Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5) (41 page)

“Do you really have to ask?” Jeffie crouched low to
shield herself while pushing the Hybrids back with blasts. They grew closer now
that the drone guns were off.
Sammy blasted back
two Hybrids and shielded the fire from two more. Shrapnel from one hand cannon
whizzed over his head.

The Hybrids pressed and pressed, pushing Sammy and
Jeffie back. Sammy’s plan was to get the enemy used to having the drones off.
Then he and Jeffie would blast over them and get near the elevator doors. Once
the Hybrids had turned their backs to the drones, Sammy would reactivate the
drones and obliterate the Hybrids from both sides. However, Sammy wasn’t sure
he could get to the opposite side of the room.

Each time he tried to elevate himself with blasts,
the Hybrids shot him backward with blasts of their own. Jeffie stood even less
of a chance with her bad leg.

There is still a
way
.

Sammy ignored the voice and checked his com. Less
than forty minutes remained until the time to activate the signal.

You’re not going
to make it in time. All those people are counting on you to send out the code.

Sammy gritted his teeth and blasted back two more
Hybrids. His mind searched for options, desperate to
see
the way to win this battle quickly. The Hybrids continued to
use their blasts effectively, shielding themselves well and taking regular
shots at Sammy and Jeffie.

For one instant, Sammy saw an opening and took
advantage of it, blasting himself off the wall to his left and then up against
the ceiling, firing down bullets and blasts. As he did so, he drew his feet up
to use his foot blasts as shields. The Hybrids closest to him shot their blasts
back to knock him down. Jeffie caught one of them in the ribs, but he continued
to fire at Sammy, grazing his leg and tearing a hole in his zero suit. Sammy
cursed and dropped into a defensive stance when he landed. Jeffie saw what
happened and shook her head.

Minutes ticked
away. The Hybrids pressed them back until Sammy and Jeffie’s backs were almost
to the wall. The voice in Sammy’s head screamed at him to unleash the rage, the
Anomaly Thirteen, and win the battle once and for all.

What if it’s for the best? I can’t finish the mission if I’m
dead
. He looked at Jeffie.
I
won’t hurt her. I can control it that much
.

He took a deep
breath.

Yes, that’s it. Do it!
the voice urged.

Sweat cascaded down
Sammy’s temple. He licked his dry lips with a dry tongue as he made up his
mind. But before he could do anything else, two Hybrids fell dead. Then two
more. All died from expert headshots to the back of the skull.

Vitoria!

The other four
turned to her and returned fire. As soon as they gave Sammy and Jeffie their
backs, the duo went to work. Another Hybrid fell before the other three gave up
shooting and started shielding on both sides. By then it was too late. Jeffie
continued firing while Sammy used several blasts to get above the Hybrids and
force them to adjust their shields. As soon as they did so, Vitoria or Jeffie
capitalized on the error. Within five minutes of Vitoria’s arrival, the Hybrids
were dead.

The same time the
last Hybrid hit the ground, so did Vitoria. Sammy and Jeffie ran to her.
When Sammy saw
Vitoria’s white face and the blossoming circles of red in her chest and
stomach, a vision of Toad flashed in Sammy’s mind.

“You’re not dying,” he told her.
“You’re not dying. Jeffie, get the med pack.” He clutched Vitoria’s hand. “Just
give me a second to fix this.”

“No.” Vitoria gazed up at him
with bloodshot eyes, face wrinkled with pain. Her voice was unnaturally wheezy
and wet. “Don’t try to save me.”

“Why?” Sammy asked. Jeffie returned with the med kit
and dumped it in his lap. “Why can’t you live? Isn’t it enough that Toad died?”

“I miss him. I miss my mommy and daddy. I miss them
all. There’s no place for me here. I’m too—I’m too … old.”

Sammy shook his head at such nonsense. “You’re just
a kid. You have to live your life!” He let go of her hand and fumbled with the
kit, but Vitoria’s hand slid over his, her grip weak.

