Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5) (7 page)

“You are right to demand answers to those
questions,” the Chief of Staff answered. “What America needs to remember is
that the President and his staff are doing everything in their power to win the
war, minimize casualties, and keep America safe. These are the kind of horrific
events that we went to war to stop. The President never said these attacks
would end immediately, he only—”

“But this is a targeted attack on civilians. Tens of
millions of dollars in damage to the downtown area. Hundreds of lives lost.
People are asking themselves, ‘How safe are we?’ How does President Newberry
answer that?”

“We press harder on the throats of the NWG and any
domestic rebels like this Samuel Berhane. We squeeze until they give up.”

“So that’s it? You squeeze? You get more
aggressive?”

“No, no, no. Our strategies are more detailed, but I
can’t discuss them.”

“For obvious reasons,” the reporter added in a
plain, matter-of-fact tone.

“Of course. But we will respond with aggression, be
sure. Our focus and intent has never been greater. We aim to win this war
decisively, to not only provide the American people with freedom from fear, but
also to liberate the territories of the NWG who wish to join our union.”

“What message do you have—or does the
president have—for the American people? If he could speak to them right
now, what would he say?”

“Have hope. Put your trust in us. We will take care
of you. We care about your safety. And a message, if I may, for Samuel Berhane
and those insurgents who committed this despicable act. You will answer for
your crimes. We will hunt you down and exact justice. You have the blood of
hundreds of lives on your hands. That spilled blood will never be forgotten.”

Sammy’s heart boomed in his chest when he finally
turned away from the screen as the reporter thanked the politician for her
time. Then he threw up again. When the first reports had come out regarding the
death toll of the bombing, he hadn’t believed them. He thought surely the CAG
was sensationalizing the story. But a resistance member who’d performed search
and rescue at the scene had confirmed that the reports were true. Between the
building itself and the collateral damage of the collapse, over six hundred
people had died.

As the leader of the failed mission, Sammy offered
his resignation to Thomas and Lara Byron with the explanation that he was not
fit to be in command. When they refused to accept his resignation, he stated
that he did not want it anymore. He was stepping down to let someone more
capable lead the teams.

“There are better people,” he’d insisted. “Your son,
your grandson, Anna Lukic, Justice Juraschek, Nikotai … all of them have more
experience.”

Thomas still wouldn’t hear it. “We knew when we
planned these missions that the collapse of a building was a real possibility.
You and everyone else did everything you could to prevent it.”

“The casualties—”

“Are a part of war, Sammy,” Thomas said.

“I can’t accept that!”

“Neither can we,” Lara said. “Which is why we trust
you’ll figure out what went wrong, and improve.” She smiled tenderly at him
before pulling him into a hug. “I—I have wept for my part in those
deaths, Sammy. I know you have, too. So has Thomas. And while I wept, I
reaffirmed my commitment to freedom so that those deaths will not have been in
vain.”

“‘How can I forget that stillness prevailing over
the city of three hundred thousand?’” Thomas’s eyes had that faraway look they
got whenever he quoted poetry. “‘Amidst that calm, how can I forget the
entreaties of the departed wife and child through their orbs of eyes cutting
through our minds and souls?’”

“I appreciate your advice and sympathy,” Sammy told
them, “but I’ve made up my mind. I won’t lead another mission.”

That conversation took place a week ago, and Sammy’s
mind hadn’t budged. He wondered if this was what Commander Byron wanted to
speak to him about. Behind him, Jeffie, Natalia, and Strawberry came into the
cafeteria for lunch. As Sammy had spent a great deal of energy avoiding his
friends, his first instinct was to move away quickly before they spotted him.
He hunched his shoulders, ducked his head, and headed for the nearest door.
Unfortunately Commander Byron was entering through that door at the same
moment.

They nearly bumped into each other. “Whoa, Samuel,”
Byron said. “I was looking for you. Nice of you to come to me instead.”

“Commander, I was just heading to a meeting,” Sammy
lied.

“Oh, is that right?” The commander’s tone told Sammy
that he didn’t believe him. “May I walk with you? I have been wanting to have a
word.”

