Glitch (6 page)

All the while, the cydrone stood at attention just outside the club. Coach Buzz wouldn’t allow it inside. It had watched silently, as if waiting for a command, until she heard it stomp into the club. It looked toward Coach Buzz’s office, like a cat would at a mouse.

Simone saw her cyber-double.

The ghosted duplicate floated through the office glass. It had warped itself into a comic parody of her. Where she was lean and diminutive, this representation was fat, wide, and bloated like a Macy’s Thanksgiving’s Day balloon. It had changed its dress to a polka-dotted costume no clown would ever wear; its hair stood in two-foot spikes in a twisted attempt at neo-punk.

Simone waited for the formalities to begin. Her father had said it would return quickly because it had won their last contest. When it did, he said, be prepared.

It expanded itself. “According to the Wellborn Ghosting Protocols I request a conquest with Simone Lord.”

Simone moved forward. “What sort of contest?”

It looked at the cydrone, which had shifted to an aggressive stance. “Our slave looks agitated.”

“Settle down, Bucket Brain,” Simone said to the drone.

It appeared to resist before returning to a relaxed posture.

“A contest of skill,” her double said.

Simone had already lost a contest of wits because Hutto was too stupid to understand women. When he’d kissed her double instead of her, he’d proven what a dill-hole he was. She had assumed she’d win that one with little effort, but her father had said not to worry about the loss because playing took a few tries to become accustomed to the games. A contest of skill, he’d told her, sometimes the most difficult, might not be a bad idea to improve her confidence.

She had lost once already, which meant her double was stronger than it was before. Joss, who visited illegal underground Cyberspaces, had told her its victory had earned it new accolades. It had gained status among the RAIs. The Rogues were happy, hoping for more success.

“You are an illegal copy of a real human person living in Realspace,” the cydrone said to her double, as if it couldn’t remain silent any longer. Its voice was synthesized, automated, and authoritative. “Present yourself to an authorized Consortium data magnate and ask for erasure.”

Simone considered making fun of it, but it seemed so pathetic. “What’re you going to do if it doesn’t?”

“I am authorized to capture you and your Digi-self double and return you to—”

“I know you are, but you won’t. Sleep mode.”

The cydrone paused again, until its head dropped forward and its knees bent.

“We have followed the Protocols,” her double said. “You must respond.”

“A game of skill is accepted.” Without thought, she said, “A glad contest here in this gym.”

“Agreed. When?”

“This afternoon.”

The double paused. It shifted its form into something closer to a mirror reflection of Simone, except this one’s face sported a third eyeball in its forehead. Simone began her psy-kata. Her entities swelled inside her, as if they recognized they were in the presence of the Enemies of Mankind. Whatever looked out of that third eye wasn’t friendly. She steeled herself with her mantras and a few subtle movements of her katas.

The third eye disappeared. “This afternoon.” Her double vanished like a puff of cigar smoke.

“Bring it,” Simone replied, stopping her mumbling. “Bitch.”

She returned to her dance. The entities she had once called the Lords of Light and Order whispered in her ear.
You have summoned us, Yancey Lord, now allow us the privilege of life
. They were here to do her bidding. They would wait at her doorstep like loyal dogs, before becoming a single intelligence with a single presence to push into Realspace, but her mind was closed to them if she didn’t complete the intricate psy-katas of summoning. Something about that comforted her, even though she must one day learn to move to the highest katas like her mother could.

She paused when she heard footsteps in the club. She saw Coach Buzz in his heavy Rejuv robe.

“Hey,” she said, letting her whips fall. She stroked them, and they disappeared. She floated over to him. “That robe looks hot.”

“I guess you’re practicing?”

“Like a champ. I was wondering if you could tell me about glad-fighting.”

“You want help with the Consortium’s plans in the arena?”

“I have something more immediate in mind.”

“More immediate?”

“I’ve never been in a fight before.”

“That’s good.”

“I plan to get in one this afternoon.”

