by Curtis Hox
She paused in the restroom and looked at herself in the mirror and couldn’t believe she was disembodied. She wore the same summer dress and boots she’d died in, and her recently cut hair stuck out at all angles, un-buoyed by gravity. She knew she would have to learn to get that under control.
Her mother hadn’t seen her yet, but they’d at least talked yesterday. She was doing much better in the Rejuv Facility and told Simone she thought Daddy’s plan was excellent, although Simone could hear her biting back the words, as if she couldn’t believe he had inserted himself into her life so quickly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Simone had asked.
On the other end of the phone, the soft voce of her mother had replied, “Because I feared this very thing. I knew he’d eventually make you a ghost. You can beat your double, dear. You’re human, it’s not.”
She inhaled a deep breath and prepared herself. Any minute now.
She knew Joss was downstairs in the Compsys room with Wally. Joss was hooked up to a temporary workstation and surfing through Cyberspace, while Wally worked at his. They’d had to sneak into the building, even though all the kids on campus knew what was about to happen. No one else wanted to be around the main building, anyway, of course.
Joss had sent out the message to the legal AI systems, and word came back within an hour by an unknown Rogue minion representing Simone Lord’s double. It claimed domination of all humans as its goal. Joss said for sure it was Simone’s double because the language was contrived, amateurish, and over the top. “It’s you, for sure,” he told her, then backtracked, even getting flustered enough he wasn’t sure which way to turn his awkward body. “I mean, it’s your digi-double trying to talk tough. Not you. Said it will come tonight.”
The lights in the bathroom flicked off, fluttered, then came back on. Simone felt the presence.
“Show time,” she said, turned around, and kicked open a stall.
A figure looking exactly like her—except with larger eyes and horrible, jagged, and broken teeth—stood in the stall.
“We are here,” she heard it say as if with a thousand voices, “to engage in a contest.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Simone said. Dad told her not to be intimidated by the formal talk, or the gang of followers it used to bolster itself. “Speak plainly, Double.”
It looked perturbed but relented. “I am the real Simone Lord. What game do you wish to play?”
“A game of wits.”
It smiled, flashing its evil teeth, as if shot in the arm with a powerful drug that made it grin like a devil. “Yes, a game of wits. The All Being vs. the some human.”
And don’t fret over their ominous sounding labels, Dad told me, she thought. Just call them a PC or something clever, and that’ll put them in their place. They hate that.
“Look, circuit board,” she said—the RAI manifestation actually vibrated a little, as if struck by something—”I want my body back, and I know we have to play to get it. I win, I get stronger. I win enough times, you lose your footing and I’ll get you and I am free of you.”
“Or, it could go the other way.”
Simone didn’t skip a beat. “The contest is this, if you want it.” Dad was real clear that she had to pick something she could win but that her other self would agree to. It’s you you’re talking to, not fully you, and a you warped by the Rogues, but enough of you to take up a challenge. “Which one of us can get a kiss from Hutto Toth. You may have a memory of him being interested, but he’s changed his mind now. Let’s go to his dorm room and get this over with.”
“Accepted,” the double said.
As it backed away, Simone saw its eyes and mouth change, and before it melted into the wall, she was looking at an exact copy of herself.
* * *
Poor Hutto’s knees shook consistently for the first time in his life. He stood in his dorm room, inches from his locked door, listening. He had heard the rumors, like everyone, that Simone—yes, Simone the Ghost—was going to summon a double of herself to campus. And she was going to do it tonight.
He had called his parents and even called the cops, who’d laughed at him. He’d called Principal Smalls who told him, “Not to worry about it. Everything is under control.” None of the adults believed him, or the rumors.
Under control!
Even his mother had told him not to worry.
Hutto rarely lost his cool, but as of right now, a Megamech stood at the entrance to the Ag. Farm, and that was enough to prove things weren’t A-Okay. That mech had started up for a reason. The burned-out rubble at its feet was of some ugly RAI droid—already taken away by the Consortium, thank god—and they had a real-live ghost on campus. He had no idea why Consortium agents weren’t combing the place for her with their Ghost Hunter drones. He knew any whiff of such activity usually meant swift action.
His dad had said on the phone, “Don’t mess with the Association Council over there. I told you. They’re connected. Just leave it alone. Don’t be a sissy.”
Hutto turned around to look for his tablet to call his mom, when he saw twin figures standing in his room, staring at him.
Simone and her double stood side by side, both in the same summer dresses, both wearing the same boots, two glowing disembodied spirits that made Hutto nearly faint. He stumbled backward until he hit the door, then slid down it, before finding his legs.