“Yeah … I know.”

The commander’s bright blue eyes shined even as
Byron smiled sadly at Sammy. “Samuel, you need to face the facts of what
happened in Detroit.”

“I have faced them,” Sammy said, still heading
toward the stairs to the tunnels, pretending as though he had a meeting.
“That’s why I told your parents I’m done leading teams. I’m done with the
leadership council.”

“Then what meetings could you possibly have if you
are quitting all those things? Have you joined the janitorial crew?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” Sammy shouted.

The expression on Byron’s face told Sammy he
regretted making a joke. “Sorry.” The commander put an arm around Sammy’s
shoulders and steered him into an old, non-renovated classroom where dozens of
old desks had been stacked in piles. Byron used his sleeve to wipe away the
dust off the large teacher’s desk so they could sit on it.

Sammy slumped down, his elbows resting on his
thighs, and his face in his hands. The commander sat next to him. “Six hundred
seventeen,” he said, “that is the latest count I heard. I bet you can imagine
them. I have no doubt the growing number has been on your mind for the last
twelve days. You know how I know?”

Sammy made no effort to respond.

“Because I have also killed innocent people.”

Friday, May 9, 2087

“OCTOBER 31
^st
, 2065,” said Commander Byron. His brow
furrowed and his gaze grew distant. “Do you know what happened that day?”

“The Battle of Quebec.”

It did not surprise him that Samuel remembered his
history lessons well. He remembered everything well.

“Every account I’ve read of that battle said only
the Elite were involved.”

The commander nodded, even more impressed now.
“Officially the Psion Corps was not involved in that battle. On the books it
was Elite only. However, unofficially, it was all Psions in Elite uniforms.
Militant rebel forces had captured several government buildings with hundreds
of captives, some high-ranking. Reports at the time were unclear if it was a
military operation or a civilian coup.”

Byron and his father had fought over this very point
a month later and not spoken to each other again for almost twenty years.

“Everything about the situation was messy with
public support in Quebec already wavering for the NWG. Most of the former
country of Canada had already seceded and joined the CAG. We were sent to
figure out what was going on and help in any non-combative way we could. Orders
were clear to avoid engaging in combat unless authorized by the president.

“General Wu ordered me and Emily to go in first for
reconnaissance. It was one of the first missions using stealth
cruisers—not nearly as good as the ones we have now. Our team arrived in
the dead of night. We entered the main government building through the roof.
Black clothes, skin and hair painted black, black goggles over our eyes. We
spent three days in the ventilation systems, in the walls, in the crevices of
the buildings. Took pictures and video, planted over a dozen mics and cameras
to provide the NWG with constant surveillance.

“Emily hated it. After only a few hours, we knew it
was a hostage situation, but no word came down from Wu to take action. She
wanted to forget orders and call in reinforcements. But Emily was never one to
disobey her commanding officer.”

“You were her commanding—?” Samuel asked.

Byron nodded. Emily’s face floated in his mind, and
it made his heart ache. With everything going on these days with Albert and
Marie, their constant arguments, Albert’s recent turn to drinking for solace,
Samuel’s difficulties …
I could use her
smiles. Her laughter. Her soothing embrace.

“For some reason being on the same squad worked well
for me and Emily. I would not recommend it for most couples, but we loved it.
It seems to work for you and Gefjon too. We had each other’s back, and preferred
it that way. Maybe it was from all those hours we spent in the flight
simulators together.” Byron’s eyes met Samuel’s, and he nodded, certain that
his memories were still fresh in Samuel’s mind. “Days went by, but still no
orders, no contact. Our team continued to search for solutions to present to
Command. We sent a recommendation to have snipers take out key targets. We
advised an advanced clandestine operation to sneak out the hostages. We must
have given them a dozen different plans.

 
“Despite
all our communications, we got no answers and no orders. After a week in Quebec
and no contact from anyone on Capitol Island, things grew tense. Everyone knew
something was going on back home with the higher-ups, but we were all in the
dark. The government trains us to be tough, you know that. But something about
that mission … we broke down mentally faster than we should have. We were all
young and inexperienced. Almost all the jobs they had sent us on up to that
point lasted two or three days. Now we were well over a week in enemy
territory, tight dark places, no contact from Command, no warning that there
would be loss of communication.

