by Curtis Hox
The Protocols owned by Skippard Wellborn were Skippard Wellborn’s, and his alone, but his family could be used as leverage. With them the Protocols can be changed.
The Rogueslave called Gramgadon stood, stretched his back like he needed some Rejuv, and even made a joke, “Nothing like a bad back to make a guy feel normal.”
A few of the other natural parents nodded.
Then the Rogueslave began moving toward the family of the Wellborn Maker Lord.
* * *
Simone walked over to Kimberlee’s empty table and plopped down, glaring at her mother. She set the whips on the table.
“You okay?” Kimberlee asked. She stopped reading her tablet and eyed the whips as if they were snakes that might unravel.
Simone ignored the question. “Any good?”
Kimberlee gestured to the device. “Psycho thriller. Great trash to fill the time.”
“I’m fine. My mom and I talked.”
“That was intense last night.”
Simone nodded at her mother, who was talking to a dorky natural guy who might have been hitting on her. “Tell me that guy isn’t chatting up my mom. Gross.”
“Probably not. He looks about as game as a Natty with a prostate problem.”
They both chuckled.
Kimberlee touched one of the whips. “You branching out into wrangling?”
Simone laughed again. “My mother thinks it’s time for me to grow up. My bucky is in my dorm. These”—she pushed the talismans toward Kimberlee—”are my new toys. They’re supposed to focus my mind.”
“Right, more of that magical stuff.”
“I’m good at it.”
“I wonder where the others are.”
“You haven’t seen Hutto?”
Kimberlee smiled, and Simone glimpsed the something in her that could be seductive, and dangerous. “You haven’t seen Hutto?” The mocking was friendly but loaded.
“Stop it. I was just asking.”
“Sure you were. He’s gorgeous. He’s charming. And you slept with him—”
“Shh!” Simone slapped her hand jokingly. “Don’t say that.”
“Well. You did.”
“Where is he?”
“Last I heard he and the others took off toward the farm … hey, what’s your mother doing?”
Her mother had taken the man by the shoulders and now held him tight. He was not trying to stop her. She paused, nose-to-nose, but obviously unhappy. She was speaking something to him that no one heard. But she looked angry enough to kill him. Then she yanked open his shirt, buttons flying, and revealed a frail and flabby torso covered in brands.
Simone saw the letters: SWML.
“Oh, my god! Mom!” Simone said, putting her head in her arms like she might hide there.
“This is too good!” Kimberlee said. “Your mom is the coolest.”
“Everyone back!” Yancey yelled. “Everyone up against that wall.” She pointed over by a small platform that ran the width of the room.
Simone was on her feet now, never used to the fact her mother did the damnedest things. She didn’t obey, of course. She grabbed her whips and walked directly toward her. “Mom! Those are the same letters I have on my chest!”
* * *
Yancey embraced her daughter and continued to stare at the Rogueslave who, in a different life, had killed her son Jonen. He now sat gingerly in a metal folding chair, trying to button his shirt, acting indignant.
She waited a few moments while parents and students frantically moved away.
Yancey bit back anger at seeing him after all these years. He was nothing like the impressive glad fighter he’d once been. The Rogues had debased him in their service. It was almost pathetic. But she wouldn’t let herself feel pity, not for him, not for Gramgadon.
What she saw now was a human being who had given up his youth and his health to become a sickly tool of the Rogues. No, she didn’t pity him. In fact, she wished every pain and malady upon him. That man there had driven a sword into her son’s body and helped his henchmen ferret Jonen away so that the authorities couldn’t rejuv him. She had spent three solid years doing nothing but chasing down leads. No one ever found Jonen’s body or learned what happened to it.
But rumors persisted that her son’s cerebral cortex had been saved—that key element for the rehusking process that could take a dead person and make him live. But rumors were not enough, and she’d even eventually said her goodbyes to her first born. She’d pushed Gramgadon from her mind as she heard the sporadic rumors about his descent into becoming a Rogueslave. And when intelligence reports surfaced that he was clued into the Great Game, a major player for Dagons, one of the Blood Tricad, she knew she would see him again. And now he has SWML brands, she thought. Yes, he’s clued in alright, and that means he’s here for a reason.
“Gramgadon, the sellout,” Yancey said to the Rogueslave. The group of students and parents finally all moved away, most of them now huddling together. “What are they planning?”
“Is this guy one of them?” Simone asked.
“He’s slaved himself to them.” Yancey moved her daughter behind her. And then to him, she said, “So you thought they’d make you powerful? Was that it? They made you frail, though. Is it a test? Did they promise you that you won’t ever die?”
The man stood up sheepishly. In an instant he found his backbone. “You’re fools. All of you. You have no idea what’s coming. Bow down or be ground underfoot like insects. At least I’ll survive. You won’t. None of you.”
“Mom?”
Yancey ignored her daughter. She looked around and scanned the room. Nothing out of place. She listened for her son who was almost here. Sterling was about to hit the Big Time.
She heard a crash, and a few people screamed. “You’re brother’s arrived, Simone.”
