Psion Beta (19 page)

Marie and Gregor looked on as if they were watching a car wreck happen right in front of them. And Sammy felt like the victim.

“
She was killed in an accident.”

“
Oh.”

“
But I’m sure she’s proud of me.”

Al managed a smile the whole time. It made Sammy feel like maybe he hadn’t made such a big fool of himself. Another question popped into his mind, and he let it fly. “How can you think that if she’s dead?”

“
Because I believe our dead family members watch over us. You know, like life after death. What do you believe?”

“
I don’t know,” Sammy answered. “Sounds nice, though.” His mind went somewhere else, thinking about his own mother:

“
Don’t you think it’s just a bit silly?” Mrs. Berhane said. Her laugh never had a trace of malice. Sammy’s dad called it a gentle laugh.

“
You said I could get any outfit I wanted,” Sammy reminded her. “My treat for beating dad at chess.”

They stood next to a clothes rack inside the Snow Gears department store at the Johannesburg mall. Being in the middle of summer, the store was nearly dead, but a group of five kids with long hair were checking out helmets. Sammy guessed they were hardcore boarders or skiers who knew the summer was the best time to get new gear for cheap.

“
I’m just surprised you want winter clothes in the middle of summer,” she answered. “What if you outgrow them before it gets cold?”

“
We can buy them extra big, plus I’ll wear the hoodie around the house, it gets so cold sometimes.”

Her smile flickered for a second. Sammy noticed it, but said nothing. He had not meant to say that. He knew why the house was kept so cold, but he’d been sworn to secrecy.

“
Well, I like the red one the best,” she said, pulling it off the clothes rack and holding it up to him.

“
But Mom,” Sammy whispered, his eyes wide with fear, “red is the bad color.”

His mom pursed her lips to keep from laughing again. Sammy Sr.’s favorite rugby team, the Springboks, wore green and gold, their rivals, red.

“
You look so good in red. You need more in your wardrobe.”

Sammy rolled his eyes so his mother could see. “Fine.” He knew better than to argue with his mom about wardrobes. He was just glad she wasn’t dwelling on his comment about the house being cold.

The rest of Sammy’s lunch passed in relative silence. His thoughts lingered on what Al had mentioned about death.

“
Well,” Al said as he got up from the table, “if you’re going to be threatening my other spots at number one, I’ve got to put in a little extra time in the sims.”

“
I didn’t know you had—”

Al snickered at Sammy’s embarrassment. “Kidding. It’s cool you’ve got a special talent for this stuff.” Then Al was more serious than Sammy had ever seen him. “The real enemies are the Thirteens, not other betas. Remember that if someone comes along and dethrones you.”

As Sammy nodded, Al patted him on the back and walked out. Sammy wolfed down his sandwich, then decided to skip exercises to take a shower. He went downstairs and got clean clothes. Resting his com on top of the stack, he climbed into the wash unit and turned on the water.

“
GAH—!” he cried out, jumping out of the streams of water coming from all directions. The water was set to 1ºC. People (particularly Kobe) thought it was funny to change the settings. His body shivered as goose bumps formed up his legs and arms. It brought back fresh memories of what he’d been thinking about during his conversation with Al. He turned the water up as high as he could tolerate, sat down in the stall, and cried until he felt normal again.
Mom never knew that Dad once told me why it was always so cold in the house
.

As he dressed for simulations, his com light blinked. Brickert often texted him funny thoughts or a question about simulations while they were in separate rooms. He rarely received messages from anyone else. He hurried to finish, then picked up his com and fitted it around his ear. The message was indeed from Brickert:

How did it go?

The test. He spoke into his com with a grin. The computer converted his speech into text:

Nearly aced it.

He didn’t have to wait long for Brickert’s reply:

Knew you would!

Laughing at this, Sammy ran upstairs and entered the sim room, just ahead of schedule.

A couple weeks earlier, Sammy had finished the combat unit and started weapons training. The weapons unit started with simple things like hand guns. Sammy struggled to develop good accuracy. When he mastered the basics, Byron moved him to automatics, then assault rifles. Sammy liked these weapons more. After rifles, nastier things came along. Things like shrapnel spreaders, flesh jiggers, and explosives like the syshée he was using now. It was by far the most difficult unit he had done—even more than the tricky disarming units in combat.

