Or graduate quickly and set himself on a path to leadership? Surely that would impress Jeffie, wouldn’t it?

  “I’ll have to think about it, sir.”

  “Yes, you should!” Major Tawhiri’s face beamed as he nodded. “Take a few weeks to mull it over. In fact, on June 29, you’re going to be the honcho in a difficult Game. If you win, I’ll know you’re going to actively pursue your graduation. If you lose, I’ll be disappointed, yes, but I’ll take that as a sign that you’re not capable of being an Alpha—not yet, anyway—and I’ll do my best to delay your graduation date. Fair?”

  Sammy nodded and stood.

  Tawhiri walked Sammy to the door and let him out. Sammy paused on top of the stairs, still trying to make sense of the conversation. He wished he could speak to Commander Byron about this, but that wasn’t an option. And none of his friends understood politics or bureaucracy any better than he did.

  8.

  Recruiting

  Monday May 27, 2086

  It was a familiar scene in Byron’s cruiser, one that the commander had been a part of dozens of times: he in his pilot’s chair with Dr. Maad Rosmir at co-pilot reading on his holo-tablet. Today, there were no other passengers with them.

  “You know,” Dr. Rosmir said, looking up from his screen rather suddenly, “I don’t think I’ve ever been to the Territory of Israel before.” He turned to the commander. “Have I?”

  “Not with me. This is only my second potential recruit from there.”

  “Where exactly are we going again? Tel Aviv?”

  “Beersheba. Gabriel Joel is his name. Age thirteen. Accidentally injured his brother by inexplicably forcing him down the stairs. Little brother nearly died, but the mother saw everything. She swore that Gabriel didn’t touch him. When the data filters picked it up from his medical report, I called her. Hearing her story convinced me to check it out.”

  Dr. Rosmir continued to watch Commander Byron. Byron saw a small grin in the corner of his friend’s mouth. “You had all that memorized, didn’t you?”

  “I reviewed the case right before we took off.”

  “What’s his D.O.B?”

  Byron didn’t have to think about the answer. “Twenty-ninth of February. 2073.”

  “Your memory is freakishly sharp. I’ve told you that before.”

  “I do not have a photographic memory, Maad.” Byron glanced at Dr. Rosmir to show him he meant it.

  “If you’d get tested, I’d drop it.”

  “I enjoy your theories, really I do. Speaking of which, have I told you about my presentation to Alpha Command last week?”

  “I heard someone mention it. Wasn’t it a report on why five-star anomalies should continue to be kept confidential?”

  “Yes. I presented it to them before Wu’s meeting with the Appropriations Committee tomorrow. Some of the new congressmen are skeptical about the amount of money we require to maintain our secrecy.”

  Dr. Rosmir turned off his tablet and gave the commander his full attention. “All right, let’s hear it.”

  Commander Byron smiled. “Eventually the secret of our anomalies will become news. Very big news. It is only a matter of time before the wrong person finds out. Sometimes I think it is a miracle that we have managed to keep ourselves confidential this long. But, mark my words, one day the story will break from someone looking to make a buck and a journalist who cannot be bought off by Wu’s people.”

  “Unless Congress decides to approve memory modification techniques, I completely agree.”

  “First of all, memory modification is neither reliable nor safe. And second, it will never happen on my watch, Maad. That is a dark and steep road the government should never go down. Now this is my theory on what will happen when our anomalies go public: natural selection will take a sharp turn. Psions, Ultras, and Tensais will become targeted breeders and over the course of several generations. Humans, as we are now, will cease to exist.”

  “Come on, Commander, think about it.” Rosmir’s smile showed off his large white teeth. “You’ve met some of those weird Tensais. Who would want to breed with them?”

  Byron laughed. “Good point, but you went to medical school. You know what I am referring to. There are myriad men and women who want to give their children every advantage in academics—who want their kids to jump the highest, run the fastest, throw the farthest. They want the best. In CAG territory, the wealthiest families purchase these—these designer babies because it is legal.”

  “That bothers me.”

  “Well, it will only take two or three generations before five star anomalies take over sports, academics, politics, and anything else you can think of. Within sixty years, I predict all professional athletes will be Ultras and Psions . . . or both. Perhaps some form or combination of Tensais, too. Then, over the next two or three hundred years, we will slowly see the anomalies absorbed into all forms of society and professions through natural selection. It is even likely we could see the emergence of new anomalies or dangerous combinations of those already existing.”

  “That was your report?”

  “In more words and with prepared graphs. General Wu thinks I swayed the committee to see things his way. We need our human resources focused on the Silent War, not on becoming celebrities. Anyway, they vote tomorrow.”

