The Machine Awakes (23 page)

At the edge of his vision, Kodiak saw Braben narrow his eyes as he looked at the group of cadets. There were five men and three women, and Kodiak had to agree that they did all look barely out of their teens. Braben retrieved his coffee from the floor, but didn't say any more.

But he knew Avalon trusted the Academy commander, and
he
trusted the chief. Alpha One
were
the best of the best. Both Caitlin and Tyler Smith had been part of that class, after all.

Avalon cocked her head. “Are you able to give us an estimate on the probability of success?”

Moustafa pursed his lips. “That's a difficult question, Commander. I am certain we
will
obtain a result, but what I cannot estimate is how long it will take. There are risks involved with this new technique, so we will need to proceed cautiously.

Kodiak lifted his head. “Risks, sir?”

Moustafa nodded, bouncing on his heels a little as he folded his arms. “To locate the two missing persons, the cadets will form their own gestalt. While this is a standard skill for any psi-marine, directing the gestalt to find other minds is not. To achieve this, the gestalt will essentially act like a magnet, drawing other psi-abled people into it. If the targets are still in New Orem, they'll be able to sense them both.” Moustafa glanced at the chief. “And therein lies the problem.”

The chief raised an eyebrow as Moustafa gestured to the circular chamber in which they stood.

“This training room is psychically shielded,” he said, “so it will mitigate the effects somewhat, but the ops will be monitoring the gestalt field constantly. In a city the size of New Orem, there is a very high probability of there being psi-abled citizens out there who don't even know it.”

Avalon frowned. “I'm sensing that's a problem.”

Moustafa nodded. “As part of a gestalt, you sacrifice your sense of self, deliberately. Psi-marines are trained to deal with this and control it, but it is dangerous for those without that skill. An untrained mind caught in the gestalt may not be able to escape it.”

Kodiak sighed. Okay, that
was
a problem. He knew the technique was experimental, still very much in its infancy, but that seemed to be an almost insurmountable drawback. He drew his finger under his bottom lip as he considered the implications. He felt his confidence in the plan begin to sink.

“So,” he said slowly, “how do we do this without killing a certain percentage of the city's general population?”

Commander Moustafa walked over to the couches at the center of the training room. “Carefully is the answer, Agent. Everything is monitored from here”—he pointed to one of the freestanding consoles—“along with control of the training room's shielding field. The ops will let the gestalt out into the city a bit at a time. Any sign of trouble, we can pull it back and try again.”

“Trouble like people dropping dead in the street?” asked Braben. He turned to Avalon and flapped his arms against his sides. “Chief, please tell me you don't agree with this? We can sweep the city again, get more teams out. Put agents on everything going in and out of the starport. Maybe we can find the targets without frying the minds of every unsuspecting psi-abled person in a fifty-kilometer radius.”

Avalon sighed, then folded her arms. She looked first at Braben, then at Kodiak. Kodiak wondered what was going through her mind—the same as his, most likely: fear, uncertainty, doubt. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

And … if this
worked
 …

Finally, perhaps after giving the matter one last moment of consideration, the chief spoke.

“It's a calculated risk,” she said. She turned to face the psi-marine officer. “You may proceed when ready, Commander.”

Kodiak exhaled the breath he'd been holding. This was it. Avalon had made the right decision.

Beside him, Braben sighed and folded his arms, but he stayed quiet.

Moustafa gave the chief a short bow, then he stepped up to the group of cadets.

“Alpha One,
ten-shun,
” he said, his voice suddenly loud in the circular room. Immediately the class snapped to attention, then shuffled their feet as their trainer gave the command to stand at ease. Eight fresh faces looked at the mentor. They weren't smiling, but Kodiak could see an eagerness there, and a pride also. Alpha One. The best of the best.

“As you are aware, this is a live mission,” said Moustafa. “You have all been briefed. The psychospore of the two targets have been isolated from Academy records, so we have a good chance of tracking that back to them. Remember, the targets were psi-marines as well, like you will be. More than that, they were Alpha One as well. Whatever trouble they are in, whatever they have gotten themselves into, it's our duty to bring them back to the fold.”