The large black syshée was so real and warm in his hands. It never ceased to amaze Sammy what technology could do with holograms. The large human-shaped target loomed ten meters ahead of him. His finger rested gently on the trigger. He remembered the techniques the program gave him for aiming a weapon:
Relax the fingers, comfortably support the weapon, visualize the most precise target possible, take a full breath and exhale, momentarily hold the breath while firing
.

Holding as still as possible, he pulled the trigger.

The syshée made a hissing noise that sounded like someone in the room wanted to get Sammy’s attention:
Psst!

A black projectile no larger than the marbles he had used in the grocery store flew from the business end of his syshée and struck the target right in the heart. A small flash and bang erupted from the impact with just enough force to burst through the rib cage and inject the enemy’s heart with microscopic, lethal barbs. If hit square over the left breast, the barbs would embed themselves in the coronary arteries and veins, maybe even in the aortic crest. The enemy would bleed to death in seconds.

Not bad aim. I’m definitely getting better
.

When Sammy first began the weapons and demolitions unit, he was anxious to blow through it so he could move on to bigger and more important things like Advanced Enemy Training. But overlooking the importance of doing well in weapons hurt him in the stats, causing him to fall a few ranks. He sobered up after falling as low as fifth in accuracy and fourth in timeliness. As his attitude and performance improved, he bounced from fifth to second in the accuracy rating, and fourth to first in timeliness.

Though the weapons sims were not as aerobically demanding as earlier units, his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat from the intensity he exerted in order to excel. He prepared to fire the syshée again. Two consecutive shots this time . . .

Psst! Psst!

Two perfect hits.

The rest of Friday’s simulation went well. Between almost acing his exam and having the weekend in front of him, Sammy’s spirits soared. He drank deeply from his water bottle and dried his face and hands on a hand towel. When the screen on his com flipped out, it almost startled him. He had another message, this time not from Brickert.

From Jeffie!

Sammy, I want to talk to you in private when you finish your sims. Meet me in sim room 3.

His heart leapt to his throat and he tripped as he hurried to the door.
She wants to say she’s sorry.
he thought as he ran down the hallway and turned the corner. He was so excited to mend the tear in their friendship, he overlooked that Jeffie’s message should have appeared as “From Gefjon,” just as the messages he sent to Brickert always appeared as “From Samuel.”

He eye-scanned the door and went inside. The room was empty and a little cold. Jeffie probably hadn’t finished her own sim yet. He looked for something to distract him from the mounting anxiety and began absentmindedly toying with his sock, pulling on the threads and releasing them so the elastic would snap back against his ankle. His heart thumped harder inside his chest.

Any minute now.

A thread came loose in his sock, and his hands began to work it around his index finger. He wondered why she wanted to meet in a sim room of all places. Perhaps she didn’t want Kobe to know they were meeting.

The string seemed to have no end and was soon wrapped around his first two fingers.

He thought about the last time she’d apologized to him. They’d been alone in the cafeteria and he had wanted to kiss her.

Maybe she decided she likes me and wants to ditch Kobe.

Three—six—ten minutes passed with Sammy impatiently waiting for her. The top of his sock was a frayed bundle of loose threads, but he didn’t notice. Auditioning in his head were the different things he could say after she confessed her sorrow for the way she’d treated him.

I shouldn’t play too hard to get, she might get mad again. But if I appear too willing to forgive maybe she’ll think I’m a push over
.

As the strings wrapped around a third finger, he played several different daydreams in his mind, each one ending in a waterfall of tears from Jeffie. Just as his imaginary scenarios reached the pinnacle of emotion and passion, they were abruptly cut off with a flicker of light in the room.

Appearing from thin air, Kobe and Jeffie were suddenly sitting in the middle of the sim room, on a park bench surrounded by green shrubbery, bound in a very romantic kiss. Sammy swallowed hard.

Someone must have fabricated it. Kobe must have
….

But a second voice spoke reason to him:
A fake holo-recording? Kobe doesn’t have access to that kind of equipment
.

It felt like a boulder had been dropped into his stomach, but despite his disgust, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene.
She wouldn’t kiss him.

She IS kissing him!

Why would she show this to me? What kind of a sick person does that?

In the background of the recording, he heard Ludwig’s voice. “Why does he even want us to record this anyway?”

“
I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.” The second voice was Miguel’s. “Just hold the camera steady.”

“
Kobe is one weird dude. Does she know we’re recording this?”

“
You don’t honestly think she’d let him, do you?”

“
Does it record sound?”

“
Yeah, but it’s on mute . . . oh, crap. It’s not.”

