Glitch (5 page)

“Where’s our property?” one agent asked Simone.

“Bring it back,” another said.

“There’ll be no charges ... just call it back,” Agent Nable said.

Yancey nodded. “Simone?”

“Oh, all right.” Somehow she sensed that she didn’t have to say the words. She sent the command. “I did it.”

The nameless officials looked at each other as if they should be arresting her for this sort of behavior. They nodded to Agent Nable, as if he were a screw-up who always screwed up and that it was their eternal duty to tolerate this absolute fact of the universe. They turned toward the exit. He followed them out to await the return of his cydrone.

Her mother let the door shut. “Now we get to work.” She began walking around the table. All the Alters except Simone were sitting. Her mother touched them on their shoulders, soothing them. “Each one of you’ll be trained to harness your abilities to combat whatever threats the Rogues throw at us.”

She stopped behind Hutto and Beasley and gave each a little tap. “You two—what’s the slang?—are Ragers: a Werebear and a Berserker, according to our specialists. Splendid. You’ll be amazed what you can learn to do.”

She walked behind Kimberlee. Hands on both shoulders, she bent down as if she might whisper in her ear. “A Succubus, oh, how I wish I could summon one of those. Lucky girl.”

She moved behind Wally and Joss. She ruffled Wally’s hair and grabbed Joss by the back of his neck. “You sirs, will learn to use your unique gifts to Interface.” She looked at Joss, as if she might say more, but only said, “Like you never would have before.”

Wally bounced in his chair. “Great!”

“Wally, I imagine you’ll be a psy-pilot, and,” to Joss, “you’ll both get all the interesting gear. If you choose, as my son chose, you’ll get the shades, the metaverse, and any augments you want.” She lingered on Joss.

“A cyborg,” he said, “big deal. I’m already an Interfacer. What about channeling and summoning?”

Her mother glared at him, as if she knew she would have to pay attention to Mr. Joss Beckwith. He’d already been branded and deformed by a Rogue. The Consortium’s intervention had saved him from becoming a Rogueslave, or worse. He was on the Rogues’ radar, for sure, and here he was pushing her about the very thing the Rogues tempted humanity with.
 

Simone continued to float in the periphery. “What about me, Mom?”

“Dear, we’re both Alters, and your entities, like mine, are strong. You’ll be taught to use them for the benefit of—”

“I know,” she said. “
Humanity
.”

Simone had spent her life waiting for details about her mother’s job as a Consortium cyagent. But in the past month she’d been slammed with too much new information from learning that her Lords of Order weren’t real, to finding her father and learning he was a ghost, to succeeding at a slow but full transformation into something miraculous. What her mother was explaining now couldn’t be any more surprising. Simone crossed her arms, and waited.

“Listen, everyone,” Yancey said. “What I’m about to tell you is classified and can’t leave this room ...”

Simone floated behind Kimberlee, who didn’t seem to mind, and listened to story after story of Rogue incursions where people were warped through irrational nanobot fabricators. All the students shuddered when they heard about a family of Rogueslaves turned to goo in their living room.
 

Her mother said, “And everyone is worried now because a shift has occurred: The incursions all look to be part of a larger plan ...
to win
.”

“Win?” Hutto asked. “Is this a game?”

“You should understand that by now,” Simone said, still annoyed he’d kissed her double instead of her. “It’s all a big game.”

Hutto was about to say something clever but shut his mouth.

“My husband, Skippard Wellborn,” Yancey said, “wrote the Protocols for human-AI interaction. They want to change those.”

“Control of Realspace or Cyberspace must occur through contests,” Joss said.

“They’ve failed to penetrate Realspace with any lasting success,” Yancey said with enough pride you’d think she might break into song. “And we have beaten them back to their world each time. Just like we did a few weeks ago. But they have a new tactic.” She paused. “They’re using the International Gladiator League to win contests.”

Hutto shook his head. “Glad fights? No way. The AIs don’t fight. The AI Fight Lords are patrons for the fight teams. They fund the teams and back the champions, and watch like invisible kings on high. But fighting is banned for their slaves.”