“You gave me something better than what I had.
Thank—” Vitoria coughed up blood. Sammy lifted her head onto his lap and
stroked her hair as she struggled to breathe. As the blood and fluid filled her
lungs, drowning her, Sammy watched, numb and stunned. Her eyes closed softly,
but he continued to stare.

Finally Jeffie shook him. “We need to patch up your
suit and get the bodies out for the last part. You said she’s coming. Remember?
The plan, Sammy …”

A desire to strangle Jeffie energized Sammy’s limbs.
But instead, he hugged her.

Tuesday, November 11, 2087

ALBERT WASN’T LIGHT, and Commander Byron wasn’t young. The fight with
the Thirteens had taken a lot out of him. Years, perhaps. The commander had
reassured his son that everything was going to be fine. That he was going to
take care of everything. The words were identical to what he’d told Albert as a
baby when rocking him the day after Emily died. He’d baptized his son’s face
with his tears that night.

A little over an
hour left
. He had no time for tears. The clock was ticking; he and Albert had
to move.

The first time
Byron tried lifting his right arm above his head, he
almost retched. The arm moved fine despite the break, but the sensation of the
pieces of his shattered clavicle bone rubbing against each other turned his
stomach.

“Not to worry,” he
told Albert even though Albert was still unconscious, “I will be fine.”

It took him three
tries and ten minutes to lift Albert up through the elevator hatch using
careful, steady blasts, but he finally did it. Once Albert was atop the
elevator, Byron joined him and worked at the doors to the white floor. Prying
open the elevator doors took some work and muscle, but once he cracked them a
few centimeters, Byron used his blasts to shove them apart.

Everything was so white it was hard to
tell where one wall ended and another began. Byron rubbed his eyes. The only
thing not white were the smears of dried blood left wherever he touched. He
dragged Albert to the back of the room to the small door in the center of the
wall. Both he and Albert had practiced this part—cutting the door in such
a way that they triggered the failsafe mechanism that opened the door. But
Albert was better at it than Byron, his hands steadier.

The commander propped his son up
against the wall next to the door and pulled the plasma blade back out of the
bag. Then he removed a tape measure and found the spot on the door ninety
centimeters from the bottom and forty centimeters from the left side. Byron
marked this spot with a blue pencil. The bone in his shoulder bulged his skin
every time he raised his arm too high.

Once he was ready, Commander Byron
pressed the tip of the plasma blade against the marked spot on the door. His
right arm trembled. He switched hands, but the left arm was worse from the tear
in his muscle.

I
can do this. I am not useless.

The cut into the door had to be
shallow enough to avoid destroying the failsafe mechanism but deep enough to
reach it. Byron closed his eyes and said a short prayer before igniting the
plasma blade. Then he made the cut into the door, pressing the blade deeper
into the metal as it softened from the heat. He stopped abruptly, suddenly
afraid that he had gone too far into the door. His throat went dry as he
removed the plasma blade from the cut. Shining a light into the door, he saw
the failsafe switch, slightly melted, but still intact. Sighing with relief, he
flipped the switch. When the datacube port next to the door slid open, Byron
inserted the cube and waited for it to do its work. Once it was done, the white
door opened to reveal a small workstation with a desk, chair, and an older
model computer and holo-screen.

“Looks just like my first office.” Byron smiled at
his son, then frowned. He knelt beside his boy and checked his pulse for the
fourth time. It was there. And he was breathing. Byron opened Albert’s eyes and
checked the dilation of his pupils. Taking Albert’s hand in his, the commander
held it up to his chest. “Everything is going to be okay, son. I think you have
a serious concussion. Possibly a cracked skull. But I promise you will make it
out of here. Okay? I promise.”

He propped Albert up behind the
desk and sat in the chair. The screen flashed.