“We had seven Psions there: me, Emily, and Victor,
of course. And Blake Weymouth, Muhammad Zahn, Annalise Havelbert, and Jason Ling.
Called ourselves the Lucky Sevens.
Unlucky
would have been more apt. Only Annalise and I are still alive.

“On day ten with still nothing from Command, the
team asked me to override our orders and formulate a plan of action. Even Emily
advised me to disobey orders.”

“Your wife told you to ignore Command?” Samuel asked
in a skeptical tone.

“At first, I made the call to wait. No engaging the
enemy, only surveillance. But the situation with the hostages got worse. The
CAG agents’ treatment of them … It started with beating, starving, then turned
into rape and torture. The things they made the hostages do—my conscience
forced me to disobey orders.”

A throbbing phantom pain started in the commander’s
legs, long past the joints where his bionic limbs attached to the stumps of his
thighs. The pain wasn’t so constant now as it had been months ago when he’d
first been injured. He tapped his feet and rubbed the metal legs together until
the sensation passed.

“It was Quebec where we met the Thirteens for the
first time. They already had the red eyes. We assumed it was something
contagious or a side-effect of something they were using— some chemical
or drug. No one imagined they had done it intentionally.

“We planned an attack, executed it, and were beaten.
Nothing prepared us for the Thirteens’ ruthlessness in combat. Even now, twenty
years later, I do not know how we all survived. Victor nearly died. Emily saved
him and Havelbert. Jason Ling lost two fingers on his left hand. Bitten off.
Cameras caught us fleeing, and after we left, the Thirteens massacred everyone
in the buildings. Hundreds of people, Samuel.”

Commander Byron put a hand to his mouth to regain
control over his emotions, always so close to the surface these days.
Part of growing old
, he figured. But the
emotions were so strong, so fresh. Guilt he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You would think that people would remember the
carnage, but no. They remembered us surrendering, essentially, running from the
scene. That was what news footage showed. Officially, the CAG disavowed the
actions of the assailants, but almost all the targets were government officials
blocking the secession of Quebec to the CAG. They announced their intent to
withdraw from the NWG while our reinforcements were en route from Capitol Island.”

Samuel’s face mirrored the remorse Commander Byron
felt deep in his bones. “You blame yourself for this, Commander? For the
secession of Quebec?”

“The CAG was waiting for us to intervene, Samuel.
They knew we were coming and blocked our communications when we got there. It
was an elaborate trap designed to make the NWG look weak while also removing
the last barriers of Quebec’s withdrawal. And I gave the order to send us into
their snare. Wu removed me from command of the Psion Corps. It is one of the
reasons I was in charge of Beta for so long.”

“I thought it was because you liked teaching us,
sir.”

“I do. But they would have promoted me long before
you were recruited were it not for that black stain on my record.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Samuel asked with a
tone of obstinacy.

Commander Byron sighed. “I guess I like talking to
you. Most of my conversations these days with Albert end in him shouting and
leaving the room.”

Samuel looked away and nodded. For some reason this
made Byron feel even older.
Emily, it
should have been me who died, not you. You always knew what to say
.

“I rarely talk about my regrets, my mistakes. But
with you, it comes easily. I know what happened in Detroit weighs heavily on
you. You think I cannot imagine—”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can,” Byron said sharply. “When Quebec seceded, I
did not understand the ramifications at the time. I was a soldier—one
with responsibility, yes—but still a soldier. Over the years that
followed, the Silent War years, I realized that losing Quebec was a massive
blow to the NWG. We lost important footholds in CAG territory. If I had not
blown that mission, Quebec might not have seceded. If Quebec had not seceded,
neither would have the other remaining NWG territories in North and South
America. You see, Samuel, my actions—my decision—profoundly
impacted the NWG in a terrible way.”

Samuel shook his head. “It’s not the same. You were
doing your best in a messed up situation.”

“So are you.”