“True that the Rogues are behind the AI Fight Lords who patronize the league. Since several of the human fight team owners are slaved to them, so they’re pushing for deregulation. They’re also now entering Rogueslaves in the illegal pit-fights, and they’re winning.” Her mother stopped in front of Hutto. “It’ll only be a matter of time before the IGL allows no-rules glad-fighting. When that happens, we’ll see the Rogues winning more and more contests with humans. When they win, their status grows. If they get enough, the scales will tip, and they’ll be able to control all the nanotech we rely on. Once that happens, they’ll have enough power to smash open the Protocols ...”

Wally chuckled. “And the world turns to goo.”

“Or more likely,” Joss said, “we turn into whatever the Rogues want.”

“Slaves,” Simone said.

Her mother nodded. “Every single one of us who’s been enhanced will be at risk. Imagine what we’ll do to the natural persons if we’re driven by the Rogues? We’ll massacre them.” She breathed deep, as if to consider what to say next. “If I know the Corps, most of you will be introduced to limited operations soon. But you’re still recruits and have to prove yourselves.” Her eyes fell on Simone. “You, Simone, will prove yourself by becoming a glad-fighter.”

Hutto jumped out of his seat. “What?” He glared. “No way! How? She can’t even pick up a stick!”

“We might as well get started,” Yancey said, “because so will you, Hutto, and you, Beasley.” She signaled for everyone to stand. “I think it’s time we move to the Glad Club.”

* * *

Simone found her own way there now that she was used to moving through physical objects, even though each time made her feel as if she were being splashed with a bucket full of electrified thumbtacks.

When she arrived at the open building behind the gymnasium, all the Alters were sitting in a row on hard-packed dirt in the main fight space. Rain still fell outside, and the drumming sound on the tin roof was a nice distraction. Coach Buzz, in his heavy Rejuv robe, talked with Agent Nable behind the glass in his office. Coach Buzz saw her, paused long enough she could tell he was bothered by her presence, then waved before looking away.

Nice to see you, too, she thought.

Her mother stood in front of them, walking back and forth, easing them into their mantras with soothing words.

Simone had learned to do this when she was six. They would sit there for an hour or so mumbling a calming mantra to open them to their entities.
We are human, we are wise, we are one, we are good. We are human, we are here, we are open, we are yours.
Simone expected Kimberlee to freak out early, followed by Beasley. They had never
summoned
before. The entities’ sudden presence could be overwhelming if you weren’t used to it.

Her mother waved at Simone with her wrapped-up arms like some fashionable burn victim. Simone floated over. None of the other Alters opened their eyes. Even Hutto sat still, legs crossed in a yoga position, mumbling. Whatever was in them had already triggered the trance. Beasley, though, looked uncomfortable, a line of sweat trickling down the side of her face.

Good for them, Simone thought. Sitting is easy. Let’s see them do it when they’re distracted.

“Don’t be so arrogant,” her mother said. “You still have several more to learn yourself.”

“I hate it when you do that,” Simone said, knowing her mother had always been able to sense her thoughts.

“You’re easy to read.” They both saw Beasley open her eyes. “Shut ‘em, Beasley.”

Beasley sighed and returned to mumbling the mantra with eyes closed.

Her mother signaled Simone to move away a little for privacy. “You need your whips.”

“Well, that’s great. I don’t have them.” She raised her empty hands, as if they might appear. “What good are talismans if I can’t touch them?”

Her mother looked over at a table in the corner with some old gloves, padded headgear, and a jump rope. Simone saw the two black leather bullwhips her brother had given her a few hours before the incursion began.

“You brought them?”

“There they are, dear.”

Simone glared at her mother. “You brought them.”

“Pick them up.”

Simone crossed her arms and considered tapping her foot in protest. She saw Hutto and Wally peeking. “I can’t.”

“You, dear, get to spend the afternoon trying.” Her mother rounded on the voyeurs. “Eyes closed, gentlemen.”

Simone moved to the table, mumbling to herself about the challenges of having such an intolerable mother. For the hell of it, she reached out, touched the handles of the whips, triggering the familiar firing of energy whenever she made contact with solid objects. After a few seconds her hands grew numb. But she watched the pyrotechnic display with something close to pride. It was soundless, but it looked spectacular.

She pulled her hands away before they went numb. “See?” She turned and faced her mother. “What makes you think ...?”

