by Curtis Hox
“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.
“We’re all pawns in the Great Conflict,” she said. “I do need your help.”
“I’ll do my part.” Coach Buzz continued to watch her daughter, impressed, but obviously troubled. “If she succeeds in the arena, will the Consortium make the rule changes so that Alters can compete in the IGL? Is that what they want? To beat the Rogues in the arena?”
“What do you know about the Rogue Fight Lords?” she asked.
“Rumors. Conspiracies. Fight Lord Zain’s been on top for a few years now. Everyone says he’s dirty. He sure flaunts the rules for an SAI. Not sure about any of that, but I do know there are rumors that the governing SAIs are beholden to Rogue AIs. The rule-makers are as corrupt as you can get. Figures the Fight Lords would be as well.”
“It’s true.” Yancey pulled him aside so that Simone couldn’t hear. “Good work, dear,” Yancey said over her shoulder. “Try that again.” To Coach Buzz she whispered, “What do you know about Dagons, Persens, and Rigalens?”
“Scary stories to frighten children.” He smiled. “Come on. The Blood Tricad?” He waited for a reaction. “That’s true? They exist?” He moved in closer. “I thought you said all those Lords of Darkness and all that were bullshit.”
“My daughter thinks they’re supernatural beings, demons, devils, you get the picture. That’s what’s bullshit. We aren’t sure what they are. I think they’re alien. My husband thinks they’re AI in the morning, alien in the afternoon, boogeymen in the evening. He doesn’t care, though. Bottom line: the RAIs, and the mutant entities they summon, want to make us their pets, or worse.” She waited to see if he understood. He nodded. “Good. I didn’t think you’d like that. Doesn’t matter what they are, does it?” He shook his head. “The Tricad is planning to present a wave of high-powered Rogueslaves in this IGL season, and rumor has it the regulatory board will allow a few exhibition matches. Our students will fight in one of these.”
“In a stadium?”
“Right here in Georgia—widecast live all over the world.”
“Zain runs that stadium.”
“I know,” she said.
“And the Consortium wants someone to challenge them. If that someone loses they can turn their backs on him, or her.”
“And if they win?” Yancey asked, watching her daughter.
“They can push for more integration of nontraditional persons in the games.”
“Our new battleground.”
“The incursions?”
“May be over,” she said. “They mess with us to mess with us. But it gets them nowhere. Too difficult for them to materialize here.”
“What about this little contest with her double?”
“They’re ramping up,” Yancey said. “Her double has gained notoriety in Cyberspace. My husband’s double—”
“SWML”
“—the very one, is backing her double. The little contest she lost when Hutto kissed her double should have been a minor blip in the system. But it launched her double to the top. It was as if her double had won ten straight contests.”
A pang of anxiety ripped through Yancey. She hadn’t told Simone that yet. Neither had her father. She had gone to see Skippard in person for the first time in years to discuss what to do. He was staying in his brother’s cabin deep in the woods beyond the cattle pastures. When she found him, Skippard Wellborn was sitting in one of the rockers with Picham Wellborn.
The Rager Beasley had driven her out there a few days after Simone’s first contest. Yancey had just gotten out of the facility and could barely move; she walked so stiffly she could barely get up the steps to the porch. But she faked it well enough that they didn’t notice.
Picham had aged into a wrinkled raisin of a man who spent too much time in the sun. The rags he wore looked a decade old themselves. He kept whittling a piece of wood, gave her a kind wink, and returned to work.
Her husband wore his standard lab outfit, looking relaxed, as if ready for a nap. Skippard glowed a soft gray, even in the bright sunlight of the morning, and when he waved his arms, trails of light swam about in wakes. Show off.
“Simone lost,” Yancey said.
“Not a problem,” Skippard said. “It’s her first loss. Good to see you, Yance.”
She looked away. She didn’t want to get sucked in by his charm and forget how angry she still was with him. He chose to be a ghost, to be disembodied. He had left them for this life. “The chatter is calling the win ‘proof’ the battle between your double and you is almost over.”
“I don’t care how strong my double is. It’ll never beat me. Simone’s loss—”
“Her double is already being vetted by the IGL Fight Lords, Skippard. Already! The Tricad is behind it. Your double is behind it.”
She saw concern in her husband’s face for the first time in years. How long had it been since she’d seen any concern at all? Since their first born, Jonen, suffered Real Death in a glad arena.
Skippard had never been the same after that. Everything he had done was a response to that loss. She could see he still believed that if he could succeed in creating the perfect Transhuman weapon, he could stop such losses in the future.
Years ago, when she’d
told Skippard she was joining the fight he’d spun around in joy, as if there were no other choice. Later, when she told him of the horrible tasks she’d undertaken as a Consortium agent, he nodded as if it were her duty. She’d stopped coming to the cabin to visit him after that. He never seemed to understand, or feel, what he’d abandoned by becoming a permanent ghost or the fact Yancey had lost a son and now a husband. All he ever said was, Ghosting is the best thing for us.
He meant being disembodied was the best thing for his little project to save humanity. How could she challenge that? She wanted the same thing: to win; to survive; to be more than she was.
“Mom, watch this,” Simone said after completing a cartwheel. She added the combination Coach Buzz had showed her, finishing with a loud flourish. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Superb, dear. Keep trying. Your double won’t know what hit her.” She turned to Coach Buzz. “She’s going to lose.”
“Jesus, keep your voice down.” He looked angry enough to spit in the wind. “Don’t convince her she’s beaten before—”
“Her double will have enlarged itself. It’ll be ready, I’m sure. Games of wit are easier to win than games of skill. She has never had to fight.” She tugged him a few steps away. “If she does lose it’ll work its way through Cyberspace and create even more momentum for her double. It’ll reinforce the patronage of the Blood Tricad, which is a front for my husband’s double. This little contest is a perfect scenario for Zain to hype our Alters’ entrance in the arena. Imagine the pressure.”
“Her contest is connected to the exhibition match? No way.”
“That’s why her double asked for the game of skill so soon. It thinks she’s not ready. It is ready, though, and those backing it are making plans. The Consortium knows this.”
“She’s not ready.” Now he looked like he’d finally admitted it to himself. “She’s not.”
“Well ...”
Coach Buzz waited for clarification, but Yancey didn’t want to explain just what Simone was good at.
Not yet, she thought, he’ll learn soon enough—
As if on cue, Simone’s double emerged out of the far wall, appearing like a mirror copy.