by Curtis Hox
“That’s Simone!” Rigon yelled, just as the alien-looking drone ripped one of Cliff’s arms off. The two of them rolled across the field with such speed they looked like two lovers merging into one.
Yancey, scrolling through her HUD’s reading of the critical data below, just as her son was doing, could see that Simone’s cydrone had been morphed by her entity. “She summoned inside!”
The Blackhawk circled away from the conflict to find a safe landing zone.
Yancey jumped out first. Nisson and Hutto grabbed Rigon’s chair, but she was already running as fast as she could. He’d be able to catch her in his chair, and beat her there. She didn’t have much strength left. But she ran, as only a mother could run.
When she gained a crest and saw the driveway with the large hole in the ground, its heat signature off the charts, she realized Cliff had triggered there. She no longer saw movement in the far field.
She crossed the drive, huffing, and began to sprint again, just as she heard Rigon’s tank chair launch itself over the crest. It landed with a thud but kept coming. Nisson and Hutto sprinted behind.
Yancey cursed her weakness. But she ignored the pain in her lungs and continued to mumble her mantra. As she ran she moved through the steps ... in her mind.
Simone’s slaved cydrone, now controlled by her entity, sat atop the wreckage of the cyborg mech like some metal bird of prey. Yancey saw Skippard a few feet from the wreckage. He raised a hand to keep Rigon and the others back. Yancey slowed, sucking air, her lungs on fire.
“Skippard!” she yelled.
* * *
The steaming pile of hissing metal that had once been Cliff Nable looked no more recognizable than a pile of scrap. It represented the Consortium’s best technical effort to mimic the Alter’s summoning capabilities. A few shorting electrical units sparked, and the distinct smell of servo fluid filled the air. The titanium carapace of Cliff’s machine was rent open as if some treasure had once existed inside. Skippard couldn’t help but think the strange-looking creature sitting atop it had been digging for the sweet meats, maybe a cybernetic liver.
Skippard kept his distance. The morphed cydrone watched him. It sat on its haunches, as if it were resting, but had enough energy left to launch itself into the clouds. He’d seen it fly through the air and pounce. He’d watched it destroy Cliff Nable’s cymech. Like a proud papa, he’d kept his distance until it was ready for him to approach.
Rigon’s chair stopped next to Skippard. “She’s in there, Dad.”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
“How do we get her out?”
“I’m working on that.”
Skippard glanced at his son, who’d sacrificed his body just as Cliff had. Skippard tried not to show his distain. Rigon had been the only one of them to turn his back on the mysterious power of the entities he had inside him. He had never let it flourish. Instead, he had fueled all his energies into metal gears, silicon brains, and electrical circuits—all because Jonen had been so promising as an Alter, but had failed to survive.
Skippard looked over at the form of his resurrected son, Jonen, across the field. He’d seen him there, watching the confrontation, just as Skippard had watched. Skippard had wanted to speak to him again to better assess how much of him was there. Did it matter? No, because enough of Jonen’s personality was there, even if he were a possession of the Rogues. That meant he was being used.
The other cydrone Ghost Hunters appeared behind Jonen. They looked at Skippard instead of the wreckage.
“Is that Jonen?” Rigon asked.
“It is ... with four RAI Ghost Hunters.”
“Dad, you have to get out of here. What if more start dropping in?”
Both of them looked at the sky, knowing that if a fabricator had been placed in this area, an incursion could begin at any moment. Or, if the Rogues were deep enough in the Consortium, commandos and their armor units could start parachuting in.
“All we have now is the glad arena,” Skippard said. “The Rogues have penetrated Realspace and the Consortium, and it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone is forced to bend the knee.”
Rigon said nothing.
Yancey hadn’t moved. She was also starting at Jonen. “Skippard ...”
“Part of him is there,” Skippard said, “but he’s one of them … for now.”
“What have you done to our son? And our daughter?”
He considered expanding a bit to show his defiance. What he’d done was build a chance for their survival.
He looked back at the morphed drone; he’d have to work his special kind of magic to get Simone out. One thing the entities liked was free rein in Realspace. This one wasn’t going to be happy, not with the barrier of metal on its skin, but it would listen.
“I’ll handle it.”
Yancey kicked debris aside and strode forward. “What are you going to do?”