“This is a contest,” the one on his left said. “To see—”
“—who you prefer,” the other one said, without missing a beat. “You have to choose between us—”
“—to determine the winner.”
“Choose?” he heard himself reply. He bit his lip to stop it from trembling and tried to batten down the hatches of his pounding heart before one exploded. He knew how to control his nervous system, and that was the only thing keeping him from passing out from fright like a child. He looked from left to right and back again but couldn’t see a difference.
“You’re the same,” he said.
“We’re not,” the one on his left said.
The other sneered. “No we are not.”
Both ghosts glared at each other.
“Please leave,” he said. He noticed a soft luminescence from both of them. They also looked like they stood in a light wind. Their voices sounded distant as well. Other than that, they looked like normal girls. But they weren’t. “You’re dead.”
“We are not,” they both said.
The one on the left glared at the other. “God, stop that.”
“You stop that.”
Hutto fumbled for the doorknob behind him.
“It won’t open,” the one on the left said. “Electronic locks.”
The other said, “We’ll release it after you choose which one of us you want to kiss.”
Both ghost girls stood at attention, almost formally, as if they followed some strange protocol for dealing with the living during a contest.
“Kiss you?”
“You and I have done this before, Hutto” the one on the right said.
“No, you haven’t,” the other said, turning. “Stop your lying.”
“You stop, you haven’t kissed him yet.”
“Yes, I have!”
Hutto put his hands to his head and looked around as if a magical drain in the floor might appear that he could slither down. He had some experience with confusing, even complex females, but had never been in this scenario. He tried to think what his brothers would do because they were always talking about finding themselves in crazy situations with women. But never like this.
Just a kiss, he told himself.
“You’ll go after?”
“Yes,” both said, simultaneously.
“Goddamn, I knew I should have never met you at the swing set.”
The ghost on his right looked annoyed, while the other seemed fine. It was the first time they weren’t mimicking each other.
The annoyed ghost looked at the other one, suddenly interested in her. �
��He regrets his tryst with us. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No,” the other said, crossing her arms. “It bothers you?”
Hutto watched silently, unsure what was happening.
The annoyed one on the right crossed her arms. “Of course it does. It would bother anyone.”
“Really?”
The one on the right turned to Hutto. “She’s the copy, Hutto. Any normal girl would be peeved a boy regretted being with her. Choose me and I win, and I’ll soon have my body back, and we won’t have to haunt you anymore. This is no game, well, it’s a game, but it’s serious.”
“You’re going to haunt me?”
She shook her head, flustered. “I just mean. I’m the right one.”
The other one waved at him. “She’s lying, and she’s lying about being annoyed. It’s as transparent as a child’s lie. She’s not really annoyed. I would never be annoyed at that. I’d be—”
“What?” he asked. “It’s no big deal, what we did?”
“Uh—”
“Of course not,” the annoyed one said, now acting no longer annoyed, but he could tell that was an act.
“See,” the other said, “the copy is talking nonsense. It has no real idea what happened on the swing set, or what it meant. Choose me, Hutto.”
“Don’t listen to her, you big oaf,” the annoyed one said. “What’s more likely, a great guy like you sleeps with some girl like me and I wouldn’t totally be into you? How could I not, and how could I not care about what you just said, even if I am a ghost? I’m the real one. She’s the defective copy. Just give me a little kiss and this will all go away.”
The other one now stared hatred for both of them.
For a moment, his fear lessened as he thought how cool it would be to have a story about a ghost cat fight in his dorm. His brothers wouldn’t be able to top that, and if all these two really wanted was a kiss ... ” A simple kiss, and then you both go?”
They nodded.
He looked back and forth but had no idea which one to kiss or why that was even important. The one who was annoyed, or the angry one? In his very limited experience of the world, he assumed all women who got near him wanted him. And since he and Simone had had sex, and not just regular sex, but the kind of new sex only Transhumans—and, get this, the best kind that Altertranshumans—have, she had to be in love with him. And from what little he knew of Simone, that meant annoyed.
He walked forward, shut his eyes and kissed the annoyed one.
He felt a cold, prickling mist, as if he’d walked through a dense condensate of some whipped-up material. Soft, electrical shocks licked his lips as he touched her, and he felt their gentle eruptions.
That wasn’t so bad, he thought, and actually wondered what it would be like to—
The ghost he’d kissed stepped away, and laughed.
“Hah! I won!” It pointed at the other. “Admit your loss.”
The other one stared at Hutto and looked like she might cry. “I can’t believe it, you big idiot.” She turned back to the other ghost. “You won.”
The winner disappeared in an instance.
“Thank god,” Hutto said. “Your turn, AI. It was the deal.”
