I turn back to Jason. “I don’t want any kind of heroics from you out there today. Your injury’s too great.”
Jason stops walking long enough to look me straight in the eyes. Standing as tall as he can, he says, “I know about your plans.”
I freeze as soon as Jason’s words hit me.
“You confiscated a key to the old back gate,” Jason continues. “You’re planning to run right after you take the victor’s walk.”
Dread fills my insides faster than quicksand, because if Jason knows about my plans, then there is no telling who else knows. But before I can get any words out, Jason leans forward, his breathing ragged, determined to say something more.
“You have to win today, Vahn—for Emily’s sake. And I want you to know that I will have your back…as long as I can stand. So, with all due respect, sir…I will not forfeit. This day…or any day.”
I can only gape at him as I work to still my thoughts. Though relieved to hear that he won’t turn me in, I still can’t get over one major fact. “How the hell did you—”
“It’s not what you think,” Diana interjects. “No one else knows. Jason saw the gate key in your gear bag yesterday. That’s all. The Administration has no idea what you’re planning.”
But the dread in my guts tells me otherwise. The lack of final-round victors from Tiger Squad, the inclusion of elemental psions, facing opponents we have never seen before—and I thought I had been so clever in stealing a forgotten key.
The major general is toying with me. Odds are that my Network contacts have already been arrested.
Emily is already lost to me.
Diana reaches over and grips my arm. “It’s not over yet. We can do this. I know we can.”
I try to nod, but I’m overwhelmed with fear. If the major general is on to me, then he will see that Emily is punished as well. And if that were to happen, I don’t know how I could ever look at myself in the mirror again.
But what choice do I have? There’s no going back. I have three troops to protect. Anything less than my complete and best effort in the arena will be noted by the major general and his Administration.
“You’re right,” I say to Diana, despite my reservations. “Let’s do this.” I hope I sound more positive than I feel, because I’m only going through the motions now—a dead man walking.
“Power up,” I say as I pull up my hood and form my armor. All of us have been trained to conjure plate mail armor, and mine radiates a crimson glow. My bladed projection of choice is a longsword. I’ve always favored its reach and weight. But since we are not allowed to use bladed projections in today’s games, I round out the edges of my weapon while still maintaining its weight and shape. My sword resembles something a novice would use in training, but I don’t mind. I’m allowed to wield it on the condition that I do not stab with it. Of course, the officials have been known to overlook a jab or two if it’s an exciting fight.
Standing at the threshold, I glance at Diana. She’s powered up in her electric violet armor, with a three-dimensional tiger roaring on her shield. She conjures a three-dimensional Medusa head complete with writhing snakes for her breastplate. This is something she has always done, and I think the image suits her perfectly. In her hand she projects a blunted broadsword. Her game face set, she’s ready for action.
Jason, on the other hand, is having trouble projecting his armor. Sweat beads his brow and his mouth is set in a painful grimace as he concentrates on bringing into focus his vermilion plate mail. After he finally sets the roaring tiger across his breastplate and shield, he barely has the wherewithal to conjure his war hammer.
“We’ve got to move,” I say. “Can you do this?”
“Let’s go,” he replies through clenched teeth. He pulls away from me and strides toward the arena.
“Right behind you,” Diana says, following closely, but not too closely, after Jason. The last thing she wants to do is tip off our opponents to Jason’s condition.
As I stride into the arena behind Diana, I add a touch of flame to my crimson armor, igniting it for show. The roar of the crowd slams into me with the force of a speeding locomotive. It reverberates within me, the pure energy of it, and deafens me to the point of pain. I promptly adjust the force-field helmet covering my ears to temper the sound.
Looking up into the stands, I raise my sword over my head and give a long, loud battle cry. This only whips the crowd into an even greater frenzy, but I have an ulterior motive. Focusing the hovercams on me lessens the threat of a skyscreen holographic projection of Jason looking pale, exhausted, and weak.
Michael joins me in the battle cry, and we both gaze up at the arena’s thirty-foot onyx walls, smooth as glass and hard as steel. Hovercams the size of large golf balls swirl around us. I fight the instinct to swat them away by tilting my head back and focusing instead on the stands before me, where the faces of baselines peer down from every conceivable angle—and they’re all hungry for blood. It would be easy for a novice to get distracted by the wall of sound, which is amplified by the colossal stadium and directed at the participants on the arena floor. But that’s all part of the Psi Games, and Michael and I know how to play it up for full effect.
The crowd loves us, but what I really want is for that stupid cannon to fire! Crowd preening is definitely not my style, and I am fully aware that somewhere in the upper echelons of this stadium, peering down from a luxury box on high, sits the major general. He’ll guess what I’m up to if this lasts much longer, and change the rules on me in some terrible way.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The cannon fire finally resounds overhead, and not a moment too soon.
Diana and Jason join me and Michael as the officials break free from the stadium walls and hover above the arena floor on their floating platforms. Each referee wears black battle armor and a helmet with the dark visor pulled down for protection. They’re all baseline adults, most of them career military, so they know better than to take any chances when officiating the Psi Games.
“Squad leaders to the center of the field,” announces a voice over the arena sound system.