“Two things,” he said. He looked at Rigon. “Come on.”
He waved them toward the wreckage. Simone’s entity shifted as they approached. Skippard moved forward without a care in the world. He wanted it to sense he had no more concern than would a child walking up to a flower pot.
“Supertrans, isn’t it?” he asked. “I know you can hear me. You need to forget about manifesting and return. She can’t make you, of course, because of limitations she’s experiencing right now. You’re in charge, more than you’ve ever been before. You’re thinking you got a good thing right now. You’re thinking you get to experience the machine, even though you didn’t materialize. I know that means it is easier for you back home, since you didn’t have to come all this way. So go back now, and tell everyone what happened, and how honorable you are for returning without being forced.” He stepped onto the wreckage. “And get off that pile.”
Simone’s entity backed up, like a well-trained lion before its master.
“Find Cliff’s brain,” Skippard said.
All three Wellborns understood that when the transformation had taken place, the only part of Cliff to remain was his brain. It was encased in several layers of protection deep in the chest cavity. That shouldn’t be too difficult to find, what with the damage Supertrans had caused.
Yancey stopped eyeing her daughter’s morphed machine and climbed up. She crawled atop the wreckage. A few minutes later, she popped her head up. “Here it is.”
Rigon did his best to roll up there, but he couldn’t quite see. “We takin’ it, Dad?”
“Yes, we are.”
Yancey nodded. “It’s a crime to threaten Real Death.”
“I want his brain. That traitor ain’t getting husked right away, if ever again. Pull the unit. It’s made to pop out.”
She bent down. “The security housing has already opened. The case is whole.” She reached down, and pulled out a football-sized titanium object. “Cliff Nable’s brain.”
“Now,” Skippard said, looking once at the strange, reptilian drone that housed his daughter, and once at his son Jonen, who still kept his distance. The Ghost Hunters nearby could come running across the field at any minute. He returned his attention to the drone. “Are you going to do it like I ask, or should I speak to your masters?”
“You better listen, whatever you are,” Rigon said to the morphed drone. “You don’t want to mess with us.”
Skippard raised a hand. “We’re allies, Rigon. Supertrans knows this. Don’t you?” The drone looked back at them without expression. It seemed to sigh. Skippard said, “Demonstrate you’re good will and return to where you came from. She’ll call you when she needs you.”
The metal creaked as it bent back in on itself. It shriveled right before their eyes, as if it were organic flesh desiccating in triple-time. The Ghost Hunters across the field began to move. They had been waiting for Skippard to purge the drone.
“Nisson, Hutto,” Skippard said. “It’s time.”
Twenty or so meters behind them, he heard both entities
roar. They had been waiting for the command. He could see that Rigon and Yancey both wanted to engage. Yancey could, if she had to. But it would cost her.
“No, Yance,” he said once more. “We can handle this. Stay with her.” To Rigon, “Both of you.”
“If they come within fifteen feet of us,” Rigon said, “I’ll pop their tops. My chair is loaded.” He edged it as close as he could toward the warped drone that now looked like it had expanded and imploded at the same time.
Simone was still inside, of course, trapped again now that her machine wouldn’t function.
Skippard saw the large shape of Hutto’s Werebear bounding across the field like some giant Kodiak chasing down a wolf. Nisson’s blood-red entity ran behind, a different species from the Wellborns’, but another that seemed happy to comply.
In seconds, the quiet of the night erupted in the sounds of conflict. The drones fought back with shrieks and alarms. Skippard was ready to expand, but he didn’t think he’d need to. Already both Hutto and Nisson had dismantled one each. The other two kept their distance, trying to tire out their enemies.
Jonen stayed back.
* * *
While Skippard watched and waited to see if he were needed, Yancey stood by the fallen machine that housed her daughter and looked toward the sky. The longer this took, the more dangerous it was for them. Anything could come out of the darkness. The Rogues could be waiting to show themselves, or some returning Rogueslaves could be on their way home. Worse, the Consortium could come to help Cliff.
Everyone of them had Consortium brands, but that wouldn’t matter if the commandos shot first and asked questions later.
The threat of Real Death didn’t give her pause. It was always there. The idea that traitors could hurt them and keep them from a Rejuv Facility angered her. This was the very thing they were threatening to do to Cliff. Without the recovery of his brain-case, the Consortium would not Rejuv him. They would keep his genoscript packaged for an unspecified time, after which, they’d erase it.