COMMAND:\>

All right, Samuel. The ball is in your court. We believe in you
.
Byron checked the time. They had exactly one hour.
Sixty minutes. This could have been a lot worse.

As soon as the
thought passed through his mind, a Hybrid dropped down the elevator shaft.

* * * * *

An hour and a half before sunrise, Brickert and Natalia sat outside
on the balcony of the small studio motel room crammed with a dozen people
sleeping on the floor, couches, and beds. The pair held hands and cuddled,
partly because the November air in D.C. had a bite to it, but mostly because
they wanted to be close. Natalia’s head rested on his shoulder, and Brickert’s
head on her crown. Her smell was light like honey, something he savored. He
pulled her a little tighter to him.

“You like my new hair color?” she asked, examining
the now chestnut colored strands closely.

“Yeah. It looks … normal. I can’t remember the last
time it was like that.”

“It’s been a while. I just—just wanted to
blend in.”

Brickert gave her a small hug and nodded. In a crowd
of people, blue or purple or even deep black hair would stick out to snipers
and gunmen. Natalia played with Brickert’s fingers, occasionally kissing them.
Every minute or so, she would tremble against him, though not from the chill.
Brickert nuzzled the top of her head and whispered, “I love you.”

Natalia sighed. “Thanks. I love you, too.”

As they held each other and listened to the sounds
of the city, Brickert wondered how many people would arrive to help march on
the capitol. Were they on their way right now? Or was the resistance alone? If
so, the resistance would be nothing more than the wind. Here one instant and
gone the next.

“You think they will come?” he asked Natalia. “You
think the speech worked?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“How many are going to show up?”

“A million!” Natalia said, laughing. “Honestly, I
don’t know. A lot, I hope.”

“What if it’s only hundreds? Or dozens? And they’re
all crazy homeless people.”

“Then we might lose,” Natalia said. The mirth was
gone.

“People are too scared or skeptical to show up.
You’ve seen the news.”

A long silence passed between them before Natalia
spoke again. “People believe what they want to believe. Not what they learn or
see.”

“What do you believe?” Brickert asked.

Natalia turned to him so she could look him in the
face. Her eyes were red, and her nose dripped. She’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m going to die today.” Her voice squeaked
when she admitted this. “I don’t know why, but I have this awful feeling about
it. I’m not even sure if it means we’re going to lose the battle, it’s
just—it’s just me.”

Brickert tightened his embrace. “No, no,
everything’s going to be fine. You have to stay focused and positive.”

“I am focused! I want this to be over. I want to go
home and see my family again. That’s another thing we never talk about. What’s
going to happen to us when this is over? There’s no Beta headquarters. There’s
no Alpha. There’s hardly any Psions left!”

“Commander Byron will figure it out,” Brickert said.

“He’s practically on a suicide mission! I don’t
think he’s coming back either.”

“Why are you suddenly so scared?”

Natalia shook her head. “It’s just this feeling in
my gut.” She sat up and faced him. “Promise me something, okay?”

“What?”

“Just promise me, then I’ll tell you.”

Brickert chuckled, but no smile played across his
lips. “That’s never a good idea.”

Natalia flashed a vanishing smile. “No, it never is.
But do it anyway.”

After rolling his eyes, Brickert said, “All right. I
promise. What?”

“The mission comes first.”

Brickert understood what she meant. “What makes you
think I’d do otherwise?”

“Because you risked your neck for me on the mission
in Colorado Springs, remember? That stunt you pulled almost got you and
everyone else killed.”

“Hey, I saved your life!” he said.

“No. I’m not saying that. I’m grateful.” Natalia put
a hand on his face. “I’m so grateful. When I first became a Psion, I thought it
was just silliness. We had neat powers, we played cool games … and it was like
a dream. A dream that I was in a select school. You woke me up, opened my
eyes.”

“By saving your life?”

