Psion Beta (34 page)

Still, it was six on one. Miraculous as his fighting was, it was not enough. His body and brain had all but depleted his stores of energy. Random thoughts fired through his mind—strange thoughts—distancing his mind from the incredible movements of his body.

I think Jeffie liked Brickert all this time! Ever since I started letting her win Star Racers
.

He dodged several rounds and shielded more away from Kobe.

Chicken cordon bleu would be oh so good with a creamy oatmeal sauce
.

New sounds came from behind the Thirteens, but Sammy hardly noticed them.

Kawai probably wouldn’t eat it. What would Al say about turkey?

A face appeared behind the Thirteens.

There he is. I can ask him.

But Sammy’s raving mind did not grasp reality right away.
The Thirteens are turning around
.
Bunch of yellow chicken sandwiches! Why are they doing that?
he wondered as he fell to the ground in bone-drained exhaustion, shielding Kobe’s body with his own and raising his arms to blast away projectiles that were no longer coming his way. Slowly, as his mind came back into focus, he saw that Al was indeed at the other end of the hall. So were Marie, Kaden, Gregor, and Li.

They’ve finally come to save us! That explosion was them blowing through the proximity mines!

One last surge of adrenaline boosted Sammy enough to make one final desperate move. He grabbed Kobe’s sliver and threw it at one of the Thirteens. The man fell to the ground with a groan, impaling the sliver deeper inside of him. His hand cannon dropped alongside of him. Sammy picked it up and used the spikes on his shoe to slice the Thirteen’s finger off. He clumsily pulled the trigger and shot a round of shrapnel into the wall.

Oops. I’m more tired than I realized!

He took more careful aim on the second shot and fired at the lean blond Thirteen who dropped in time to avoid getting hit. The Thirteen fixed his cold red eyes on Sammy’s weakened state and smiled, displaying the blood smeared on his teeth and lips where the glass had cut him. Sammy sent a blast at the Thirteen’s chest, but his target side-stepped it almost casually.
I am in deep, deep
—

Sammy aimed again, this time with the cannon and fired, but all he heard was a click. He threw the gun at the Thirteen and tried to scramble to his feet. It was like trying to pick up dead logs. As he stood, he backed into something cold and rough.

The brick wall.

The man said nothing. He stepped back three steps and pulled something from his belt. It blinked red. Both Sammy and the Thirteen gazed dully at the small object as it flashed the red light.

Sammy tried to remember where he had seen it. He knew he had used those before—
in simulations, yes
—but he could not put his finger on exactly what it was. The light blinked faster, and then he remembered.

A sticky!

The man hurled the sticky grenade at Sammy, who found it immensely difficult to gather the strength to shield himself. It took everything he had left in him. The sticky rebounded off the energy force of the blast, away from him and Kobe, and stuck on the ceiling not more than a meter away from Sammy’s head. The light blinked very rapidly now. Sammy threw himself on top of Kobe and curled up on his back to use his feet and hands to maximize his shield.

A loud
BOOM
shook the floor and roared in Sammy’s ears.

The explosion ripped into the ceiling and walls. The force of it shoved Sammy backwards, but the fire was unable to penetrate the shield he had produced using the last of his energy. From the force of the concussion wave, his head slammed hard into the floor. His ears rang like a high-pitched fire alarm. For several seconds, he saw nothing but stars. Then his vision cleared, leaving him with a pounding headache. He squinted through the pain, watching large chunks of ceiling and brick rain down around him. One large crack in particular spread down the wall and onto the floor. Sammy heard a loud groaning noise like metal creaking under a heavy strain. A second crack travelled across the floor near him. Small chunks of the floor collapsed into a new hole the size of a basketball, tumbling down into a dark abyss.

Why is there a hole under the floor?

He didn’t have time to think as the gap spread quickly toward him and Kobe. He checked to see if his friend was all right, but Kobe had lost consciousness. There was another groan of weight, this one even louder. As the damage spread, the largest chunks of the brick wall teetered dangerously.

