Psion Alpha
Authors: Jacob Gowans
Tags: #Children's Books, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Children's eBooks, #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction; Fantasy & Scary Stories
PSION ALPHA
OTHER WORKS BY JACOB
GOWANS:
Psion Series:
Psion Beta
(2010)
Psion Gamma
(2011)
Psion Delta
(2012)
A Tale of Light and
Shadow Series:
A Tale of Light and
Shadow
(July 2014)
PSION ALPHA
By
Jacob Gowans
Copyright 2013 by Jacob
Gowans
All
characters, events, and text within this novel and series are owned by Jacob
Gowans. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or recorded
by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission of the author.
For information regarding permission please contact the author at
www.jacobgowans.com
Published by Jacob
Gowans 2013
Dedicated
to my father, Floyd, whose example and love shaped and molded me into who I am
today. Every boy deserves a father who he can trust and look up to.
Acknowledgements
*
Being a self-published
author is like being an understudy for your favorite role in a play. You hope
and pray for your big chance to shine, but never know if it will come. I feel
incredibly blessed to have the support I do from fans, friends, and family. I
hope that’s a reflection on the books I’ve published. It has been so much fun
to watch my writing career blossom. Hopefully the last two steps are not far
away: the book deal, and the day when I can cut back on being a dentist to
write all these ideas I have in my head and in my notebook.
I would not
have been able to do this without my workshoppers. They have been faithful and
excellent in their feedback. My dream is to someday round them all up and take
them out for steaks. John Wilson, who makes me chuckle every time I write the
word
chuckle
; Dan Hill, who has a better nose for plot holes than
Sherlock Holmes; Jana Jensen, who is so upbeat and complimentary; Natasha
Watson, who keeps my characters consistent and realistic; Benjamin Van Tassell,
who would probably marry the Queen if given the chance; Britta Peterson, not
only a fantastic critic, but my awesome cover artist; and Britney Rule, whose
poignant observations often send me back to the drawing board.
I’d also
like to thank my sister, Shannon Wilkinson; my best friend, Adam Morris; my
great friend and ally, Matt, for his last minute assistance; and my loyal
editor, Caity Jones, for catching all my errors and helping me to deliver a
polished novel that rivals anything a publishing house sells.
And always,
my family, who puts up with me during my stressful times, and celebrates with
me during the good times. Without the support of my wife, Kat, I couldn’t do
this.
Most of
all, thanks to you, fellow bookworm, for being my fan.
*
PSION ALPHA
Saturday, September 7, 2086
“
MY
name
is Walter Tennyson Byron. I was born on Friday, August 19
th
, 2039 in
Wichita, Kansas, in the former United States of America. Fourteen years later,
I was the first discovered Anomaly Fourteen. Years of my life have been spent
training and recruiting other Anomaly Fourteens, known as Psions, for the New
World Government. I set up the programs called Psion Beta and Alpha, leading to
the establishment of other Beta programs for Tensais and Ultras, or Anomaly Eleven
and Fifteen, respectively.
“A
week ago, an explosion from an air-to-land missile damaged much of the lower
half of my body. Currently I am receiving palliative treatment in the War
Offices at Alpha headquarters along with several other victims of the CAG
bombing who are still trapped on Capitol Island. The enemy works tirelessly to
break into the offices and either take us captive or kill us. I fear if I do
not get to a hospital soon, my wounds will be untreatable. In the meantime, I
am performing a cognitive dump where some of my memories will be duplicated
onto this data cube for the sake of my posterity. The memories I most wish to
preserve take place between December 2054 and December 2056. I pray they will
help connect me to those who may find them of use or interest. I also pray I
will not be judged unfairly for my mistakes.”
CHAPTER
ONE
– History
Thursday, December 31, 2054
RHYTHMIC
thumps of a basketball hitting a hardwood court echoed off the walls of a large
gymnasium in the late hours of the night. The court had no windows, no seating,
and no scoreboard. The floor and hoops were clean of dirt and dust, and
virtually free from scuff marks, save for the ones put on its waxed surface in
the last hour or two. Drops of sweat dotted the floor from the teenager
sprinting up and down the court’s length. He touched each line and switched
directions on a dime. His shins ached, his thighs throbbed, and the air in his
lungs burned like a hot torch. Still, he pushed himself on. Exercise gave him
clarity of mind, something he needed at the moment.
The
court was a small part of a much larger complex that, after the last three
weeks, he had come to think of as a prison. Three weeks filled with tests,
scans, demonstrations, blood work, and an endless parade of doctors of all
different shapes, sizes, and genders, yet somehow all the same. Dermatologists,
endocrinologists, internists, geneticists, physiologists, biologists, and so
many others from departments and fields that now escaped his memory. He wanted
to go find his friends back home who wanted to be doctors and shake them until
their brains rattled. In reality this
prison
was the New World
Government Medical Center in Washington D.C.