“I’m talking about before that. You took training so
seriously. Especially after we thought Sammy had died in Rio, I didn’t get it.
You did. When we started dating, I began to understand your passion. I started
trying harder, and it saved my life in Orlando when we were in the garage. Now
I need to know that you’re going to let me die if—if the mission requires
it.”

Brickert understood that she was referring to the
opposite scenario as well. If Brickert got into trouble, Natalia would not come
to his rescue if doing so endangered the mission. So he nuzzled her forehead
and said, “Okay. I promise.”

Natalia smiled sadly. Then she kissed him. Brickert
kissed her back hungrily knowing that it might be the last time. Minutes later
they were interrupted by Justice. “Rise and shine, folks,” he said without his
usual gusto, his mouth set in a hard line. “Time to grab a quick bite and go
over the plans one more time. Operation Old MacDonald starts in less than
ninety minutes.”

The operation name was Thomas Byron’s idea in memory
of his wife who grew up on a farm in Iowa. All resistance teams were named
after farm animals. Friendly snipers were called geese, friendly cruisers were
eagles, and enemy cruisers were hawks. Brickert was in charge of Sheep Team.

A half an hour before sunrise, the resistance headed
to their starting points. For Brickert that meant the rundown shopping mall at
Prince Georges. Brickert had been given a flashy white convertible to drive
with as much explosive and ordnance as the demolition crew could pack under the
hood. Justice Juraschek would start from the mall, too, with Strawberry as his
Psion.

“Snipers are already getting into position to
provide cover,” Justice said. “Once they see us speeding toward the barricades,
they will start firing. Be alert. Let’s go over the routes again.”

Brickert knew his route as well as he knew how to
make a perfect hamburger. Justice would take Horse Team south on 16
^th
Street into D.C. while Brickert and the rest of Sheep Team made their way to
Highway 50, and Natalia (Pig Team) took Highway 29. Once each car had destroyed
its blockade, the teams would move in and help clear out enemies for the masses
to march into the city.

“Any reports of marchers?” Brickert asked Justice.

“Some. A few hundred gathering at College Park.
About a thousand at Army Navy Country Club. Might be some people up at Glover
Archbold, but I don’t know. Thomas is sending organizers to each place.”

The news was a bitter disappointment, but Brickert
would not let it deter him. He shook hands with the rest of Sheep Team and
wished them well. His team comprised of one Elite and ten other resistance members
with varying amounts of combat training. Despite Brickert’s protests, Justice
put him in charge, and named the Elite, Erin Malm, second in command of the
team. Brickert went solo in the first car while the rest of Sheep Team rode a
van thirty meters back. The doors to the van had been removed to give its
occupants an immediate exit in the event of an attack. After reviewing the
plans one last time, Justice ordered everyone into their cars. Brickert gave
Natalia one last hug, and started up his convertible.

Driving down the highway with over twenty kilos of
class B explosives near the engine made his palms sweat. He checked his mirrors
every ten seconds and never got closer than five meters to the car in front of
him. Flashing signs on both sides of the road warned drivers to stay away from
barricades, and that any signs of civil unrest would be met with lethal force.
Brickert’s destination was the intersection of 7
^th
and K Street on
the northeastern side of the city. The barricade filled Mount Vernon Square. As
Brickert drove down, he flipped his com onto the broadcast channel.

“Marchers approaching the Potomac bridges,” Lorenzo
said. “CAG agents are ordering them to halt or they will open fire. Permission
to direct them to proceed?”

“Negative,” Thomas returned. “We have no snipers in
position to provide cover on the bridges. If you cross the bridge, you will
sustain heavy casualties.”

“Wait until we have people in position to aid the
crossing,” a third voice said.

Brickert switched his com back to the private line
between him and his direct commander. “Justice, I’m less than three minutes
from the blockade. Do I still have a green light?”

“You getting bricky, Brickert?” Justice asked.

“What does that even mean?”

“Dunno. I just made it up. You’re still green-lit.
All teams are in sync. The rest of Sheep Team with you?”