The large stone in Sammy’s stomach burned white hot and then spread into fire throughout his whole body. He shot a blast through the hologram. It blew through Kobe’s head like air through a window screen.

Kaden was down the fifth floor hall with his head in another sim room. When Sammy’s door shut, Kaden pulled out and ran toward him. He looked frantic.

“
There you are.”

Sammy didn’t stop. He didn’t even acknowledge Kaden’s presence.

“
Sammy, wait!”

“
Don’t,” he snarled at Kaden with a wild gleam in his eyes.

He leapt down the stairs using small blasts to cushion the landings and blew like a tornado into the cafeteria. Kobe sat on the far side of the room eating a large bowl of ice cream with Jeffie, Ludwig, and Kawai.

Sammy barely noticed the look of terror on Brickert’s face when he came into the room. Bristling with raw energy ready to be used, he aimed for his target. Kobe only just had time to look up before the first blast hit him. The ice cream flew off the table and splattered his target with a confection of colors. Impotent background voices, however urgent, did not have time to register in his mind, it focused on only one thing:

Destruction.

Kobe was merely a target, startled—perhaps even stunned—at the sudden shower of ice cream, watching stupidly as Sammy blasted away chairs and tables between them. It gave Sammy sadistic pleasure to see the shock on Kobe’s face. Jeffie, eyes wide in fear, screamed for Sammy to stop, but he hardly heard her. Ludwig pulled Kawai and Jeffie out of the way just before Sammy reached their table. Some of the Betas yelled for Sammy to stop, others shouted or ran for help, but they all seemed so far away.

Kobe aimed two quick blasts at Sammy’s chest, but he dodged the first one and parried the second, advancing closer. Kobe sent one more worthless blast and then blast-jumped over the table in a vain attempt to escape. Sammy met him in the air and knocked him into the ceiling with his own jump. Kobe grunted in pain. They fell down together in a twisting ball of fists emitting howls of rage at each other. Sammy used every punch from physical combat he knew as Kobe tried to block his attacks.

Strong hands grabbed Sammy around his chest and head, pulling him off of Kobe. He squirmed and writhed to fight free, but Byron’s voice shouted in his ear: “Enough.”

11.
Friends

Sammy stopped struggling
. Commander Byron’s voice boomed out again, “Kobe, get off that table and follow me.”

Byron set Sammy down on the floor and ushered him out of the room by his collar. Sammy had to assume Kobe was following because he did not dare look behind. The commander marched them down the hall, then abruptly stopped and said, “Open one and two.”

Two doors opened in the hall to reveal identical, brilliant white rooms. The doors blended in so perfectly with the wall that Sammy had not even known they were there. He recognized the room on the left as the one he’d woken up in on his first day at headquarters.

“
Solitary—both of you,” Byron said, pointing each of them into different rooms. “Kobe in there. Samuel in there.”

The door closed, leaving Sammy to sit and shake from the rage that still pounded in his veins. He wanted out of the room. He wanted out now so he could pound Kobe’s face some more.

The best thing he could say about solitary was that at least he was not restrained like the first time. A few minutes after Byron left him, one of the walls turned into a screen and a movie began playing. Sammy cringed when he saw the title: Psion Training Protocol Session 4: Conflict Management. After watching the film twice, Sammy’s rage had run its course. Then Byron’s more effective punishment took effect: leaving Sammy alone to suffer through the guilt and embarrassment of what he had done.

What would Dad say?
he asked himself over and over again.
All those talks about stepping up and being a man were wasted on me.

It was tradition in the Berhane household that once every three months, father and son went on an overnight fishing trip. His dad had four great loves in his life: Sarah, Sammy, chess, and fishing. While Sammy never loved fishing as much as his dad, he enjoyed their trips. It gave them time to talk, and talking with Sammy Sr. was fun. When Sammy was still twelve, his father proposed a trip only a month after their most recent outing, but Sammy assumed his dad just had the urge to fish again.

Once they got in the car to drive to the lake, Sammy sensed something different. His dad’s usual excited chatter was forced. His smile looked wrong. He didn’t sing the “Wishin’ You Were Fishin” song. But Sammy knew his dad would talk eventually. Sammy simply had to wait until that time. When they rented the boat, he helped row a half kilometer onto the lake, never going too long without sneaking a glance at his dad. It was about an hour after they set up their rods when his dad finally spoke.

His father stared out over the water and the low sun reflected pricks of light off his pupils. He stirred for a bit, then spoke. “Sammy, Mom’s going to be gone for a while.”

