by Curtis Hox
Joss now edged toward Rigon, as if Rigon might be his savior. Rigon shoved him back into place at the center of the room. “Where you goin’?”
“Sorry,” he said to Rigon.
Simone’s mother stared at Joss for a few moments, obviously assessing the nature of his deformity. Simone was scared for having contacted him and for having outing herself. Only a few years ago, both of them would have been locked up and executed for her beliefs and his current condition. Simone glanced from her mother to Joss. She was doing something to him by simply staring. Standing under Yancey Wellborn’s gaze clearly agitated the things inside him. It was working, whatever she was doing.
Yancey saw the reaction she obviously wanted. “I suggest everyone step back. That means you, too, Rigon.”
“Goddammit, Mother,” Rigon said, “what are you planning?” And then to Simone, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Simone finally said to her brother. “You look spiffy. Hurt your arm?”
Keila walked in. She was toweling her hair, and she looked like she’d been given a pair of hastily adorned clinic clothes. She wandered over to her father. Mr. Vaughn said, “Yancey is about to do her thing.”
“I guess it’s time then,” Keila said.
Simone stayed put at her mother’s side, but everyone else had moved away from Joss, who now stood forlorn in the middle of the lobby. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“You and I are what’s going on,” Yancey said.
Simone mouthed I’m sorry to Joss.
“Mother, what’re you doing?” Rigon asked. He stepped forward, as if to stand between them. “If you’re here as a Council member, we have to vote before any action is taken. We should at least talk about it.”
“I know we should,” she said, still as a statue.
“Then what?”
“Just a little encouragement for the Rogues to show themselves.” She raised her arms. To Simone, she said, “Never address the Lords of Unreason, dear, unless you can handle them. And you cannot.” To Joss, she asked, “Are you ready, son?”
Rigon backed away. “Christ, this is going to be ugly. And why do you encourage her to call them the Lords of Unreason? That’s so over the top. Dad asked you to stop that.”
Two electrified dirks emerged from the palms of Yancey Wellborn’s hands and proved, in an instant for any doubters, that the world was mysterious. She grasped them by their hafts. Simone smiled, thrilled whenever her mother showed what she was.
Principal Smalls and the students behind the glass doors to the clinic all gasped.
Simone watched Rigon move to block as much of their sight as possible. What her mother was doing defied the best rational arguments her brother and his techno-bosses could make, so they hid such powers away at all costs, or, in today’s world, used them. Simone hated the fact she was both mesmerized and afraid of her mother, who now grasped two weapons that glowed with amber fire. She had always wanted to be like her, to be able to do the things her mother did. The lords granted Simone limited access to their beneficence, but she had never demonstrated such skills as her mother’s in channeling and summoning. Her mother could call things into being. She was a psy-sorceress, and a highly paid one.
Simone mumbled her mantra of centering as she watched her mother move in a delicate dance that looked like a dramatic performance.
“I am coming for you,” her mother said. Joss was no longer Joss. His eyes had rolled back in his head, and he stood rigid. “I’ve got you now. Send your messenger, you intemperate void beasts.”
Simone backed up; it was dangerous to be so close … to her mother. Joss roared a deep-bellied roar that sounded as if it echoed up from an abyss. He fell to his knees and his neck snapped back so that he faced the ceiling as would a spigot.
“Come on out,” her mother said, her arms continuing the seductive dance with the weapons. “You little pretenders.”
* * *
Yancey Wellborn considered this the most dangerous moment, when the seduction of madness responded, and you either had the fortitude to resist, or you didn’t. The boy’s brands began to glow, even those under his clothes. One of the chairs nearby toppled over. When it righted itself, a chair leg now stood out from the top of the seat. Yancey continued her psy-kata. Then a framed picture on the wall spun and stopped upside down.
“Seen that before,” she said. “Unoriginal.”
The other members of the Council watched as she demonstrated to them how small-minded they were. Even Rigon didn’t understand what humanity faced.
She strengthened her seductive challenge and her dance. By now Joss’s jaw looked like it might come unhinged. She feared he would need some medical attention when this was over.
Poor boy, she thought. I may even have to kill him.
As if in response, the uniformed square tiles on the floor shifted—each square now slightly off kilter.
“Nice one,” she mumbled, feeling the disorientation for only a second. She glanced at her daughter, who had backed away, and now stood wide-eyed, watching the scene. “Simone, honey, stay centered ... and don’t look at the floor.”
“You’ve proven your point, Mother,” Rigon said. “That’s enough.”
“Not quite,” she said. “Just a little more.”
The keening coming from Joss could be heard outside. The students had all backed away from the clinic, some running down the hall away from the horrible sounds. Principal Smalls hurried the rest of them away as well.
Yancey Wellborn cared little about the boy’s life. She knew she would have to kill him, probably horribly, if she couldn’t save him right now in this critical moment, before he exploded and infected the entire school. She was forcing the Rogues to show what they intended. She had seen what happened to Rogueslaves branded like him. Either complete self-destruction of his phenotype into a horrible mess, or he became a host and the pestilence spread. Human nano-bombs. That was the worst-case scenario. There was a small chance he might be just a communication device, maybe for a bigger conflict they had planned.
