by Curtis Hox
“I believe my former insistence on natural living is taking its toll. I may finally give in and seek some treatment. I fear we’re all in trouble.”
“I’m not getting kicked out?”
Mrs. Ogilvey smiled a kind, grandmotherly smile. “No. You may be the catalyst that saves this place. Your mother thinks so.” Still with the smile, she finished, “Or burns it to the ground.” She stood in slow motion. As she crossed the sill, she said to no one in particular, “Keep her in her room until her mother arrives.”
“Sorry.” Principal Smalls said to Simone before closing the door.
THREE
THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION COUNCIL’S most recognizable member, Rigon Wellborn, licensed Consortium AI Police Agent and famous Consortium poster boy, strode into the clinic. He was tall, well-built, damned good-looking, and charming. By the look of him, he had all four fundamental enhancement packages, plus every extra layer money could buy, and, obviously, it was great to be him.
Principal Smalls and the few students who lingered saw a man wearing laced-up combat boots, black cargo pants, and a short-sleeved button down. He looked like he might be a model or an athlete ready for work or play in the jungle. He wore a pair of highly prized black Consortium Mirrorshades that completely hid his eyes and were grafted into the side of his head, a sure sign he was also a registered Cybertranshuman. On the left front pocket of his shirt was an embroidered symbol of his profession: the International Consortium Cyber Police Agency’s white-and-gold flag with a human face in its center.
Rigon scanned the room, reading data on everyone he saw through his real-time, retinal-interface HUD. He was wired in his head with several service AIs that downloaded data for him from his own personal metaverse. He learned what he needed to know about them all in a glance. “Cordon off this area. No one gets in or out without my permission.”
He heard each of his team’s affirmatives through the augmented audio chip spliced into his auditory nerves. He ignored the defective Tranz students he saw lit up in his HUD. The display spread out before him as he moved, dropping tiles of data all around the room. He breathed deeply and smelled the traces of Sterling’s cybernetic systems in the air. From his left, down the hall, and behind a door, he sensed the heavy weight of a major nanopresence.
That’s him. Poor kid.
He took a full two minutes of complete stillness to let his own nanostructures orient themselves for what they were about to encounter. He understood the power of these RAIs to transform flesh in a matter of seconds. It was one of their most powerful weapons. His bosses in New York—and his mother—would disagree. Rigon had been arguing with her on the way to Sterling. He had flown in from New York; she was coming from Singapore. She wanted him to be just as cautious of the psychic attacks the Rogues might use, as he would be of the physical. He would, of course, but his strength had always been in cycontrol, and he wouldn’t let his systems be invaded and manipulated—not by some Rogue AI with the balls to show itself.
He felt every nanoparticle in his body respond to his call for fortifications. He could run through a wall, if he had to, or fire, or ice. He now possessed a good hour of complete control of his phenotype. He was ready. And if things went bad, he’d trigger a device at his hip. He felt comforted it was there, knowing at any minute he could use it to transform himself into a killing machine.
He saw Keila and Arthur Vaughn walk into the clinic with Sterling’s fight coach, Buzzal Vaughn. Arthur wore a conservative three-piece suit, as well as a fedora. He stood ramrod straight and stared fearfully at Rigon as if he were going to burn the place to the ground. Keila looked like she always did: at just over five feet, five inches, with flaming rust-colored hair that she loved to let hang freely, she stared at him as if she might start yelling at any minute.
“You look beat up, man,” Rigon said to Buzz, snapping out of his trance with an instant smile, the readouts around Buzz flashing red in Rigon’s HUD. Buzz was awash in Rejuv bots doing their good work. He and Buzz went way back, just as he went back with lovely Keila, who stared at him like she wanted to run him over with a truck.
Buzz shook his old friend’s hand. “You look good, as always.”
Rigon opened his long arms, as if to embrace a loving world. “What can I say? I’m blessed. You look like you’re getting worked on.”
“I itch all day long.”
Arthur Vaughn cleared his throat. “Agent Wellborn. Good to see you again.” He moved closer to his daughter, as if to restrain her if need be.