“
Why?” Sammy asked, straightening up on his little fishing chair. “Is it because she’s sick? She seems sick lately.”

“
Yes. In a way.” His voice dropped off, and he mumbled something to himself. Sammy wanted desperately to know what he’d said. “Can you keep a secret from your mom if it’s really important?” He turned and looked directly at Sammy.

From the countless times he’d watched his dad take calls from clients, Sammy learned the way to determine the seriousness of a conversation: counting the wrinkles on his dad’s forehead. The more wrinkles, the more critical it was. Right now, Sammy Sr. had too many wrinkles to count.

“
I’ll keep a secret,” Sammy Jr. answered.

“
You remember when she lost the baby last time?”

Sammy nodded.

“
It was harder for her than you realize, buddy. She tries to be very happy for you and me, but she really hurts inside.”

Sammy nodded again, but he didn’t fully understand what his dad meant. It was a while before either spoke. A large fish broke the water several meters off, breaking their silence.

“
Remember when we had that long talk about drugs and how sometimes people will try to trick you into taking them? Do you remember that, Sammy?”

“
Yes,” he said, but didn’t understand what that had to do with Mom.

“
There’s a reason. Your mom was given some pills from a—from someone she thought was a friend. Those pills, son, weren’t what she thought they were. They were pills—stimulants— no, well, they were drugs, Sammy. And your mom . . . has been unable to stop herself from taking these for almost a year. Her friend has been using her to make money off us.”

The weight of his father’s words and the undertone of anger in his voice sunk deep into Sammy. Now he got it.
My mom’s addicted to drugs
. He felt guilty for not noticing. Sammy’s mother, Sarah, was a more than just a homemaker. She was his best friend. She was his confidante. Sarah Berhane always waited for him outside when he came home from school so they could talk. Before his dad came home, they ate a snack she’d baked or played sports at the park. The idea of all that being gone was like a punch to the gut.

“
How long will Mom be gone?” He blinked quickly to stop tears from forming.

“
Probably three months. She doesn’t want you to know, buddy, because she thinks you’ll look down on her. You won’t, will you?” Sammy heard a pleading tone in his father’s words. “Can you step up and be a man now?”

Sammy shook his head, tears now freely flowing down his cheeks. “No, Dad, I won’t think bad of her, and I won’t tell her anything.”

Samuel Sr. reached over and hugged his son so they could cry together.

Exhaustion set in as Sammy lay on the bed in solitary, but he woke early and couldn’t fall back asleep. It was Saturday. The Betas might be in the Arena right now. Strangely, it didn’t bother him that the Game would go on without him; he didn’t care if he ever played a Game again.

By noon the boredom had really set in and the idea of never playing the Game seemed like unending torture. He would have even welcomed another showing of the cheesy Psion Training movies. “Why not show me a movie about how to get a girl to like me?” he yelled at the wall. It was as if a vortex had formed around the room itself, and the day had become a revolving eternity.

Sammy had finally gotten used to the pervasive silence, and it was just lulling him back to sleep when the door opened. It startled him so badly that he jumped off the bed. As he composed himself, Commander Byron entered carrying a covered plate of food.

“
Come with me, please.” That was all he said, then he walked back out.

Too scared to ask questions, Sammy followed him out of the room. He wondered if Byron planned to lock him and Kobe in the same room to make them talk it out, but Byron headed for the stairs. They climbed up to the fifth floor and stopped at the top of the stairs. Only Commander Byron had access to go any higher. The commander scanned his eye and led Sammy up one more flight. He stopped at a landing with two doors. One said: Roof, the other: Commander Byron. Sammy went through the latter door.

They entered a beautiful sitting room with plush rugs hiding almost every centimeter of the floor. Several pieces of exotic Mediterranean furniture upholstered in bright, vivid colors waited for use. Dozens of holo-pics decorated the walls. It was a nice home, but even Sammy could see it needed a woman’s touch.

This must be where Byron lives.

Byron gestured for Sammy to sit down at the dining table, then set the plate in front of him.

“
Here, eat,” he said pushing the plate toward Sammy, who reached to uncover it.

Chicken cordon bleu. His favorite. How did Byron know? Sammy looked at it, shaking his head. All the shame of what he had done came rushing back, replacing his hearty appetite with hot sick guilt.

“
Do not tell me you are not hungry.”

“
I don’t deserve that,” Sammy said weakly.