“
We’ve got to move, Kobe!” he yelled, shaking his friend.

Kobe gave no sign of waking. Sammy grabbed him under his arms, cursing his friend’s weight, and heaved him away from the brick wall. Kobe collapsed back to the floor in a heap, now out of danger. Sammy was finally able to catch a glimpse of the battle raging on between his friends and the Thirteens just down the hall.

The blond Thirteen who had thrown the sticky bomb now lay on the floor, badly burned. Al and the others were still locked up with the few Thirteens standing. They seemed to be winning. His heart soared.

We’re going to live,
he thought. A feeling of tremendous relief flooded him.
I’m going home.

Just as he thought this, he heard a loud crack.

The hole in the floor grew rapidly, the ground gave out beneath him, and he, too, fell into the hole. He looked up and saw the brick wall crashing down over the hole, sealing in darkness all around him as he fell down . . .

down . . .

down . . .

down . . .

down . . .

18.
Falling

Al and Marie stood
side by side blasting back bullets when an explosion rocked the hallway. A cloud of dust and smoke billowed toward them, obscuring the end of the passage and denying Al the chance to see if Kobe and Sammy had survived the detonation. Even his nightmares had never been this bad. How had things gone so horribly wrong?

The Thirteens had discovered their plans to bug the factory, they had blocked off their exits, and somehow the cruiser’s long-range communications equipment had malfunctioned making it impossible to contact Command for help. It was the worst possible scenario.

Al asked himself again and again if he’d done the best he could, wondering how many more lives this failed mission would cost. Near the end of the hall, a burned and beaten blond Thirteen screeched out in a raspy, fading voice. The remaining Thirteens immediately began to retreat, running out the exit through a haze of smoke and dust where the brick wall had stood.

The shouts pushed thoughts of Martin and Cala away. Marie and Gregor dashed after the Thirteens. Li hobbled behind on his hurt foot. “Let them go!” Al called out.

They stopped.

“
Where are Sammy and Kobe?” Gregor asked.

The dirty fog soon lifted, and Al’s heart almost failed him. He didn’t see either of them.

“
Kobe!” Kaden yelled, seizing chunks of brick and heavy ceiling plaster. There, lying half-buried under the huge mound of rubble was a blood-and-muck covered body with familiar blond hair. Al and the others raced over to help lift the debris off Kobe. In little time, they had recovered Kobe’s bleeding and bruised and probably broken body. Kaden rested his ear near his brother’s mouth and listened.

“
He’s breathing,” he announced with a relieved smile, though tears ran down his face.

Al felt some relief. “Let’s find Sammy.”

No sooner had they started digging through the mound of dirt then Gregor shouted to Al, “There’s another bomb. We have to get out!”

“
Get Sammy first,” Al ordered.

“
It’s a class-C bomb, Al! It’ll go off any second. We have to leave now or none of us go home alive.”

Al froze, torn in half. He could not decide what to do.
I don’t want to do this. Please, God, don’t ask me to do this. He fought for me. I can’t abandon him.

Marie grabbed his arm and whispered urgently, “We have to go, Al. Now.”

Al knew she was right, but he didn’t respond. That way, at least, he would never have to say he gave the command to leave Sammy behind. Marie led him out the same way the Thirteens had gone. Behind them, Gregor and Kaden carried Kobe. Li hobbled out last. The factory’s dimness gave way to brilliant daylight. It surprised Al that it could be daytime with all the darkness inside of him.

Dead bodies of the Thirteens who had only just fled were strewn over the walkway and lawn. The cruiser’s guns had mowed them down like a nasty bit of crabgrass. Once his team was safely out, Al turned to go back to get Sammy.

Another explosion went off. It seemed to rip the very air around him. Perhaps the whole earth was being torn asunder. Al was knocked down onto his back as a fireball spat out of the factory. He gasped for air, trying to regain his wind.

“
Sammy!” he screamed through coughs and sputters. Smoke filled his lungs as he stared into the flames. Thick black fumes poured from where he had stood only seconds before.