They all heard the rumble of Rigon coming down the hall. He’d already smashed through the glass doors and was probably now tearing up the industrial carpet in the hallway. Everyone pointed, staring, and echoed amazement when they saw the metallic machine man standing outside the cafeteria doors. He squatted down, edged through the double doors and righted himself.
“Rigon?” Simone asked.
Yes, dear, she thought, he’s a cybernetic organism now encased in armor and you finally get to see him as one.
“Say hi to you brother.”
Yancey felt an ache of regret because Simone knew what being a cyborg meant; when this was over, her brother would be gone for months as they regenerated his body. He was already gone, dead, really, in the old sense, although somewhere in there his brain was encased in titanium. And the essence of him still lived wherever they’d captured his genoscript, waiting to be given a body again. Yancey felt more than a pang of regret. She felt a mother’s loss of a son, even though she would see him again. And it was all she could do to avoid weeping.
“Rogueslave,” Rigon said. The sound of his amplified electric voice reverberated as it echoed off the walls. Rigon took two more aggressive steps. He pointed at the man with a weaponized arm that looked like it could shoot heavy-caliber warship rounds. “Gramgadon.”
“Step back, dear,” Yancey said. Simone unfurled her whips, like she might wrangle a stray calf. “That’s good, dear.”
“The Protocols are clear,” Rigon said. “You’re here to be heard. The Great Conflict commences with a new contest. State your lords’ intentions so that we may battle and give praise to the proper victors. No later protest need be had.” He stepped forward. “Now, slave.”
The Rogueslave Gramgadon straightened as best he could under the cyborg’s gaze. “I make this announcement: Under the Protocols established by the Wellborn Maker Lord and guarded by the Eternal Eminences, this contest of dominance is for her, Simone Lord.” He pointed at Simone. Yancey shielded her, even though she wasn’t in danger, yet. “My masters’ soldiers are arriving now to battle for her body. My masters want the girl’s genosoul. If they capture her body, they’ll take its
script as a prize. They’ll keep her double as a trophy.” He smiled again, like he had no care in the world. “I have made the announcement. We do not need your acceptance. Let the contest begin.”
“Understood,” Rigon said. “The stakes are for the Wellborn girl. If your masters win the battle for her body, they win this contest. It has been announced. And she’s ready to enter the Great Game. Now, come with me, you little pisshead. I’ll escort you away from these fine folk. Because of the Protocols, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
Gramgadon began to laugh, as if the joke was on everyone else, but started walking for the exit as Rigon commanded. “I’ll be with them when this is all over. This frail body’ll be cast aside for something powerful. They’ll reward me. I’ll spit on all of you flesh-bags.”
“Sure they will,” Yancey said. “If they don’t blast your mind to bits first.”
“Never! I’ve done so much for them! You know that! You understand!”
“You speak another word,” Rigon said, “and I’ll end you here, Protocols be damned. I’ll pay the price in Cyberspace, no matter how long it takes.”
Two of Rigon’s team members grabbed the man and hurried him away.
“He gets to go free?” Simone asked.
“He was just the messenger. It’s in the Protocols.”
“Daddy’s Protocols?”
“Not now.” Yancey ignored the confused look. “A Dread Walker will soon follow, dear.” She grabbed her daughter in a hug. “We have to prepare.”
“What’s a Dread Walker, Mom?”
Yancey looked down at her daughter, who had finally become a pawn in the Great Game. She would never forgive herself for losing her, so she planned to succeed tonight, or die trying. And if all else failed, she had one last resort: Skippard’s Ghosting Protocols could be used to save their daughter from the Rogues. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She kept observing her daughter closely, as if a strong wind might blow in and take her away. ”Pests, just pests.” Simone began scratching at her arms. “And it’s begun.”
Yancey pulled her aside. Most of the students and parents were still stunned by Rigon’s entrance. They didn’t noticed the desperation creep into a mother’s face. “Now, listen closely. I’m not sure when it happened, but the Rogues marked you, probably when you first visited Joss. The little buggers in you are just to light you up. They’re harmless, Simone. Your brother’s here. I’m here. We’ll protect you.” She grabbed Simone by the arms. “What’s about to happen to you means nothing. It won’t change you. You’re still you. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mom. You’re scaring me.” Simone continued to scratch her arms, and her neck now. “What’s happening?” Tendrils, like tiny snakes, began to move upward along her limbs. “Mom!” Simone continued to scratch. “There’s something in me.”
Yancey could do nothing but watch the nano-invasion edge upward to begin the process of capturing Simone’s essence. By the time the attack almost reached her daughter’s eyes, there was only time for one last moment. Yancey said, “Remember, you are Simone Wellborn, and you always will be.”
“I will, Mom.”
Her daughter’s eyes were wide with fright.
“Tell me quickly, now,” Yancey said, “what do you see?”
Her eyes darkened as the Rogue messenger-bots, nearly completing the onslaught with only a few precious seconds longer, flashed in her retinas. “I see. Oh, no ...!”
“What is it, dear? You have to tell me?”
“I see teeth at my neck. Lots of teeth.”
Simone’s eyes rolled upward. Yancey caught her as she passed out. One of Rigon’s stout team members appeared and scooped her up.
“Now, ma’am?”