“
I know you feel that way, but you have not done anything so unforgivable that it merits starving yourself. Hunger will not help you deal with your problems, only add to them. I thought you had learned that in the old grocery store you snuck into.”

Byron smiled.

“
Why aren’t you angry?” Sammy asked. “I thought you’d kick me out.”

“
Because I understand things better than you,” Commander Byron answered. “You are not the first Beta to brawl like an uncivilized baboon.”

Sammy smiled and took up his utensils. Food rarely tasted so good.

Commander Byron said, “I will talk to you while you eat. If I say something surprising, you have my permission to spit anything out so you do not choke.”

Sammy laughed.

“
Do you remember our first conversation a few months ago? When I recruited you as a Psion?”

Sammy nodded and chewed.

“
On that day I said you had anomalies? Do you remember? Well, you never asked me what that meant. I still find that interesting. Why have you never asked me what that means?”

“
I don’t know,” Sammy said through a bit of food. After swallowing, he finished his thought. “It didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t even believe that I belonged in this place.”

“
So it meant nothing to you because you were not even sure you had the abilities I talked about?”

“
Yeah, I guess so.” Even now, Sammy didn’t grasp what the big deal was about.

Byron nodded thoughtfully. “I have monitored your progress closely, Samuel. Perhaps closer than I have with most who have passed through this facility—and not because of favoritism in your behalf or a prejudice against you.”

He paused, but Sammy showed no reaction.
Why would Byron care more about me than the others?

“
Have you learned about Anomaly Eleven since you began your instructions?”

“
No.”

“
But you do remember that I told you that you had this anomaly also?”

“
Vaguely.” He stopped chewing again because his stomach was starting to hurt from eating too fast. “Most of that conversation is a blur.”

“
The reason, Samuel, that I have observed you so closely is because you are the first and only Anomaly Fourteen with—” He paused again. Sammy couldn’t read the commander’s face, but his expression scared Sammy a little.

“—
multiple anomalies. Anomaly Eleven, like Fourteen is categorized with five stars. NWG puts a high priority on employing those with it, as you can imagine. In fact the first five star anomaly to be discovered was an Eleven—a young boy named Ivan from Ukraine. Nice man, I hope you get a chance to meet him someday. Loves math, though. Math makes my head spin.”

The commander gave Sammy a little wink.

“
People with Eleven use a higher percentage of brain neurons—they have a higher mental capacity. Sharper memory, extended planning ability, faster capacity to absorb information. Truth is, Eleven is still a mystery. You, for example, grasp concepts very easily in your instructions. You play your instructions at the highest possible speed because your brain works faster than most people’s, allowing you to break down the information easier. It’s also helped you identify combat patterns easier in the sims. Your brain has learned to focus a gun faster than most people do.”

Byron caught the look of surprise on Sammy’s face when he heard this. “Oh yes, I know all about your instruction habits. I said I was watching you closely. Now while there are many others with Anomaly Eleven, some of which have a much higher capacity than you, I think you can understand what an extraordinary contribution you can make to our war efforts.”

Sammy’s brain buzzed and he could only nod. It explained so much: the chess game, instructions, Star Racers. He couldn’t wait to tell Brickert. But would the others understand? Would Jeffie or Kobe stop feeling the need to compete with him, or would it make him even more of a freak? Either way, he liked having answers.

“
Can you see why I watch you so meticulously? I want you to succeed. And you have! Today you received a perfect score on your history exam. Most students struggle to get the required eighty percent.”

“
But—No—I . . .” Commander Byron simply raised his hand and Sammy fell silent.

“
You were going to say you did not achieve a perfect score. I know. I intentionally put two questions in your exam that were more subjective than the rest of the test. Of the five answers you were given to choose from, one of them was the correct answer that any textbook would have you pick. Another one of these answers was a morally correct answer. You missed both of those questions because you picked the correct choices in my answer key, not the computer’s. So in reality, you scored perfect marks on the test.”

“
Why did you do that?”

“
I have my reasons,” Byron answered mysteriously, but waving it off with his hand. “More important is how you performed overall.”

“
But sir,” Sammy said, “why are you telling me this now? Just because I got in a fight with Kobe?”

“
You have great potential, Samuel. You may possibly contribute more to bringing our world to peace than anyone else. I have great expectations for you.”

He drove home these last words, looking directly into Sammy’s eyes. Sammy was grateful for the information, but nothing Byron said changed how he felt about Kobe.