Either way, it would be ugly.
The dirks were symbols, of course, of a much greater power she had at her disposal.
“He’s going critical,” Rigon said.
Rigon’s team emerged from the back rooms, where he’d made them wait. They were dressed in black Consortium riot gear. Each carried foam guns and began spraying the walls and ceiling of the place.
A gelatinous brown liquid poured out of Joss’s mouth. It was thick, and moved under some unknown guidance. It congealed near him into a twisted form like an ice-cream swirl. Joss toppled. Two team members grabbed him and ferreted him to a back room.
“Keep the foam off it,” Yancey yelled, even shoving one team member out of the way. She stared at the object that was the size of a small trashcan.
All the Council members, except for Mrs. Ogilvey who’d accidentally been thoroughly splashed with the protective foam, and now wiped her glasses, stood around it. Inside the hardening material was a bas-relief of a man curled into a serpent-like form, his head stuck up his ass, his arms and legs splayed like an insect.
Yancey was relieved that Joss wasn’t a nano-bomb. They’d been given a reprieve.
She had worked for the last twenty years as a Consortium intelligence officer tracking these fabricators and obliterating what came out of them. She knew from experience that the objects they fabricated weren’t pretty. They could turn an entire neighborhood block into a twisted picture of insanity: houses with doors on upside down; trees that grew utensils from their branches; and, worse of all, people malformed into monsters. They were their own type of weapon, but they were also used for what she now guessed the Rogues intended: an announcement of a contest between the RAIs and human beings. And then, an incursion of Rogues into Realspace.
“There, we have it now, don’t we?” Yancey said. She turned to her daughter. “Come here Simone and see your first Rogue Maker—”
“That’s enough,” Rigon said, st
epping in. “It’s under control.”
“You’ve seen one like this before, Rigon?” Arthur asked.
Yancey nodded. “He has. Haven’t you?”
“Of course,” Rigon said. “Head up your ass is an insult. They’re calling us stupid, inferior. Bastards. That thing is stuck in the floor, if it’s like the others, probably has spikes down into the foundation by now.” His team had stopped, and he signaled for them to head out and make sure no one tried to get in. The foam had stopped dripping. They looked like they were in a big, white bubble. “When you’re all ready we’ll call the Council president. Then I have to make my recommendations to law enforcement. I have a feeling they won’t like what they hear.”
“Why is that, Rigon?” Yancey asked. She already knew the answer but wanted to hear him admit it. “You know that thing’s an egg, son. And what it hatches won’t be pretty. You know that. They know that.” Everyone stared at Rigon. Yancey said, “Why don’t you tell them why your bosses are going to ignore this?”
“Dammit.” Rigon looked like a man in a corner. “One that size could call in an army. It’s not on me if they don’t listen. What about you? You on the outs with your brass?”
“We Wellborns have, for some reason, been black-listed,” Yancey said. “It’s as if someone high up knew this was going to happen, and wants it to happen.”
“Swell,” Rigon said, but Yancey could see he believed it, too.
Simone mumbled her mantra, shutting her eyes.
Her mother tapped her in the shoulder. “Not now. You need to hear this.”
“An RAI incursion is highly likely here at Sterling,” Rigon said.
“That’s right,” Yancey said. “For some reason our beloved Sterling School has caught their attention. And why is that?”
Mother and son both knew the answer, and when their eyes turned to Simone.
“Why me?” Simone asked.
“You and the others,” Yancey said. “Don’t be narcissistic, dear.”
“Why?”
Again, Yancey looked at Rigon as if he had stolen their life savings and needed to ‘fess up.
He crossed his arms and glared. “No, not me. Simone should hear it from the man himself.”
“Keep dreaming,” Yancey said. “He won’t say a thing. Not yet, at least, although we’re close to pulling him out of hiding.”
Everyone, except Simone, knew what that meant, but Yancey glared so that no one would clarify it.
“Somewhere private we can go?” Yancey asked.
“Doctor’s office in the back,” Keila replied.
Yancey began walking, pulling Simone with her.
* * *
Rigon sprinkled a few monitor bots on the Rogue Maker. He alerted his team: Get me the other Alter students.
He entered a large corner office. His mother in her silver Bodyglove sat behind a desk, fashionable leather boots kicked up on the corner, while Keila and Arthur sat on a comfortable sofa he imagined the physician on duty using for a nap or two. Simone remained by their mother’s side, still frightened. She was such a small girl, compared to the enhanced people in today’s society. But inside her existed a volcano of potential his parents had crafted to one day explode in brilliance. He just hoped she was ready for it.
“You wanted their inclusion,” Rigon said, “fine, Mom. Now you’ll see why I fought it—now that Simone’s involved.”
A knock on the door alerted everyone.
Rigon opened it up and ushered in the frightened students.