Once
the sprints wore him out, the teenager wiped his hands and took a basketball
from a rack full of them. He turned it over in his hands, enjoying the feel and
smell of the leather. He dribbled twice and shot a three-pointer. The ball hit
the left side of the rim, bounced high, and fell away. He jogged to get the
rebound and began taking practice shots more in his range. After twenty of
these, the door behind him opened and someone walked in, staying in the
shadows. The teenager paid no attention to the newcomer. He kept taking shots,
making most of them. He ignored the person in the shadows watching him, though
keenly aware of this person’s presence. It was the fourth time in the last
three weeks this person had come into the gym and watched him shoot hoops.
Walter hadn’t told his parents about any of their meetings.
After
observing for twenty minutes, the figure stepped into the light. He was a thin
man, not tall, with black hair containing streaks of white matching his
moustache of the same colors. Adorning his light frame was a well-starched
uniform of the Elite: all black with a fiery red skull on the shirt sleeves and
boots. Whether from the tightness of the uniform or his own militaristic
mannerisms, the man walked stiffly on the court.
“I’m
surprised you’re not dunking, Walter,” the man said, his voice deep and crisp
in his slightly broken Chinese accent. “We both know how much you love to fly.”
Walter
stopped shooting and frowned at the man.
“Wasn’t
that your dream? To fly?”
Walter
shrugged and took another shot. It missed. Chasing down his ball, Walter turned
and shot again. Missed. “What do you want tonight, Commander Wu?” His frown
deepened to a scowl. “Is it too much to ask to be left alone on New Year’s Eve?”
“Another
brick. Maybe you should try masonry.” Commander Xiao Wu laughed at his own
comment, though to Walter it sounded more like a growl.
Walter
abandoned shooting to work on his ball handling. Taking a second ball from the
rack, he ran up the court dribbling a ball in his left and right hands
simultaneously. The commander walked to the center of the court and turned to
face Walter as he passed. When Walter dribbled the ball off his left foot, the laughter
from the commander’s throat began again.
“Or
perhaps you try sport which requires your foot. It seems like better idea.”
Walter
put the ball on his hip and snorted through his nose as he clenched his jaw.
Chucking something at the commander’s face seemed like the better idea.
“Have
you thought more about my offer?”
Before
answering, Walter took a shot from nearly half court. He hoped it would go in
just to shut the commander up, but he missed the hoop completely. “No. Not a
bit.”
“You
do not lie well, Walter. Of course you’ve thought about it. You have dreams. To
be pilot. Where else can you do this? So few options remain … except as Elite.”
“I
want to go home and finish school. My parents want to go home. Can I graduate high
school first and then join the Elite?”
“No.”
“Why
not? The age window for joining is seventeen to twenty-three!”
“Because
I want you now. You forget how competitive it is to join. Thousands of
applicants every year. Only three hundred spots. I am offering you one today. Very
few people are offered place at Elite Training Center. Maybe next year my mind will
change. Do you want to be pilot or not?”
“I
told you the first time we met that I do. Why do you keep asking me?”
“To
remind you that Siberia—the ETC—is how to make your dream become reality.”
“So
why this year? Why not one or two more? Seventeen is the minimum age for the
Elite program. I looked that up.” Walter couldn’t help the note of pride in his
voice at having done his research.
“I
also am on Council of NWG Security. I report directly to Director of Military
Operations. She is very interested in you. Therefore, it is my job to be very
interested in you. She wants you trained this year, not next year. Exceptions
are made for exceptional people.”
“I
have to go home,” repeated Walter. “My friends, my family, everyone is there.”
“Let’s
talk about that.” Wu gestured to a few folding chairs at the far end of the
court beyond the baseline. “Sit with me for minute.”
Walter
walked with him in silence, turned his seat backwards, and sat in it. Then he gave
Wu his most annoyed stare.
“You
don’t like it here,” Commander Wu began. “This place.”
“No
one likes hospitals.”
“True,
but you feel imprisoned. But do you really like Wichita?
Wichita
?”
“I
grew up there. I go to school there. And because of you, I had to take all my
finals here instead of at school. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, my friends are
throwing a party and—”
“Is
one of those friends same one you pushed into trophy case because he kissed
your girlfriend?”
“
It
was an accident!
I had no idea about my powers. How many times—”
“Fortunate
accident. It led us to you.”