Keila was the oddball in her family—all intellect/creative package, without an ounce of tact or grace. Rigon tried not to let her see how much he still cared about her. Better to play it safe and act disingenuous.
“Arthur,” Rigon said, “looks like your daughter isn’t over me yet.”
Keila’s eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. Her father placed both hands on her shoulders.
“This is why I won’t attend any meeting with him,” she said through clenched teeth. “He baits me. And he never takes those glasses off anymore. I bet he showers with them on.”
Rigon gave a little nod to the truth of that insight. “All right, let’s get to business.”
“I want your word you won’t act until we vote,” Arthur said.
“Of course, Arthur. That’s the way we Sterling grads do things: as a team.”
“Rigon,” Keila said, “he’s just a boy.”
“Sure he is,” Rigon said and moved past them.
When he walked inside and saw the boy for the first time, every system in his body readied for war. The clear sight of a Rogue intelligence feasting on a body and mind of a human being revolted him. He calmed himself, even though in most instances he’d have the boy bagged and tagged. I have to play this smart, he told himself, Mom is coming and the Vaughns are here. Somehow, I know Simone is involved in this. After all these years, what Dad said has come true: the Rogues are closing in on us Wellborns, and they’ll do it with Simone. “You, Mr. Beckwith, should be more careful what you play with.”
The boy turned his backward head, saw an AI Police Agent standing in front of him, and began to shake.
Rigon raised his hand. “Take it easy, son. You’ve got a reprieve. The old guy put a bracelet on you?” The boy nodded. “Show me.”
Joss raised his bare right arm in some mock imitation of normal human movement. Through his augmented vision, Rigon saw the invisible but, to him, glowing helices that rotated around the boy’s wrist: Rogue imprimatur. He scanned the rest of the boy’s body and saw a seething mass of micro particles, little synthetic viral manufacturing machines that could turn a man into goo in seconds—or make him into something else.
“You piss someone off, big time? Or did you show your undying love and they rewarded you?”
The boy shook his head half-heartedly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“What did you mean to do?”
“I sometimes surf in and out of the secure channels with the big boys. They let me ride with them. Nothing dangerous. Just commercial, some governmental. I heard, though, about a few Rogues who were causing problems—”
“Which ones?”
“Most Wanted.”
“Tell me you weren’t messing around with the Tricad.”
“Only because their people were sniffing around Sterling.”
“What happened?”
“I pegged one, tried to capture it—”
“Dumbass.”
“I know. It stuck me, and got some of me.”
“You’ve got a digi-double?”
“One of our students saw me.”
“Who?”
“New girl, Simone Wellborn.”
“You talked to her after you were infected?”
“Yes, why?”
Rigon didn’t curse or show any sign of annoyance, but he went into fast mode and began processing data to control the situation. Of course she’d be involved, of course. She was probably bright red with Rogue stain at this mo
ment. And the fact his little sister—who he’d been afraid to let in the school and whose entrance he’d campaigned against for a year—found this boy’s tainted double meant Simone was involved. The Rogues knew about her. His fear was that they had infected her already and were planning an incursion to kidnap her. No, not kidnap ... much worse. Dad was definitely right after all, he thought. They’re coming for Simone.
Without moving his mouth he spoke to his team: Get my sister. Two of you go. Hurry. Make sure she’s good.
“Stay put,” he said to the boy. “Don’t grow any more scary parts.”
* * *
Keila skirted by Rigon as he left Joss’s room. She saw the boy breathe a sigh of relief as she shut the door behind her. Rigon made people feel like that all the time. In his presence they were either his best friend or worst enemy. Right now, she couldn’t stand to even look at Rigon because he was more man than machine. Those glasses, of all things, angered her the most. Joss Beckwith, though, was in more danger than he could imagine—from the RAI bots coursing through his blood, sure, but also from Consortium police like Rigon Wellborn who wouldn’t think twice about taking him away forever.
Joss rubbed his chest on the bed like a cat would against a rug. Then his eyes popped open wide as a powerful wave of energy rippled through him.
“Oh no,” he mumbled. “Not now.”