He paused and looked up and down the rank of cadets.

“I won't lie to you,” he said. “This is beyond the normal parameters of your Academy training. But you are all aware of the recent events that have brought about these extraordinary circumstances. Extraordinary circumstances that demand extraordinary service. You have helped develop this technique, in cooperation with your ops trainers. You are more than capable of carrying out this mission to success. Is that understood?”

“Sir!” intoned the cadets.

Moustafa nodded, then gestured to the couches. “Alpha One, prepare.”

The young recruits fanned out around the center of the room, and each climbed onto a couch. As far as Kodiak could see, the couches weren't connected to anything—no cables, no monitoring devices of any kind, save for the freestanding consoles, each of which now had a technician at station.

The eight cadets adjusted themselves, their heads all together at the center, their arms crossed over their chests. After a moment, First Sergeant Epstein nodded at the two other ops, who confirmed their readiness. She looked over at her commander.

“Alpha One, ready sir.”

Moustafa acknowledged and turned to Avalon, his eyebrows raised.

Kodiak glanced at Braben. The agent was standing on his left, his arms folded, his expression dark.

Kodiak didn't blame him for his reluctance—this was dangerous, an experiment with so much riding on it. Alpha One were so young … but, Kodiak knew, so powerful. They could do this.

Then Kodiak glanced sideways at Avalon. She was watching the cadets, like he was, but her face was unreadable. She was the Bureau Chief, a position of considerable power within the Fleet hierarchy. But the results of this experiment were going to fall on her shoulders. She had accepted the risk, she trusted Moustafa and his team. But Kodiak thought he could understand what she was feeling, thinking—she was not just his commander, but his friend.

Moustafa's voice snapped Kodiak out of his reverie.

“Commence psi-link. Alpha One, over to you.”

Kodiak blinked and took half a step back, his arms now folded as he watched.

The eight members of Alpha One acknowledged, and then they all closed their eyes. With arms drawn across their chests, Kodiak thought the scene looked a little creepy, the eight young cadets looking like war dead laid out for interment.

Minutes passed. Kodiak wasn't entirely sure what he expected to happen, but so far nothing had. The cadets lay still on their couches. Moustafa stood watching them. The three ops at their consoles studied readouts and occasionally tapped a control. But that was it. There was no sound. No change in the light. Nothing at all.

Kodiak cleared his throat, a nervous reflex that made Moustafa turn at the sound, but the commander merely gave Kodiak a curt nod then turned back to the cadets. Kodiak felt like they had to be quiet, like they were observing some kind of ceremony or delicate operation that could not be disturbed. Which, he guessed, was actually exactly right.

They waited. The technicians stared at their consoles. The cadets remained perfectly still, hardly even breathing. Kodiak moved his eyes from one to another, sometimes thinking they had stopped breathing until, as the seconds passed, he saw their chests rise and fall in a slow rhythm. He rolled his neck again. He was feeling very much more nervous than he thought he would.

And then the cadets started moving their lips, like they were whispering. Kodiak frowned and strained to hear, but he couldn't make anything out. Moustafa seemed to notice Kodiak's interest and leaned in to him.

“This is quite normal,” he said quietly. “The psi-link requires immense concentration, and sometimes it helps them focus to speak the thoughts to one another.”

Kodiak nodded. “Any idea when we'll find out if it's working?”

Moustafa pursed his lips. “We should know soon—”

One of the cadets convulsed and screamed. One of the technicians, Corporal Holt, ducked around his console and moved to the cadet to hold him down. Kodiak started forward, but Moustafa grabbed his arm. The other seven cadets didn't move, apparently unaware of the seizure one of their number was having.

“Psi-feedback,” said Moustafa. “Don't worry. It can happen.” He called out to the technicians. “Epstein, report.”