“Try again.” Her mother turned her back on Simone. “And again, and again. If it takes you a week, keep at it. Your father will explain later. If you do it long enough ... success.”

Simone spent the rest of the afternoon trying. At first she would grab the handles, feel the eruption of energy, and wait until her hands grew numb. She disengaged before she lost control. After an hour she noticed something strange: The whips began to feel lighter, or—even better—they began to feel emptier. Her mother allowed the other students three breaks, but she kept Simone at the table the entire time.

At one point, Simone stopped, ready to throw one of her world-famous tantrums. She loved the fact her mother couldn’t grab her and force her to do anything. These thoughts flitted through her mind as she stood in front of the whips, contemplating how she might rebel, just a little, maybe for the rest of the afternoon. She wanted them all to know that Simone Wellborn wasn’t a pushover; her mother may be a psy-sorceress with unparalleled control of her entities, may be a Consortium psy-agent with the most powerful institution on earth. But so what? She was just her mother, and Simone hated being pushed around.

She was about to protest by doing cartwheels in the club when she thought of her brother, Rigon, in a Rejuv vat. He had given her these whips as talismans to help her control her entities. He had sacrificed himself in his battle with a Rogue Walker. Here she was thinking of throwing a tantrum and disturbing everyone to make a point.

Simone grabbed the handles once more, shutting her eyes, and ignored the odd sensation that moved up her fingers, into her palms and wrists. She held on longer than she had before, and soon the discomfort disappeared, but her hands weren’t disintegrating. She opened her eyes and saw digital tendrils, like electric fault lines, snaking up the handles. She shut her eyes again, realizing she was copying the objects ... or leeching them. Either way, it was working.

Again, her mother was right, and Simone was wrong, and she hoped she didn’t have to admit it.

After the final school bell rang, she ignored the sounds of everyone leaving for the day. Agent Nable was also gone. Coach Buzz and her mother stood nearby, watching. When Simone pulled her hands away, ghosted versions of the whips floated into the air like living things, the originals flopping to the floor.

“Cool beans,” she said, staring at the digital whips as they moved about on their own. They disappeared, and her hands were free. “Oh, no. Shucks.”

Her mother chuckled. “Now you have to learn to retrieve them.”

“Oh great.”

“You can do it, Simone,” Coach Buzz said. He had cut his long hair and now appeared normal enough, except he was still as pale as a walking corpse. He sweated in his Rejuv robe, but he was smiling. “Training will start in a few minutes. You’re welcome to stay and work on that, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” she said, flicking her wrists as if to get something off her fingers. She wandered over to a corner with a few wooden striking dummies, and continued.

Simone spent the rest of the afternoon with her wrists in constant motion, while Beasley and Hutto trained with some light sparring. She continued as Coach Buzz closed up, the rain stopped, and the day ended.

She stood in the dark alone, glowing a rich cobalt, snapping her wrists back and forth, convinced the whips were seconds away from emerging. She remained in place well into the evening. The cydrone had returned and was waiting outside. She had no idea why they hadn’t rebooted it but told herself to ask later, remaining alone that night, tireless, never sleeping, flicking her wrists.

As a pink dawn ate into the darkness, Simone stood in the middle of the fight space, convinced she was about to succeed. Sleep wasn’t a requirement as a ghost, but her mind did need to rest. She realized she’d been standing in a daze for several minutes. She floated through the walls into the girl’s locker room and found a stall. With eyes closed, even though she didn’t need to, her mind began to drift away. When she woke up to the distant sound of the homeroom bell, the whips were in her hands, wrapped around her ankles like dutiful serpents.

* * *

Simone left the stall and returned to the deserted fight space. Second day of school and she was already skipping class. She’d have to find the time, at some point, to do her makeup work. But not today.

She began her dance and mumbled her mantras to move through her psy-katas, swinging the whips to the cadence, letting them snap out in a pyrotechnic display. Coach Buzz wasn’t there yet, so she enjoyed the silence of the empty Glad Club. She didn’t stop when he slid the two garage-like doors aside or stop when he said he had to teach social studies and that he’d be back. She continued her dance, moving all the way to the threshold of summoning. Her entities struggled with each other for one to emerge, pushing at her, wanting in, but she stopped her transformation.