He shut his eyes and bit his lip.
“Ow!” he yelled, sticking it tongue out. It appeared swollen in his mouth. He rubbed it with his teeth. “God!”
He scrambled out of bed and stumbled to the mirror, which he’d covered with a shirt. He freed it and stuck out his tongue. Sure enough, a Rogue brand was there.
Keila moved to his side. “What?”
“Another brand!”
She ignored it. “It’s being arrogant. Whatever thing did this to you, we can fight it.” She stood by him in front of the mirror. “I can fight it. Shut your eyes.”
He looked at her questioningly, then did as he was told. “Oh, fine, what are you going to do to me that’s worse than this?”
Keila knew that no matter what kind of rational story Rigon came up with, he couldn’t explain with Aggressive Nanotech Theory what she was about to do. She closed her eyes and focused on the seductive power emanating from Joss. She had always been drawn to Cyberspace, often lingering by smart devices in their home, feeling their subtle intelligences calling out to her like far away voices on distant beaches with waves lapping the shore. She had been tested and tested, and no higher order technology lived in her body. The small machines that kept her blood clean and helped with basic processes could never do what she was about to do.
I hope Rigon walks in and sees me ... but this wasn’t a time for the old feud.
Since her father was distracting Rigon, now was the perfect time. In fact, she bet Rigon was allowing Keila her chance with Joss just to prove her wrong.
She touched the boy’s deformed shoulder.
“Shh.” Her voice soothed him as her fingers dipped into his flesh as if it were butter. The sensation for her was a hollowness that formed in her fingers and reached up into her arm. She saw him go rigid, the thing in him shutting him down on high alert. “Okay, you little boogers,” she murmured, “let’s see if I can catch some of you.”
She allowed the body-meld to happen. It was intimate and sensual; she knew him instantly and realized what had him before she could pull her hand away.
Roguemind! But which one? Just like Rigon thought.
She encountered the layers and layers of nanocoded machines in his system, down to the subatomic level where logic unraveled and human intelligence failed. He was a cauldron of potential disaster, and she recognized what was churning in there: a major Roguemind hot-zone eager to penetrate Realspace.
She skimmed along the surface of the swarm’s defenses, trying to find a backdoor that would point her toward the makers. It would not give itself up easily, so she went deeper, up to her elbow now, her other hand finger deep in his back.
Joss stood with his mouth open, eyes closed, chest moving up and down. He wasn’t in distress. The things in him knew better than that.
To kill him now, she thought, would, what? Ruin their plans. Come, on, show yourselves.
She would soon have to pull out, if they didn’t. By the time she was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him, fully immersed in Joss Beckwith, Altertranshuman, Interfacer, and now host to something awful, she accepted they would fight her if she tried to extract some of them. But she couldn’t leave empty-handed.
She found a simple red blood cell manufacturing bot, and captured it. She began to pull it upward. It would be quarantined in a special place in her pancreas where she stored such devices.
As the nanobot fought the pull upward, like a fish on a hook, she felt Joss shudder.
Here, we go.
Her defenses were sound, but nearly failed when the onslaught of psychic and physical energy hit her like a tidal wave. She shut off the meld in an instant, her arm reemerging out of him as if she’d pulled it out of a pool of water. She’d lost her catch. Her arm was covered in black slime that dripped on the floor and sizzled the tiles. The material that congealed on her arm bubbled. She did the only thing she knew how and willed her defenses to protect her. The smoke that billowed off her arm and the floor caused the fire alarm in the building to sound. She calmly walked out of the room, arm held before her.
“Didn’t work …”
Her father, brother, and Rigon rushed her into a side room with a sink.
Rigon saw what was on her arm, fear clearly etching itself into his face. She could see the concern, even sensed the fear in eyes hidden behind those horrible shades.
“Bastards,” he said.
“Help her!” Buzz yelled, seeing the desperation and concentration in his sister’s face.
She was in a calm place that blanketed out the world around her as she concentrated on her arm.