“Gestalt stable,” said the First Sergeant. Then she leaned down over her console, peering at a readout. “There's something else, though.”

Avalon and Kodiak exchanged a look. Braben moved over to the console and looked down over the technician's shoulder.

“What do you mean, something else?” Braben asked.

“I'm not sure,” said Epstein. “Some kind of noise. Might just be the psychospore tracking off line a little. Trying to isolate now.…”

The cadets began to speak, the seven who remained still on their couches muttering in a monotone. The eighth cadet writhed on his couch, the technician holding him down, but his movements were slowing.

Kodiak watched, anxiety blooming in his chest. This was normal? He wondered whether they needed to call a medic, but Moustafa remained calm and collected. The commander moved to the couches, Avalon at his heel. Kodiak decided to follow, and together the three of them looked around at the cadets.

“What are they saying?” asked Avalon. Moustafa held up a hand, then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. As Kodiak watched, the chief psi-trainer flinched.

The murmuring increased in volume. Then the cadets spoke clearly and loudly, one after another, going around in the circle.

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Nine.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Two.”

“Juno.”

“Juno,” said Moustafa, and the cycle began again. When it came back to Moustafa again, he repeated the last word, and then it continued. Again, and again, and again.

Kodiak felt that anxiety blossom into full-on fear. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew he had to keep back, let Moustafa handle it.

Avalon moved to join Braben at the console. First Sergeant Epstein was busy at the controls, but Braben just shook his head. Avalon looked up at Kodiak.

“Eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno?”

Kodiak held his hands up in confusion. “I have no idea. It sounds like coordinates of some kind. Juno Juno will be planetary.”

Kodiak looked at Commander Moustafa. The pained expression had cleared, but his eyes were still closed. He was muttering the complete sequence to himself, now out of sync with the cadets around him.

Kodiak wanted to reach out and shake him out of it. “Commander?” he asked. Did Moustafa know what the sequence was?

Moustafa nodded. “Yes, it's coordinates, but I'm not sure what for.” Then his face screwed up in pain. “There's … there's something else here with us.” He cried out and doubled over. On the couches, the seven cadets suddenly convulsed and screamed in pain.

Moustafa collapsed on the floor. Now Kodiak moved to help. As he knelt by the collapsed commander, he looked up and waved at the technicians. Avalon turned to them.

“Pull them all out,” she yelled. “Now!”

Moustafa groaned in Kodiak's arms, Avalon rushing back to help. His eyes flickered open and he looked around, clearly disoriented, but when he saw Kodiak looking at him, he licked his lips and scrambled to pull himself up with his and Avalon's help.

“Are you okay?” asked the chief. Moustafa seemed to have difficulty focusing on her, but eventually he nodded.

Kodiak pulled his arm. “What happened? Did it work? Is everything okay?”

Moustafa brushed Kodiak off and stood. He staggered to the nearest console and leaned against it. Corporal Sigler moved to help him, but he waved the technician away. Meanwhile, the cadets moaned as they lay on their couches, Holt now moving from one to the next, checking pulses and looking into their eyes. One of the cadets raised himself up on his elbows and rolled his neck. Moustafa went to his side.

“Augustine,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Cadet Augustine nodded at his superior and wet his lips. He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I'm okay, I think, sir. We performed the psi-link and had a stable gestalt, at least until…” The cadet winced in pain, then grabbed the commander's arm and sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead, his eyes wide.

“Eight-seven-nine-one-two-two-Juno-Juno,” he said, and said again, repeating the sequence as he began struggling against Moustafa. Holt pulled a small silver cylinder out of her tunic pocket and pressed it against the cadet's neck. Augustine immediately fell back onto the couch and didn't move again.

Kodiak swore and ran his hands through his hair. He began pacing around the circular room. This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Von, come here,” called Braben. Kodiak went to the console where Braben and the technician were talking. Braben took his datapad out of the inside of his jacket and began tapping notes.

“It worked,” he said, pointing at one of the readouts. “The gestalt made contact with one target anyway.”