She guessed Rigon and Skippard were thinking the same thing. This was why they were protecting Simone. She was in a more precarious situation. She was alive in that machine and would remain so for an eternity, unless released. They had to get her out.
Yancey looked up as she heard Hutto’s bear growl again. She saw a piece of the final drone fly through the air and the rest of it crumple to the ground.
“Now that is winning with style,” Rigon said.
Yancey laughed a little, feeling the tension ease.
“See,” Skippard said. “We’re the future. Everyone just doesn’t know it yet.” He looked at Rigon to get his point across.
Rigon saw the challenge to his cyborg self, but said nothing.
“What now?” Yancey asked.
“Now we get back to Pic’s cabin.” He saw Nisson’s Graucus come running out of the darkness like some demon-thing from a horror film.
“Impressive,” Skippard said to Graucus, “and scary. Would you mind carrying this back to the helo for us?” He pointed to Simone’s drone.
Graucus bent down and lifted the twisted metal with one arm. Hutto’s Werebear showed itself out of the darkness but kept its distance, as if it were too feral to be near them. It kept looking into the distance, waiting for something else to attack.
“Let’s go,” Skippard said.
They all moved at speed back to the landing zone. The chopper, rotors still thumping, was ready. They strapped down Simone’s warped drone. Yancey climbed back in. Skippard floated inside as well and readied himself to fly back with them and make sure all went well.
“We’ll send another for you guys. Just hold on. Search the house. See if the boy and Gramgadon are alive.”
He gave the signal, and the chopper lifted up, and he watched as their uplifted faces reflected the moonlight.
Not far away, Yancey saw Jonen ... and two other forms. The three ghosts stood next to each other: a large man, just like Skippard, with a diminutive daughter, just like Simone. It made her heart ache to see them because of the vile hatred they had for her family.
They want our deaths.
These were all parts of the new Transhuman warriors her husband was trying to fashion, and their most valuable one lay ensconced in a heap of metal at his feet. She bit down the anger because this setback was his fault.
“One big, happy family,” Yancey said. “Now get our daughter out of there.”
* * *
Simone lay within the cydrone, staring up at the inside of the helicopter fuselage. She sensed her father’s presence, like a welcoming heat on a cold night. He blanketed the cydrone, pushing himself inward. He entered, and the two of them filled the space together. She shut her eyes, his presence enough to calm her. She let time pass, now no longer fearing it would last forever. One by one, she felt the cydrone’s system unlock as if her father used a pair of shears to cut through her bonds. She expanded. She pushed herself out the metal. Her mother sat on a bench, her eyes hidden behind her shades. She sat up straight, but Simone could see her fatigue.
“Thank god,” her mother yelled to be heard over the beating of the rotors.
Her father appeared. “A simple puzzle was all.”
“You think Joss is all right?” Simone asked.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Yancey said. “I think your father has an apology to make.”
“For what?” her father asked.
“Yeah, Mom? For what? I kind of liked it in there. At least when I could move.”
“We can’t all be ghosts, Yance,” her father said. “At least not until we can convince Rigon. We don’t want to leave him out.”
“Your father,” her mother said, “has been using your brother as an excuse for years. That one’s about played out.”
“You want to be a ghost?” Simone asked.
“If you only knew.” She patted the seat next to her. “Sit, dear, and tell me what it’s like. Don’t hold back. I want to know everything about it.” Her mother glanced one time at her father as if daring him to say something. “I want to know what to expect … when I become a ghost.”
THE END
Thank you for purchasing this book. If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or review at the site of purchase. Check out my website at curtishox.com for new releases or contact me at [email protected].
About the author
Curtis Hox is an English professor by day and a science fiction writer by night. He launched his debut novel, Bleedover, in Nov. 2011, and in 2012 he's releasing his YA Transhuman Warrior Series. He's also blogging his journey as a self-published author. He lives with his wife and two year old son, who often pretends to type on his keyboard.
Transhuman Warrior Series:
Stand-alone novels:
Bleedover
Versim
Short stories:
“Repossession in Progress”
“The Red Sphere”
“Witch Fire”
“Transmission”
Connect with me online:
http://www.curtishox.com
[email protected]
http://www.twitter.com/curtishox