“With who?”

“With myself.”

* * *

Yancey Wellborn paced in front of the Alters meditating on the mats. Simone had worked with Coach Buzz for the last two hours, and Yancey had watched as he’d taught her the basics of glad-fighting movement. The other students were doing well enough at their mantras, except for Beasley, who seemed about as interested in meditating as would a large rock.

“All right, folks, time to see how well you’ve done.” She walked to Hutto. “Stand up.” He was wearing a pair of baggy Osklen beach pants, a short-sleeved, button-down floral shirt, and his hemp rope necklace. With that smile and those long locks, she knew why the girls melted. Her own daughter had gone for him, which showed that Simone liked the bad boys. She stood there in front of Hutto looking through her Mirrorshades, knowing no technology could explain what was about to happen to him. “Welcome to the Cybercorps, Mr. Toth.”

She grabbed his forearm. She had been moving herself into her higher katas for the last hour. The entities inside her bubbled just below the surface, waiting ... for such a touch. Her special relationship with Myrmidon meant it was ready and willing and eager. The rest were jealous.

Not now
, she told them all, knowing Myrmidon would hear.

The rest of the class, sitting in calming positions, watched Hutto go rigid. Even Coach Buzz and Simone saw it.

“Oh, daddy,” Joss said. “It’s on now. This is some real channeling we’re seeing.”

“What’s going to happen?” Kimberlee asked.

“He’s going to turn,” Beasley said.

“That’s not good,” Wally said.

Yancey faced Hutto. “Stop me.”

Hutto stared at her grabbing his arm like he might front kick her across the room. He probably thought he didn’t need his entity to smash her. She hated the fact that she was wrapped up in these constricting Rejuv bandages meant to recharge her body. She saw a dangerous pressure mount. She would have to be careful. He would have no idea why, but her touch was triggering something in him, pulling at the beast that wanted out ... something wild.

“Say your mantra, now,” she said and held tighter. She grasped both his arms.

She saw the Werebear’s presence roil inside him. He opened his mouth, as if the horrible need to growl scratched at his throat. He mumbled the words she had taught him. The pressure appeared to subside a little.
 

“Say the words,” she commanded.

Yancey let go before he lost control. Hutto stepped back and snapped his eyes open. They had changed into the black saucers of a beast’s before fading back to his baby blues.

“Good,” she said, “you’re channeling your Werebear entity without letting it take over into a full summoning. Go ahead,” she pointed, and said. “Take it out on the bags.” He ran over to a heavy bag and began pummeling it with such speed everybody watched with mouths open. She stood behind him. “Keep it up for as long as you can. You’ll be amazed of what you’re capable of in this state.” She turned and faced Beasley. “You, Ms. Gardner. Stand.”

Beasley stood, all two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of her. Yancey walked to the large girl, like an ant in front of an elephant.

Impressive physical specimen, she thought, but it must be hard on her when trying to fit trapeziuses like those into a dress. Be careful. Yancey didn’t want to have to summon here, not in her current state. Myrmidon was still annoyed after its near defeat by the Nanovamp Wraiths. It wanted to prove itself again.

“Start your mantra,” she said.

Beasley looked as if Yancey wanted her to sing in Italian. But she began mumbling.

Yancey said the words and let Myrmidon surface, just a little more, just enough to ... Beasley struck with her free hand. Yancey adjusted and took the blow on her arm. It sent her flying across the mats. She recovered enough to see veins pop out on Beasley’s neck and arms. The girl roared like a monster, the horrific sound seeming to come from the ground itself, as if the center of the earth had found its voice for the first time in a billion years.

“Everyone out!” Coach Buzz yelled.

The Alters had no trouble exiting. Even Wally left in record time.

Simone, though, stayed as Coach Buzz rushed across the club to help Yancey to her feet. Yancey was on the verge of transforming. A shimmering that meant Myrmidon was near rippled along her body. She sensed the thing inside Beasley pushing at the seams of Realspace. Already Beasley’s body was different, darker, with edges where there should be curves and the hint of horns atop her head and along her limbs.