Beasley Gardner was a mountain of a young girl, replete with the thick neck and torso of a future glad fighter. She appeared uncomfortable with the unfortunate effects of her athletic and physio packages. Her parents probably had expected a tennis pro or something. Rigon could see where she’d end up: on the front lines in some infantry unit full of brainwashed Line Punchers burning out on Alter rage. She entered with the hopeful mech pilot on her shoulder, two-foot-tall Wally Dorsey. . He wasn’t an infant, or even a dwarf. He was proportioned well enough to look like a shrunken teenager who might do some ollies on a shrunken skateboard. The little guy might find a place piloting the mechs, but he looked so fragile. Next came glad-fighter-boy Hutto Toth, without a care in the world. He even passed Rigon a “What’s up?” as if they were equals. Lastly, Kimberlee Newkirk shuffled in all wide-eyed and scared shitless.
The other one, Sterling’s first Alter, Joss Beckwith, lay sleeping in a cot down the hall, the Rogue brands already disappearing, free of the poison he had carried in his deformed body. Fixing him would take some time, though. If all went well, he could make it to the top of the Consortium Interfacer elites, maybe, and survive, maybe even become a cyagent like Rigon. If the Rogue’s hadn’t secretly turned him.
Experiments in transhuman warfare, he thought. Poor kids.
The door shut behind them.
Yancey beamed. “Welcome, young Alter warriors.”
Simone looked at her mother, as if she’d just announced they would all be crucified. Rigon signaled to keep quiet. Better not to bait her.
Keila hid her face in her hands, for only a second, before putting on an excellent game face. Rigon winked his thanks for her fortitude; she, without hesitation, sneered back.
Arthur even smiled.
“We have some interesting news,” Rigon said. “You were all recruited by Sterling three years ago. Each one of you was selected for ... the specific talents you have.”
“We were?” Wally asked.
“Even you, young man.” Rigon walked in a line in front of them like a drill sergeant. “Each one of you was brought to Sterling to be a case study in what we call our International Consortium Cybercorps Defense Program. Since you’ve been here the Council has been monitoring you.”
“Monitoring?” Beasley asked. “How?”
“Joss Beckwith was recruited first and went straight to work upgrading the school’s surveillance system. He was better than we thought.”
“He caught the attention of humanity’s greatest enemy as well,” Yancey said. “But he survived.” She edged her daughter around the desk and put her in line with them. “Simone was the last one to be brought in ... because some people fought it.” She flashed her shades at Rigon to keep quiet. “My daughter is ... above all things, fervent. She’ll make a splendid soldier in the Great Conflict, won’t you, dear?”
Simone nodded but Rigon could see fear in her eyes. He’d always known his sister would end up this way.
“I’m Yancey Wellborn, a Consortium intelligence officer. And I’ll teach you how to harness the things inside you for the benefit of humanity.” She looked at Rigon. “He’ll teach you everything else.”
“Together we’ll make you ready,” Rigon said.
Kimberlee had backed up almost all the way to the door. “Ready for what?”
“Well, first, ” Yancey said, “to survive the Sterling Incursion that’s about to happen.”
They all looked at her as if she’d spoken Chinese. Joss would have understood a bit, as would Wally. But none of them knew what she meant in full, not even Simone, who had heard her family talking about things like incursions since she was born. Rigon felt sorry for them. He’d seen enough Alters get abused by the system, but these were children. Just because Yancey, and the Alumni Association president, had convinced everyone that she could make them viable didn’t mean she could stop them from being chewed up. It made him sick. He looked at his sister and cringed at what she might become.
Wally showed the first sign of interest. “Incursion? One is happening here?”
Yancey faced the little Transhuman. She had to look up at him on the large girl’s shoulder. What she saw thrilled her. “Would you help if we asked?”
“I would.” He straightened.
“Good.”
She glanced at Rigon. “Go ahead.”
He grumbled but walked over. “Give me your arm.”
Wally hesitated. He appeared to recognize that the Alumni Association C
ouncil was a good friend to have. The Sterling School meant everything to the students, and now they wanted him. Rigon had read up on Wally Dorsey. A few days ago, he was still struggling to properly pilot the personal mech the Council had given him, and now he was being recruited by the people who could take him from running it around in a gravel field to an actual job one day.
He presented his right arm, and Rigon grinned at him before touching him. Wally watched as the brand imprinted into his flesh for only a second. He didn’t cry out.
Everyone stared at the geometric symbol—three circles within a larger circle—that meant they were now enlisted in the Consortium Cybercorps, the most powerful cyber defense force in the world. It glowed for a few seconds, then disappeared, as if it weren’t there.
Wally frowned. “What happened?”
“It’s still there, little man,” Rigon said. He waved his hand over it, triggering the light sensors. It glowed again. “See?”
He walked down the line and branded each one.
He turned to his sister last and couldn’t bring himself to do it. He looked at his mother, who continued to smile, as if he were about to tie a friendship ribbon around Simone’s wrist. Rigon knelt down.
“Come here,” he said and embraced Simone. He placed the brand on the back of her neck as she held him. “Sorry it’s happening so fast.”
Yancey appeared pleased. She even clapped. “Good, a bit rushed, but good.”
* * *
Both men walked out, leaving the students with the older women. Mrs. Ogilvey arranged her things. “I’ll be going, now that it’s settled. I’ll update the Council president.”