“
Al, please,” Marie said in a quiet but strong voice, pulling at him, “we have to get out of here.”

Al would not budge. “He was my responsibility.”

“
Please
.”

He knelt on the grass, holding himself. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so terrible before. Only a day ago, he’d considered himself to be the most capable Psion Beta ever produced from headquarters. “I’ve failed, Marie. I lost Martin and Sammy. Maybe Cala and Kobe.”

“
The sooner we get back, the sooner they can get medical treatment.”

He knew she was right.
Save those who can be saved, cry later
. Steeling himself against his emotions, he got to his feet and ran with Marie to the cruiser. Gregor and Kaden were strapping in Kobe next to Cala. Bloody and beaten Cala.

“
Get us out of here now,” Al ordered. His voice broke, but he did not cry. He did not want to spend another second in this forsaken pit. The pilot took off before he had even strapped himself in.

Somehow, despite his crushing fatigue, Sammy managed to weakly blast one final time, cushioning his fall so the landing did not kill him. He hit the floor with a smack, pain shooting through his legs and arms. A weak scream came from his mouth but seemed disembodied to him. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. It took minutes before he realized he was lying down, he was so drained.

Bruised, bleeding, aching, exhausted, he rested his head on the stone floor. The coolness of it was blissful against his cheek, better than a pillow at the moment. For an unknown time, his mind floated freely along whatever absurd, random thoughts would carry him—in and out of sleep. Peaceful sleep in the perfect dark.

He lost track of time in the consuming absence of light. When he finally woke, he thought his head had been stuffed full of wet cotton balls that shifted around every time he moved. His body hurt from his toenails to his hair. He didn’t get up or even try to move, but lay there serenely wondering why it was so quiet and dark. His unconcerned state ended when he remembered falling down a hole. He sat up quickly, ignoring the headache that hit him so powerfully it seemed his skull had been placed between an anvil and mallet.

I have to get back to the group.

“
Al!” he shouted into his com. His voice sounded like an old saw digging into fresh wood. “I’ve fallen down a shaft or something. I don’t know—it’s too dark to see anything.”

No answer.

“
Al, do you hear me?” he asked. His voice started to sound more normal.

Instinctively he reached up for his com to adjust the earpiece, but only felt his ear.

My com! Where’s my com?

He groped around blindly in the dark. With each empty reach, he became more frantic, almost clawing into the concrete floor. He suddenly felt terribly alone and afraid. The darkness seemed even heavier, more oppressive somehow, as the reality of his situation hit him.

I’m stranded! They’ve left me.

Blind, hot panic unlike anything he had ever known flooded his mind. The invisible mallet continued pounding until his head felt ready to split in two. The intense pain made his stomach lurch, and he vomited onto the floor. Blood rushed from his head leaving him light and woozy. He passed out.

Al leaned forward in the co-pilot’s chair with an idea. Something he should have thought of much sooner. “What does Sammy’s monitor show?” he asked the pilot just as they reached the shoreline of the Atlantic.

“
Just a second. Let me call up the program,” the pilot answered, punching buttons on the display before him. “Okay. What’s his code?”

“
Uh . . . zero-zero-nine.”

A screen came to life. Two flat bars, one red, one green, streamed across in vivid brightness. No heart beat, no respiration. Al sank back into his chair and hoped the pilot would not be so tactless as to offer the interpretation aloud.

“
I’m so sorry,” was all he said to Al.

“
Me, too,” was what Al wanted to say, but his mouth was suddenly too heavy to move.

He unbuckled himself from the seat and went to the back of the cruiser to check on Cala. An orange goo covered her face and much of her upper body to slow bleeding and promote healing. Her monitor showed that her heart rate was slow but steady, her breathing still dangerously shallow.
It’s a miracle she survived
.
A true miracle
.

She had been in very critical condition when Marie and Kaden found her in the blood-stained power room. They were all surprised that she was still alive after taking multiple shots to the neck and chest, and then left for dead by her assailants.