  “Any more news on the equipment you found in Wrobel’s house?” Dr. Rosmir asked. “I haven’t heard the latest.”

  “Teams have been working on that for almost three weeks. They even put two Tensais on the task. I spoke with one of them yesterday. We are only now beginning to understand how lo
ng Victor had been tampering with our systems. To be honest, Maad, the news is not good.”

  “Is the news ever good?” Dr. Rosmir sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How did Victor manage to do all that himself? He was no computer expert, was he?”

  “I asked them the same question,” Byron answered with a sardonic tone. “One of the Tensais reminded me that the CAG almost certainly has Anomaly Elevens working for their side, too. It is no stretch of the imagination that they designed something for him, and he simply followed the instructions.”

  “Good grief. How safe do you think we really are?”

  Byron checked the controls on the cruiser’s panels before answering. “Truthfully, I prefer not to think about that right now. Have you got your tuxedo for the wedding?”

  “Yes. I ordered it last night. Purple cummerbund, right?”

  “That is what I am told. Albert was thrilled when you said he will be cleared to travel for the wedding and honeymoon.” Byron shook his head at his own thoughts. “Still hard to believe my son is getting married.”

  “He’s recovered faster than I expected. Strong kid. Must get it from his mother.”

  The commander snorted softly in amusement. Their conversation continued until he landed the cruiser at the NWG airfield nearest to Beersheba. The commander ordered a government car to drive them to the Joel residence. They came to a modest, two-level home in a sprawling suburb on the western side of the city. The commander gave his business-like appearance a thorough examination in the mirror while Dr. Rosmir gathered equipment from the trunk.

  Mrs. Joel answered the door. Cloth covered her hair, and she wore large glasses that magnified her eyes. Below that, she wore all the clothing of an orthodox Jew: an ankle-length skirt of a solid black color and a white shirt tucked in at the waist. She regarded them with a pleasant expression. “Are you the men from the school?”

  “We are,” Byron said with his best smile. “My name is Amos Smith.”

  “Come in, please.”

  Byron and Rosmir exchanged a look before following her inside. The interior of the house was rustic and reminded Byron of the furnishings in his parents’ house as a young man. She led them into the living area and asked them to sit on the couch.

  “Please call me Naomi. My husband is finishing a project upstairs and will be right down. I’ll bring Gabriel in first.”

  The moment she disappeared from view, Rosmir knocked Byron’s knee with his own. “Look,” he said, pointing at the walls.

  Commander Byron glanced around and saw what had caught the doctor’s attention. Half of the room was decorated in a very feminine, tasteful style: family pictures, homemade crafts, and a long single shelf with a collection of lovely vases. The other half of the room sported posters and action-figures of superheroes. All of the figurines had been set into battle poses.

  “That’s . . . odd,” Commander Byron commented.

  “You don’t say.”

  Multiple voices in the background interrupted them. Someone shouted, “I don’t want to go down there!” The voice sounded like a boy around age thirteen, Gabriel’s age. “I’m in the middle of a raid, Mom!”

  Byron could hear Mrs. Joel protesting. Then came a third voice. “Naomi, our guild has been practicing for this all week! The world is not going to come to an end if we play for ten more minutes!”

  Dr. Rosmir snickered, then hurried to mask his face after receiving a stern look from the commander. A nine-year-old boy wandered downstairs chomping on his gum. He had dark hair with long curls at the temples and large glasses like his mother. His clothes were also orthodox, but his yarmulke had a red-dressed superhero carrying a baton.

  “Hello,” the boy said with a wave while blowing a large pink bubble between his lips.

  “Hi,” Commander Byron said. “You must be Tobias.”

  “Tobias Mathew Joel,” the boy answered as if it was all one word.

  Byron glanced back to the superhero decorations around half the room. “You must be a big comic book fan, huh? Your mom lets you keep all these toys in here?”

  Tobias shook his head. “No!” he shrieked as he laughed. “Those are my dad’s. All mine are in my room.” As he ran up the stairs, he yelled, “I’ll get ‘em so we can play!”

  “This is going to be a fun one,” Rosmir muttered as he unpacked his testing gear.

  Eventually Mr. Joel came down. He was the complete opposite of his wife. He, too, wore the traditional yarmulke, which seemed to be barely hanging on to his thinning hair, but his orthodox dress began and ended on the top of his head. His beard was a mess, as were his sweat pants. And he wore a shirt that almost matched his youngest son’s cap, except that his shirt displayed Spider-man. He sniffed when he stumbled into the room and rubbed his nose, which made a wet sound. Then he offered the same hand to Commander Byron, who suppressed a cringe as he shook it.