Yancey moved to Beasley, who now stood rooted, mumbling her mantras in fear.

“You’re still there, Beasley,” Yancey said. “Say your mantra louder. Say it now.”

Beasley shouted the words.

“Agent Wellborn, help her,” Coach Buzz said.

“I am.”

The disturbing presence subsided as the mantras went to work. Beasley sat on the mats in a yoga position, mumbling as if her life depended on it.

“She’ll be the hardest one,” Yancey said. “What she has in her ...”

“What is it, Mom?” Simone asked.

“Something that needs a strong leash.” She smiled and rubbed her arm. “You’d think a Grizzly would be our biggest worry.”

“I want it out of me.” Beasley began weeping, her large frame shaking.

Coach Buzz moved to her side, as did Simone.

Yancey remained where she was. “Sorry, that’s not how it works. We have caught the attention of—” She paused and looked around, as if Coach Buzz might take offense. “Foreign intelligences. They come to own us as much as we own them. You must master this relationship, or it’ll master you.”

“Evil, whatever it is. I want it out.” Beasley stood. “I want to be a normal kid, as normal as I can be.” She kept her distance as she walked around Coach, as if touching him might shatter him. “I’m done for the day.” To Simone, she said, “Good luck.”

“You’re not normal,” Yancey said, “and never can be.”

Beasley, though, was already walking for the door.

THREE

AFTER BEASLEY’S EXIT, Simone and Coach Buzz shut the garage doors to the gym, and Simone practiced with her whips in the crisp air of an autumn full of change.

Yancey crossed the large mat area to stand with Coach Buzz on the edge of the dirt fight space. “She learns fast, doesn’t she?”

“She has the instinct.”

Yancey scratched at her side. “I feel like I have fleas.”

“How much longer?”

“The Nanovamp got me good. Its little buggers are putting up a fight in here, but my doctors told me I’ll be all right. Just need to sleep more and drink my Rejuv milk.”

“The breakfast of the defeated.” He nodded at a carton of the
milk
in his office; “Doctor says I need at least three a day of that foul-tasting nano-fuel to give my system its boost.” He looked back to Simone. “What’re they going to do with her?”

Simone finished a full rotation with both whips striking at once. “Hey! Did you see that?”

“No, try again,” he said, lying.

“I resisted this, you know,” Yancey said. “The arena is no place for kids. But for the Program to continue they want to see them do well in an unsanctioned fight—to shove it in the Fight Lords’ faces. The brass is divided, of course. The old-school hardliners think any use of an Alter or a Digi-Ghost is sacrilege. But my husband’s allies have gained ground because the Rogues are shifting tactics. He thinks this is where the Conflict can end. In the arena. Besides, we have no choice.”

“It’s bad?”

“The brass are concerned.”

“So now we’re using children to learn how to create Transhuman warriors.”

“Our very own,” she replied. “I offered myself—”

“You’re too valuable.”

“Too old.”

He smiled at her, waiting, but she wasn’t going to tell her age. She smoothed out her bandages, happy that she normally looked healthy and young enough, but looks were the last way to guess a person’s biological age. She was at least a ninety-year-old woman who appeared to be no older than thirty. She also had the energy of two normal humans that age and could out-think ninety-nine percent of the world’s population. Her age didn’t matter in today’s world. Besides, she wasn’t offering.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

Yancey had been waiting for this offer from Coach Buzz even though his father and sister were both Alumni Association members who had resisted the use of the Sterling Students. When they’d learned about their inclusion in actual glad-fighting, they’d almost resigned. Their son, Buzzal, looked about as bad as she felt, worse even, because, well, he’d died in the arena and she’d just been infected with a script-copy attack. He’d been in a vat, poor guy. The one thing he cared about now was making sure his students did as best as they could. A quintessential coach.