“That’s my cue,” I mumble as I depower my longsword and stride forward, weaponless, looking to the world like a competent and able leader. In truth, I feel on the verge of panic. I’m afraid I’ll crack if I think too deeply about Emily and what the major general might do to her if indeed my escape plans have been compromised.
I clench my hands into tight fists in an effort to focus on the battle ahead, but no matter how many cleansing breaths I take, I am unable to shake the dread that fills me. These are not the games I have come to expect…but I hate myself regardless. Because, in truth, I should have known better—nothing escapes the major general.
Not even me.
I glance to my left as an official swoops down and matches my gait with his hover-platform beside me. I can feel him staring hard at me through his visor.
When I turn to look at him, he extends two gloved fingers and points to his eyes hidden behind his helmet’s dark faceshield. Then he points the fingers back at me. I get the message loud and clear—he’s going to be watching me.
I grit my teeth, angry that I’m being challenged by an official, and flare the crimson in my armor. I will not be intimidated.
I have no idea how my retort has been received, because I turn away from him and busy myself waving at the spectators on the opposite side of the stadium. A moment later, he glides past, but the anger that I feel does not ebb when he leaves. I’m disgusted with myself for not realizing that my “brilliant” escape plan may have put the girl I love in jeopardy.
I may never see Emily again…and I’m not sure I want to live without her.
“Focus,” I growl to myself. I can’t go there right now.
With my next step, my boot sinks several inches into the loose, rich dirt that covers the arena floor, and I hesitate. Studying the ground before me, it’s obvious why so much earth has been trucked in. Earthmovers.
And th
ey mean to use their skills in combat.
Damn it!
A cheer rises up from the crowd as the Lions’ captain approaches. But something’s off. Captain Kastich’s armor is reflecting an ominous ebony flame, and he carries a menacing-looking mace projection in his right hand, its round head held aloft in the grip of three dragon talons. Oh, no…it’s not Kastich at all, but Arthur Eichler.
He is the last person in the world I want to see today. Arthur was transferred out of the Alaskan Psi Facility over two years ago for insubordination. Growing up, he had been my rival at every turn—even when it came to Emily’s affections.
I loathed the creep.
Swallowing my surprise, I continue trudging through the soft dirt. Two officials await us in the center of the arena. It is time for the reading of the rules, and there is no telling what surprises await.
Arthur grins at me in that smug way of his, and I find myself gritting my teeth. “Good to see you, old friend.”
“Artie,” I reply with a nod, and I’m satisfied to see the grin vanish from his lips.
“Your Tiger Squad hasn’t fared so well today. Looks like you’ve gotten slow and lazy in my absence. Hardly Alpha Squad material.”
“Really? And how would you know about Alpha Squad material? You were headed for a detention camp in Washington, DC, last time I saw you.”
He laughs at me then, in that condescending, piercing bray of his. “Is that where you think they sent me? Oh, that’s precious.”
I stand there, glaring at him, refusing to dignify this jerk with a reaction. Right now, it’s all I can do not to slug him.
“Major General Allen didn’t send me to a detention camp, you idiot. I was traded to a private government-funded military academy. It’s called The Stillwell Agency for Psionic Integration and Development, but that’s just its bullshit title. People in the know refer to it simply as “The Agency,” because there’s only one like it in the world. They’re building us a new facility off the Carolina coast. Nice of ’em, huh?”
“Yeah, real nice.” I am so through talking to this bag of shit that I glance over at the officials hovering just five feet away on their platforms. They’ve made no attempt to break up our little tête-à-tête, and I can hear the crowd growing restless in the stands.
I am about to question the official to my left when I catch sight of a gilded hover-platform floating toward us from the luxury boxes above. Whoever’s coming can only be bringing more bad news for me and my squad.
“Oh, and Vahn,” Arthur calls to me, in that irritating singsong way of his.
“What?” I snarl, ripping my eyes from the descending administrator’s platform.
That smug grin of his turns sinister. “Emily sends her regards.”
My blood runs cold as ice flows through my veins. My heart drums in my chest, and the world around me drops away. I am stunned beyond words and can only gape at my opponent.
Arthur brays like a donkey, satisfied with my reaction. “You should see your face! Oh, if only I controlled a hovercam right now!”
His laughter alone is enough to pull me from my stupor. My hands curl into fists as I attempt to channel my rage. I’m satisfied only when I hear the buzzing of my force-field gauntlets grinding against each other.
“Attention!” the officials cry in unison, and I instinctively turn toward the descending platform and snap to attention.
“At ease, captains,” commands a voice I’d know anywhere. And once again, I find myself caught off-guard by the change in protocol. Palpable dread fills me as the major general strides to the front of his platform.
I allow my training to take over. I stoically regard him in his military dress blues and gleaming black shoes. The sheer weight of the ribbons on his chest would topple most men, but it’s his piercing gaze that holds me now, and in a strange way, it is the presence of the major general himself that gives me the strength to stand my ground. Though I despise the man before me, I deeply respect him as well. He may be a sadistic son of a bitch in his battle training methods, but he has always been fair and impartial when it came to governing the Alaskan Psi Facility.