  “Asher Joel,” he said, not quite meeting Byron’s eyes and showing off all his teeth with a smile. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for waiting. My son and I are in a very competitive guild—one of the best in the world and all-Hebrew, too. You’ve probably heard of Universes Clash and things like that?”

  Byron shook his head. “Amos Smith. Sorry, but no, I have never heard of that game.”

  Mr. Joel made a sound of disbelief with his lips. His response came as he stared over Byron’s head. “Only the greatest virtual-MMO ever created. Ten years in development. Today we defeated the DC Universe pretty handily. Yeah . . . so . . . I think we showed them who’s boss and things like that. . . . ” He sat back in his reclining leather chair with his hands behind his head, wearing a look of supremacy.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Joel. I’m Doctor Patel. I’m going to test your son for the school.” Rosmir asked. “Is Gabriel coming?”

  “GABE!” Mr. Joel yelled. “Get down here now!”

  “I’m coming!” came the same voice from upstairs.

  Thundering footsteps shook the ceiling. Then, descending the stairs in bouncing, jiggling fashion came a short, fat, thirteen-year-old boy with glasses even larger than his mothers. He wore a shirt with some superhero Byron couldn’t identify. Maybe it was even a villain, he wasn’t sure. By the time he reached the ground floor, Gabe was sucking down oxygen like it was chocolate milk.

  “Hello, Gabriel,” Commander Byron said. “You may call me Amos for now. I am the headmaster—former headmaster, that is—of an elite school in northern Europe. We are here to screen you as a candidate.”

  Quietly, Mrs. Joel returned to the room and took the chair next to her husband.

  “Yeah . . . when we talked to you last week on the phone,” Mr. Joel began, “I didn’t quite understand the nature of the school, Mr. Amos. Perhaps you could clarify exactly what’s going on and things like that?”

  Commander Byron realized there was something off about Gabriel’s father. Mr. Joel either couldn’t or wouldn’t look Byron in the eye no matter how hard Byron tried to meet his gaze, and the placid smile that never left Mr. Joel’s face was perturbing. “Certainly I can clarify your questions. The school I operate—used to operate—is a place for gifted children.”

  “You mean kids with the skills to become professional gamers and things like that?”

  “No, not gaming. It is a government owned and operated school. One of the few in the world. In fact, there are only two others like it.”

  Mrs. Joel leaned in. “If I may, please, Mr. Amos? What is the focus of the school’s curriculum?”

  Dr. Rosmir cleared his throat to tell Byron he was ready to test Gabriel.

  “Let me propose this,” Bryon stated. “Let Doctor Patel take Gabriel in another room for the tests. Mr. Joel can go with him. The doctor will explain everything he does before he does it. While the three of you are doing that, Mrs. Joel and I can discuss the specifics of the school. That will speed everything up considerably. Is that all right?”

  The parents agreed. Rosmir scowled at the commander for suggesting he
go off with the boy and the father while Byron got to speak with the mother. When Gabriel and Mr. Joel accompanied Rosmir to the kitchen, Commander Byron turned his attention to Mrs. Joel.

  “The school we operate is very focused in science and practical skills. It is a small school. We only have about twenty students.”

  “Ow!” Gabriel shouted from the kitchen. “You said it wouldn’t hurt!”

  “I said it wouldn’t hurt if you stopped jerking around,” Dr. Rosmir responded.

  Commander Byron smiled politely to reassure the mother. “The students are kept to a very rigid schedule with both formal instruction and hands-on training.”

  Dr. Rosmir stuck his head around the corner and gave Byron a thumbs up sign. Byron nodded to show he understood.

  “But what skill is it my son has that you’re interested in?” Mrs. Joel asked. “To be frank—and I don’t want to discourage you—my son has a difficult time in social circles. He doesn’t have many—well, any real friends—friends who aren’t heavy gamers. If he’s not doing homework, which is a struggle to get him to focus on, he’s upstairs pretending to be a superhero on his games.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “His father is the same way.”

  “I see,” Byron commented softly.

  “I didn’t have many options being thirty and still single.”

  “So you think your son is not ready for such an undertaking?”

  “Don’t get me wrong! Gabriel is very talented at what he does. Some gaming sponsors are looking at him very seriously, but I’m not sure that’s the direction I want his life to go.”

  Dr. Rosmir came back into the room and signaled to Byron that he wanted to speak in private. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” Byron asked Mrs. Joel. “We need to step outside and discuss some things.”