“I—I messed up. His face—their faces, I
see them in my dreams. I watch the tower fall over and over and over every
night. The metal twisting, the glass shattering … I see it all, Commander. And
their blood stains me. Who else is to blame?”

There was an edge in Samuel’s voice that the
commander didn’t like.
And he said “his
face.”

“Why does there have to be blame?” Byron asked.

“Because I messed up!”

“Every Psion who has died in the last three decades
has been a friend or a student of mine. With each death I wonder what I might
have done better as a teacher and mentor to prevent that death. In your
nightmares you see nameless faces, I see men and women I knew and taught and
recruited to a shortened life. And those who live? What kind of life have I
brought them?”

“So then why did you keep doing it? You would
recruit again tomorrow if you could. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

“Why?” Samuel almost shouted the word. His eyes
flashed either rage or confusion, the commander couldn’t tell which.

“‘War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of
things.’ John Stuart Mill.”

Samuel sighed. “So then what?”

“Learn from it. Try not to repeat it.”

In the silence that followed, Samuel’s face lit up
and his eyes stared through the commander as though he were a ghost. “No …” He
whispered. “No, we
have
to repeat it.
Excuse me, sir. I need—I need …” He got up, his eyes still unfocused.

“We have the leadership committee in twenty minutes.
Are you going to be there this time?”

“I know …”

“But—” Before Commander Byron could argue,
Samuel was gone. “At least you didn’t shout at me like Albert,” he muttered to
no one.

A half hour later, the commander sat next to his
father in the old air traffic control tower in Saint Marie, the neighboring
city to Glasgow. These two towns formed the two halves of the resistance’s
headquarters. The air tower had long been the meeting place of the leadership
committee.

To the commander and many others’ surprise, Samuel
arrived shortly after the meeting started and took his place at the table
without fanfare in between Anna Lukic and Justice Juraschek. Across the table from
Byron sat Albert, his eyes red and his face drooped.
Hungover again
, he thought with a sigh.

“Let’s give the floor to Commander Byron,” his
mother, Lara, said, “for a report on the NWG efforts.”

The commander had been serving as the NWG-resistance
liaison for almost four months now. Part of his duties included speaking at
each meeting, briefing the resistance as to what the NWG advised or wanted the
resistance to consider. In return, he provided the NWG information about the
resistance’s plans. At least twice a week, the commander communicated with
either General Annalise Havelbert or Ivan Drovovic, the NWG’s first Tensai. In
the wake of General Wu’s death during the initial attacks on Capitol Island,
Havelbert had been appointed by President William Marnyo as Director of
Military Operations, and Drovovic as Deputy Director.

“NWG leaders anticipate a new push … another
offensive strike from the CAG in the coming weeks,” Commander Byron informed
the committee. “They are making preparations to defend against these assaults
and minimize casualties. If losses are kept to a minimum, they plan to respond
with an offensive strike of their own. They are asking us to consider a joint
strike and request that we submit several ideas to them by the end of next
week.”

Samuel raised his finger and caught Lara’s eye. She
recognized him and gave him the floor. “According to my calculations,” he
began, “we have the firepower to hit nine major towers that hold Hybrid cloning
facilities—”

Justice shook his head. “No … we have far more than
that. Twenty to twenty-two was my latest count.”

“Yes,” Samuel agreed, “
if
our plan is to continue our assaults with the same conservative
approach we’ve been doing, then we can hit twenty or more towers. But let’s
think bigger for a moment. Let’s envision something so big that we grab the
world’s attention. So bold that every last citizen of the CAG wants out of the
war in an instant. Gloves off. Total warfare.

“We could simultaneously hit a maximum of nine
towers if we orchestrate a multi-faceted strike so big the CAG will be
crippled. Massive damage in urban areas followed by a precipitous drop in
support for the war on the side of the CAG. Clone production would be cut
nearly in half.”

The commander felt light-headed as his eyes met
Samuel’s. For a moment he thought he must be misunderstanding Samuel’s
proposition. But when he realized he hadn’t misunderstood anything, he paled
and stared at the young man. His head shook very slightly from left to right.
Why would you suggest such a thing?