Until he sent Emily away.
The hovercams swarm the major general, and his image instantly appears fifty meters high in midair, projected by the arena’s gigantic floating hologram projector. Called the ImperiumTron, there is no other optical device like it in the world. The crowd roars with excitement at the sight of the major general, who politely smiles and raises his hands. He waits for the spectators to quiet down before he begins.
“Ladies and gentlemen, noble dignitaries and world leaders,” the major general says, his voice booming over the arena’s sound system. “Today, you have witnessed three rounds of intense one-on-one combat. These psionic warriors are unmatched in their training and combat readiness. From eighty well-honed troops, we are down to our top ten combatants, each of them vying for the honor of top cadet.” He pauses, his eyes falling on me and Arthur.
“Captain de Montague. Captain Eichler. I am very pleased to see you both standing here before me.” The major general turns away from us, addressing the crowd. “These two young men have trained hard over the last fourteen years, and both of them deserve to wear the victor’s crown in these games.
“However, this round is a team event. And it is up to what remains of Captain de Montague’s squad of psi-blades to defeat Captain Eichler’s combined psionic battle squad on loan to us from The Stillwell Agency for Psionic Integration and Development.”
An enthusiastic cheer rises up from the crowd, though for the life of me, I’m not sure why. It is then that I feel the earth tremble, and a moment later, a pillar of dirt rises from the ground beneath Arthur’s feet. But instead of falling, Arthur stands tall and throws his arms out wide as if embracing the crowd’s favor. He rises more than five feet above my head before the pillar of dirt recedes and gently lowers him back to the arena floor.
How the hell is my squad supposed to defeat that?
Arthur flashes me one of his grins, and all I want to do is punch him in the face.
“Yes, an earthmover has made it to the final round,” says the major general, addressing the crowd. “We are entering a new age of warfare, where psionic disciplines of all kinds will train under one commander in order to better utilize our talent on the battlefield. This is the future, my friends. Embrace it or be conquered. Let the final round commence!”
The crowd cheers, and I can see people jumping to their feet and wildly applauding. The sound is insane and it rolls over me in waves as the baselines begin chanting, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
I notice movement above me and look over in time to see the major general deftly leap over the side of his hover-platform. His spit-polished shoes sink six inches into the dirt, but he doesn’t appear to notice as he salutes Arthur and then shakes his hand. The major general’s beaming smile makes me want to pummel something as he shares some encouraging words with my opponent. There hasn’t been any mention of what happened to Adam Kostich, my friend and the Lion Squad’s previous captain. Just like Emily, he too has apparently vanished.
I wonder if that will be my fate as well one day.
“Vahn, my boy,” says the major general as he approaches me, wearing a disarming smile.
“Sir!” I cry. I jump to attention with a perfect salute.
The major general remains smiling as he returns my salute, then reaches out to shake my hand. Several hovercams buzz about my head as I take his hand, broadcasting my face high above us in midair and God knows where else around the world.
“Good luck, soldier,” he says. He remains smiling as he pulls me closer into a firmer handshake. He leans forward then, and speaks quickly and directly into my right ear so as not to be overheard. “The earthmover’s one sadistic bitch, but she’s green. Her last opponent managed to level the playing field using Jackson’s bubble.”
My mind is in overdrive as I take in his every word. It’s obvious that he
’s giving me critical information. But two questions loom in my mind. Why would the major general break rank to give me this information? And, more importantly, can this information be trusted?
The major general’s face reveals nothing as he releases my hand, and it takes all of my discipline to stay calm while he strides back to his hover-platform. The stadium crowd continues to chant, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” And that’s when I realize that I really don’t matter in the least to the people in the audience. To them, I’m just an amusement in a dirt-covered ring, stuck smack dab in the middle of a crazed, bloodthirsty circus.
“You know the rules,” shouts the official to my left from his hover-platform. “Blunt weapons only. No stabbing. A five-second takedown means you’re out. Let’s fight honorably out there!”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” I shout in unison with Arthur.
“Shake hands,” the ref orders, and I extend my hand to Arthur.
As we clasp hands, Arthur squeezes with all his might. I return the sentiment in kind.
“Emily’s mine now,” Arthur says.
“Bullshit,” I growl in response.
He holds up his left hand then, to reveal a tiny gold cross dangling from a cheap silver chain. I recognize it instantly as Emily’s.
“Where’d you—”
That smug grin returns as he closes his hand over the necklace. “Emily gave it to me…for luck.”
I don’t believe him. Like me, Emily doesn’t believe in luck. Hard work, sweat and guts…those are the things we put our faith in. But it’s apparent that he has her necklace, and suddenly I’m very motivated in seeing this battle through to a victory. Escape or not, I’m going to beat the truth out of Arthur Eichler.
I squeeze his hand even harder before releasing the handshake, and am rewarded when I see him wince.
Turning on my heel, I stride back to my squad, but he calls out after me. “We’re going to crush you, golden boy! Tonight, you’re going down!”
The noise of the crowd swallows up the sound of Artie’s hollow promises.
Freaks of Nature (The Psion Chronicles) Page 7