The Elite pilot, who had emergency medical training as all Elite must have, did the best patch-up job he could, and then hooked her up to an arti-blood bag. Martin had died long before help had arrived. Kaden had almost gone into shock from carrying Martin’s mangled body back to the cruiser. The massive head trauma had left their friend utterly unrecognizable.

Al glanced around the ship at the remains of his team. Kobe hadn’t regained consciousness. Kaden was watching over him closely, looking for any signs of instability. Gregor was either asleep or looking down at the ground, Al wasn’t sure which. Li sat stone-faced and silent in his seat, his badly injured foot wrapped in bandages.

It was Marie who puzzled Al. She looked sad but calm. Occasionally she looked back at him, but he always averted his eyes. He could not bear to look at her right now.
What is she thinking? How is she so strong and I’m so weak?
Numbly, he sat down next to her and closed his eyes.

Marie. Sweet, beautiful Marie. The girl he would marry in less than a year if their plans worked out. He knew she was ready to comfort him whenever he showed even the slightest need. But he didn’t want comfort. No, right now he wanted to scream in rage. He wanted to kill more Thirteens. He wanted to do evil things to them. That secret urge terrified him more than he wanted to admit to anyone, even himself. And since he could do none of these things, and sleep was the furthest thing from his exhausted mind, it would be a long and tortuous journey back to headquarters.

Sammy woke up hours later. His first thought was,
What’s that terrible smell?

Then he remembered that he had thrown up. Then he remembered why. On cue, the same terror-laced hysteria he had felt earlier rose up inside his chest like a terrible dragon. This time he was more ready for it. He fought it back, telling himself over and over again that help would be coming, but another voice spoke inside his head, too.

They may not even know where you are
.

Yes, they do
, he told the voice.
I have a homing signal on my chest.

His fingers brushed the spot where the beta symbol should have been and found it missing.

The second voice was quick to remind him:
It fell off during the fight. The Thirteen ripped it off you
.

His fingers again felt for it, touching only cold skin with dried blood crusted on. The panic grew stronger. He tasted the bitter flavor of his own blood in his mouth, and the nausea returned.

No com and no homing signal. I’ll never be found!

He cried a little, but then began sucking in deep breaths to calm himself. He felt a little better. More deep breaths slowed the panic.

I’ve got to find something to do. I need light.

He reasoned if he could smell his way back to the vomit, it could be his point of reference. He took both his shoes off, and laid them at a ninety degree angle near the pool of vomit to point himself around the room. With careful, short steps, he walked away from the vomit, hands outstretched. To keep his composure, he counted the number of steps he took.

Fifty-eight
.

Fifty-nine
.

Sixty
.

Sixty-one
.

His fingers hit something. A wall. Sixty-one steps to the wall. He put that important piece of information away, and started counting from one again, now following the wall.

When the cruiser was finally within distance to use its short-range communications, the pilot requested emergency medical staff to be waiting at the landing site. Minutes later, after receiving permission to land, the cruiser touched down on top of headquarters. A host of people were waiting for them.

As soon as the door opened, Al jumped out. “We need medical assistance!”

There were a few gasps and mutters of astonishment when he appeared in front of everyone. He had not even thought of what a shock it would be for them to see him with his suit bloodied, ripped, and filthy.

He quickly explained the details of Cala and Kobe’s injuries to Doctor Rosmir and his staff as they carried her from the stealth cruiser into a waiting ambulance. Next, Kobe was carefully taken out, and finally Martin’s body. It was not until after all this that Al noticed the crowd of people awaiting their return on the rooftop: government officials, Commander Wrobel, other Alphas, and finally his father, face paled and lined with worry. His father pushed through the crowd and grabbed his shoulders tightly.

“
Are you okay?” he said, his voice shaking.

Al wanted to say: “Yes, I’m okay,” but he couldn’t. Everything came rushing out, and he nearly lost his composure. “No! Sir, I’m not okay. Nothing is okay right now. We lost Sammy and Martin!”