Psion Delta (14 page)

“
Sir
,
I don’t care about my Panel!” Sammy leaned forward. “And I don’t want to
graduate early.”

“I
have little influence over your graduation date.”

“What
do you mean?” Sammy argued. “You can tell Command I’m not ready! You can delay
my Panel as long as you want.”

“That’s
not what you really want, though, is it?”

“You
don’t know what I want. If you don’t believe that, then watch me. I’ll fail all
my sims and instructions. And if you force me to take the Panel, I’ll fail
that, too. I’m not going to let Command jerk me around.”

“But
that’s part of our commitment of service,” Tawhiri reminded him. “And that’s
what Command wants. They want you out of here as soon as it can be done. That’s
why I’m here. That’s my job. You pretend that you and I aren’t—for lack of a
better word—tools, but that’s what we are. Which is why we should help each
other advance our careers, right?”

“How
could I possibly help you?”

“I’m
talking about networking! It’s as important to a career as anything else.
Unfortunately it is sometimes more so. It’s the world we live in, dog eat dog.
But you and I can help each other.”

Sammy
snorted. “Why would I want to be in Command?”

“Because
Command is where people like you belong. It’s a place for you to have a stable
life and make decisions, not be acted upon by others. It’s a place off the
front lines! You’re not a grunt, Sammy, you’re a wunderkind. You will have
opportunities that most people don’t.”

Sammy
took a large gulp of his water while Byron’s words from long ago about great
expectations swirled around his mind. “I don’t know anything about any of that
stuff you’re talking about. I’m—I’m me.”

Tawhiri
grabbed his stomach and chuckled merrily. “That’s because you’re young! Let me
try to explain. General Wu has been around a long time. You’ve heard of him,
right?”

Sammy
indicated he had.

“He
started out as the head of Elite Command. When all these anomalies popped up,
Wu created an entity called Anomaly Command, which he directed. Eventually, as
the number of anomalies grew, Anomaly Command was split into three
groups—Tensai, Psion, and Ultra . . . Eleven, Fourteen, and Fifteen—and Wu
created Alpha Command to coordinate their efforts. General Wu, as the Director
of Military Operations, oversees both Alpha and Elite Command. You still with
me? Good.

“Wu
and Commander Byron go way back, but Wu is old and close to retirement. You can
bet he will have significant sway as to who gets his job,” Tawhiri continued.
“He’s on excellent terms with the president. If I were a betting man, I’d put
everything I have on shaking hands with a General Byron in a year or two.”

“General—you
mean Commander Byron?”

“I
have little doubt,” Major Tawhiri said. “The general and the commander don’t
see eye to eye on most things, but there’s no one Wu trusts more.”

“I
don’t think Byron would take the job.”

“You
don’t, eh? That remains to be seen, but the new director will almost certainly
be someone from Alpha Command. With Byron’s recent promotion, lots of people
think he’s being fast-tracked. Wu’s been at odds with Elite Command since moved
up in the ranks, and lower-level Command members are hardly qualified for such
an assignment.”

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 long 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.”