“No
one will tell me if I can start school on Monday! Can I or not?”
“You
like school? Homework? Tests?” Commander Wu waited for an answer while playing
with his moustache. “Guess what? We have plenty of tests for you to take at
ETC.”
“No,
not really, but my friends are there.”
“Wichita
is almost ghost town. It will be in another two or three years. If you wait,
you’ll have missed your chance at opportunity of lifetime.”
Walter
smacked the basketball with his hand. “By then I will be in college!”
“The
same college as all your friends? These people you are so eager to return to?”
“I
have no idea! Why do you keep pushing me with more questions?”
Commander
Wu put his hands up. “Why are you so angry? Have I said anything you don’t
already know? I am not bad guy. My proposition is simple. If you want to be
pilot, say yes to Elite Training Center. Come to Siberia. If not, you go home
Sunday. Are you happy now?”
Walter
bounced the ball and spun it on his finger. Wu watched with detached interest.
Then Walter used a gentle push of energy to lift the ball, still spinning,
above his finger. Wu’s eyes narrowed again as he clasped his hands together and
rested his index fingers over his lips. Walter could see the commander’s focus
on the space between the tip of Walter’s finger and where the ball floated
above it. This went on for several seconds before Walter let the ball drop to
the floor. Commander Wu blinked rapidly as if coming out of a trance.
“You
are touched by God, Walter. Wichita is not where you belong.”
Those
last statements struck a chord with Walter. After weeks of listening to chatter
among doctors and experts from every field of science, then being poked and
prodded and scanned, here came a man who said nothing about tests and theories,
only that Walter had a gift from a higher power.
“Thank
you,” he muttered as he picked up the ball and returned it to the rack.
Commander Wu followed. “But I still do not want to go to Siberia. Is there any
other—”
“Yes,
you do. No one likes living in Siberia, but you want to go.”
Walter
shook his head, retrieved the second basketball, and put it away, too. “My
father hates the government. He calls himself an American, not a member of the
NWG.”
“I
know, but it’s not about your father.”
“He
will never agree.”
“He
doesn’t have to. There is another way. You are fifteen and I am offering you
entrance into post-graduation program. You meet all requirements to release your
parents’ rights over you. I have all paperwork needed.”
“I—really?”
Walter immediately dismissed those thoughts. “No! It would kill my father if I
did that. It would rip our family apart.”
Wu
pursed his lips together and covered them with his index fingers once again.
“We train all Elite to pilot aircraft, Walter. You would be in simulators for your
first year, then, if you pass all tests, in your second year you will fly
planes.”
“I—I—I
would be betraying my parents just to fly airplanes.”
“No,
you will be reaching your lifelong dream. Tomorrow I will talk to your parents.”
“And
they will tell you no.”
“Correct.
Then you will have to convince them, Walter. Especially your father. If you
can’t get their signatures, you must decide.”
Walter
didn’t know what to say. He stared at his sneakers, thinking about how his world
got turned upside down so badly all because of a fight after school three weeks
ago with his best friend, Chaz. Several witnesses of the fight had reported
that Walter never touched Chaz; Chaz simply flew backward into the glass.
Police reports had been written. Two days later, Elite showed up on the Byron
family doorstep and took them to Washington, D.C.
“It
seems you need to think things over.” Commander Wu walked away as stiffly as
he’d arrived. “Good night, Walter.”
“What
else am I supposed to say, Commander?” Walter shouted. “Do you know how
stubborn my pop is?”
The
commander did not break stride as he exited the gymnasium. Walter did not
linger either. He navigated the halls of the hospital’s living quarters until
he came to the door marked BYRON. He entered quietly, careful not to wake his
parents, and headed to his tiny bedroom where another night of fitful sleep
awaited him.
The
next day, Commander Wu made good on his word. Sitting in the cramped living
room of the apartment the government had assigned them for the duration of
Walter’s hospital stay, his parents listened to every word the older man said
without making a sound. The stony expression on his father’s face warned Walter
of the impending hurricane.
“I
don’t like you government types,” Thomas Byron stated the moment Wu finished.
“You
can imagine my surprise,” Wu responded dryly.
“I
can’t imagine you’re surprised at all,” Walter’s father shot back.
“Dear,”
his mother stated, “he was being sarcastic.”
The
cheap polyester couch groaned and squeaked as Thomas Byron leaned forward. “My
son will have nothing to do with you.”
Walter
gulped and looked to Commander Wu to say something to ease his father’s mind.
Commander Wu showed no sign of surprise or concern.
“What
do you have against me, Mr. Byron?”
“Everything.
I detest what you represent—the symbols you wear. We will have no part of it.
You may leave.”