Arthur said, “Rigon …”
“Don’t you piss on me, Rigon,” she said. “I’ve heard you say how potent your urine is. Don’t you dare …”
“Right.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned, analog rescue knife. He opened it and stabbed it deep into his left forearm. He poured his healing blood all over her. First her arm, then her torso, then her head.
She smiled at him as the blood poured over her. The metallic stink of it was a far away thing—the warm feel of it, something she barely registered. She could tell he was watching a critical blinking meter in his HUD as his blood pressure dropped. He would wait until right before he passed out, wait until she looked like a car-crash victim before he … then he crashed to the floor.
Keila felt the cleansing release as Rigon’s high-end, Consortium-coded and patented invisible blood warriors pushed back the poison that felt like molten lava pouring over her skin. She had almost lost her battle, but her barrier had never broken. She smiled an inside smile of relief. No one saw it. She knew she had not lost—Rigon had saved her, sure, but she’d never relented. She told herself to remember to tell him as she passed out next to him, her arm as pristine as the first day of her life, and now draped across the man she couldn’t stand, but still loved.
“Well, look at that,” Buzz said.
“They had a good run,” Mr. Vaughn said.
“Glad when it ended.”
“Me, too.”
The banging on the door by Principal Smalls increased. They had been ignoring him. “She’s on campus,” he said from behind the door. “She’ll be here any minute.”
They all knew who he meant.
Rigon sat up, one hand on his wound, already healing. “Help me get cleaned up before my mother sees me this way.”
* * *
Later than evening, Simone followed her mother into the clinic like a puppy who knows it’s about to get slapped with rolled-up newspaper. She had changed into another over-sized sweatshirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, ev
en though it wasn’t cold. She also wore some baggy running pants and a pair of flip-flops. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the clinic. But her mother said she needed to be present. She was part of this now.
“I want out of here,” Joss Beckwith was saying to Rigon, whose right forearm was now bandaged but somehow fine. Joss said again, “Hey, I want out of here. Are you listening?”
“I heard you the first time,” Rigon said.
Simone waved at her brother, who smiled back at her, even though he continued to glare at Joss.
Simone’s mother surveyed the room, nodding to the other active Council members, all of whom Simone knew. Mrs. Ogilvey sat in the waiting room by herself. Mr. Arthur Vaughn stood alone, watching, like a concerned patriarch. Simone wondered where Keila was. She had to be around here somewhere. Simone liked Keila because Keila didn’t take bunk from anyone, especially her brother, the cy-warrior himself, who even now looked like some Greek god you’d see in a museum, only clothed for battle, and wearing grafted AR Mirrorshades. But at least Rigon made her laugh, when times were calmer.
But her mother, no, nothing was ever calm with her mother. Simone felt small next to her, even the older woman wasn’t much bigger. She just carried herself that way. Her mother wore a silver Consortium Bodyglove that fit her well-shaped natural body. Her mind, though, was something special, as was Simone’s. She wasn’t aesthetically enhanced, but her natural physical gifts were enough for men to stare and sometimes inquire how old she was (which she never told). Plus, she’d had about every possible post-development physical treatment you could buy. Add to that her own removable, titanium AR Mirrorshades and her short black hair, and you had someone who knew how to make an entrance—and knew how to put someone in their place with a turn of the lip.
When Joss saw her mother, Agent Yancey Wellborn, glare at him, he looked from Rigon to Arthur, then back to Yancey.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbled.
Joss looked confused who he should be more worried about. On the one hand, he had her big brother, a Consortium AI Police Agent who had the authority to bag and tank him or, worse, liquidate him at the nearest facility. Simone guessed Rigon hadn’t done that very thing because of the Vaughns’ intervention. Simone’s mother was also dangerous and definitely more of a problem than Joss could handle at the moment. Joss even glanced imploringly at Mr. Vaughn for help. Most people knew Agent Yancey Wellborn was an experienced Consortium intelligence officer. She was an elite Altertranshuman who tracked RAIs in the hopes of one day proving that human consciousness was superior. She was a Wellborn, which made her a zealot. And Joss looked like he feared she’d burn him at the stake, if given a chance. He was right, of course.