“The grain silos. I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
Yancey followed the agent out of the cafeteria, then sent an update to her son, who was done seeing the slave to an autocar and was already back out in the fields.
Rigon, I’m going to the silos to hide Simone. I’ll wait for the Walker there. You have to kill as many of them as you can. Hurt it as much as you can for me. I don’t know if I can defeat it alone. Where is your father?
He returned a single cryptic message: Walker’s here. I haven’t seen Dad.
She heard the sound of his team firing in the distance.
Outside, twilight was falling into a mélange of purples and oranges that cut across the western sky like splayed fingers. Fireflies were already popping up and winking out, and the sounds of cicadas filled the air with an orchestra of noise. She watched as the team member carried her daughter like a sack of potatoes into the dark.
She followed him over the pine ridge to the farm, her night vision lighting everything in clear shades of electric green. They passed the barn and saw the silos, even though a heavy darkness had settled over the fields. They arrived at the tall cylinders and set to work right away. Another team member was already there. She had a basic support harness, which she put on Simone. It only took the team a few minutes to climb up the outside ladder on the far silo with Simone. Yancey followed.
The team members at the top of the silo attached a rope to the harness, then waited for Yancey.
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
They withdrew a small mask and oxygen tank and attached it to Simone’s face. Then they opened the grain door at the top and gently set her inside. She lay peacefully on the unstable material. “Give her a few feet of play. It’ll be better if she’s submerged.” Yancey checked the rope tied outside to a rung. It was secure. “Shut the door.”
She climbed back down, thinking that had to be the best place to put her on the entire campus. The stink of the silos should mess with the incursion Zamps’ sense of smell. Realspace was new to them, and they could be confused easily.
Rigon’s team nodded without asking any questions.
Yancey went to the other side of the silos, found a deep shadow, and opened her mind. The person society called a psy-sorceress emerged, and Yancey became something else most people would consider evil. Her entity, ever near, was ready.
When Yancey walked out of the dark, rippling with channeled energy and ready to summon, a shadow followed her, masking her step. Her entity Myrmidon was eager to help.
She owed it this conflict after teasing it in the auditorium and forcing it to leave the flesh so quickly.
It waited in the shadow, the most powerful weapons and armor system a human being had ever wielded. She felt the calming deadness of a blanketed mind. She set herself at the base of her daughter’s silo and waited for the first contenders to steal Simone’s soul.
* * *
Wally struggled with the Megamech. From the moment that first leg moved, he knew this would be difficult. But the other leg followed, and soon they were forging a path through the woods, leaving a wake of busted trees behind them. The problem started when he tried to steer. It turned but kept turning. They must have walked in a circle for hours.
When they’d almost smashed into Captain Picham’s cabin, he’d yelled and hollered and jumped up and down for Wally to watch out.
“Sorry,” Wally said, for the gazillionth time that day.
“Just keep going. See if you can right her.”
By evening he’d succeeded but then had a problem correcting from the other direction.
“Okay, Wally, we got to get serious now.” Captain Picham said. “She was built for one thing, and that one thing is here. The goddamn Rogues have found Sterling.” He pointed. “We need to go east and only east.”
Wally tried to steer the massive machine with his mind, but she wasn’t listening to him. When he heard the explosions and heard Hutto exclaim how cool they were, Wally remembered what Hutto had said about his brother, Almont, the Megamech pilot ... complete domination is required to win control.
Wally stopped the machine and refused to go farther, unless she cooperated. He even threatened to get out of the chair. He felt her fear he would do it. With its pow
ered lights creating strobes in the darkness of twilight, the USC-Kraken finally started to respond to the little Transhuman in the pilot’s seat.
Pushover.
He saw a heading arrow appear on his HUD and leaned in the direction of the Ag Farm. The mech did as he wanted. The captain zoomed, and everyone saw the Dread Walker in the moonlight.
“Speed it up,” the Captain said. “Head for the barn.”
* * *
Yancey moved with lightning speed as the first of them emerged out of the darkness. Three Zamps using the barn for cover came charging up the road.
Yancey stood before the silo ladder, spread her arms, and completed her dance to fully summon Myrmidon. The martial way of her entity that called its energies from the ground and air filled her until she glowed, and the beasts changed direction for her.
She was a giant, iridescent creature laced with flickering fire. She was scaled, and horrific, and glorious. Myrmidon was an older, more-seasoned version of her daughter’s entity, and it was eager to fight. The species was an ally of humanity, and her entity was joyous to be in battle again.
I am here, Myrmidon said, in the flesh.
She struck out and sent an eruption of fire.
The Zamp beasts erupted into howling balls of flame ten meters from her and careened into several bales of hay, setting them on fire. Soon the air was thick with acrid smoke, and the stench of charred flesh. The three beasts continued to burn as if dipped in oil. Then the others came.
As she fought them with the channeled power of Myrmidon, she heard Rigon’s guns in the distance. She knew he was trying to dissuade them from crossing the fields and, maybe, even distract them from their mark. And she loved him for this, although the Zamps had smelled her out. Soon, her son’s firing stopped, and she sensed his temporary victory, and his unease.
I’ve found the Walker, she heard him say.