But the ghost didn’t disappear. She just backed away, a look of confusion and hurt on her face. She floated above his floor, until she melded with the far wall. The last thing he saw was the ghost wiping a digital tear from her eye.
Oh, hell.
“Wait,” he yelled at her as she disappeared. “Simone, I’ll kiss you, too. Don’t be mad at me!”
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
Glitch Sample
JOSS BECKWITH SAT IN THE LAST SEAT of the far row in Mr. Hoover’s homeroom class. Joss’s shoulders and hips still hurt. He tried not to scratch at his neck. The Rogue attack he’d suffered last week had been reversed, but the fact his head and arms had been on backward for a short time meant he’d be dealing with the aches for weeks.
Daily injections of nano-therapy in his bloodstream meant he was also groggy most of the time. But he didn’t complain. No way. Rejuv worked miracles, the advertisers claimed. It had worked wonders for him. So he sat and tried to ignore the itching. He’d been waiting in class for fifteen minutes, thumbing his tablet, watching everyone arrive through the surveillance cameras.
The Sterling School year began on a morning with sheets of rain falling slantwise in angry bursts. Through his tablet, Joss watched a parking lot full of raindrops bouncing off cars, while students rushed into the building to crowd the hallways. Once inside, they shuffled about with their shiny rain slickers and galoshes, on their way to lockers.
When two-foot-tall Transhuman reject Wally Dorsey walked in homeroom and waved, Joss gave him a courteous nod. Wally placed a booster in the seat in front of Joss’s.
Next came Kimberlee Newkirk, who sat on the very far side of the room. She looked as fashionable as ever, if you considered a black-and-red horizontally-striped shirt with a vertically striped yellow-and-black skirt fashionable. She glanced at both of them with a stern It’s-Morning-So-Don’t-Bother-Me look.
Joss glanced up as glad-fighter-in-training Hutto Toth strolled in like the new star of the school because Hutto was, well, Hutto. He sat in the back, too, slouched in his chair, letting his long blond locks fall in his face, and shut his eyes. Beasley Gardner followed, knocking two students aside like the mountain she was.
Joss tapped his tablet. “Damn I’m good.”
“What?” Wally turned around.
“Notice anything?”
Wally lifted his little eyebrows, as if some great mystery awaited. “No. What?”
Joss looked at the other members of the Consortium Cybercorps Program, who all just happened to be in Mr. Hoover’s homeroom.
“Oh, yeah! You did that?” Wally asked.
“Hacked registration to keep us all together. First period as well.”
Mr. Hoover ambled in as if he had no better place to be. Their teacher was a tall, pot-bellied man who never seemed to fit in his suits. He gripped his cup of coffee he had to have to function. After a long sip, he began roll call.
Joss pointed at his tablet. “Oh, hell! Consortium cyber agent’s here. Guy’s even wearing a jacket and tie.”
The video in Joss’s tablet showed a man in a conservative single-breasted suit with jet-black Consortium-branded Mirrorshades striding down the hall like he owned the place. The agent spotted Principal Smalls nibbling on a chocolate bagel and sipping a warm cup of coffee.
“Principal Smalls needs to hit the gym,” Wally said. “He eats way too many donuts.”
The agent stood straight, but he was still shorter than Principal Smalls. He flicked a drop of water from his Mirrorshades.
“Total advantage wearing those,” Joss said. “Can’t see where he’s looking.” He fiddled with this tablet. “Let’s see if we can listen in.”
“Can I help you, sir?” Principal Smalls asked.
“We have reason to believe Sterli
ng is harboring an illegal Transhuman Unperson. I’m here to find her.”
Principal Smalls harrumphed. “I still need to make sure everyone’s in homeroom. I don’t have time for this right now. Are you referring to …?“
“Simone Wellborn.”
“I haven’t seen her since—”
“—she went missing. I know. I read your report.”
Principal Smalls finished the last of his coffee. He tossed the paper cup into a handy bin. He checked his watch. “What can I do for you right now, Agent …?”
“Nable. Agent Clifton Nable.” He scanned the hall, just as a student rushed out of the bathroom. The student bolted by them with seconds to spare. He flashed a relieved smile at Principal Smalls before he yanked open a door down the hall, then thrust himself into the classroom.
Principal Smalls checked his watch again. “Everyone has to be in their seat before the—” Loud electronic sounds—beep, beep, beep—rang all over campus. “Right on time. If there was something I could do for you, I’d be glad to do it. The Sterling School abides by any and all regulations of persons. Right now, I have the school day to begin.”
Agent Nable nodded. He remained rooted in place, as if he planned to stand there all day and peruse the physical trophies and pictures of students in the glass cases.
“What’s he seeing in his HUD?” Joss said more to his tablet than to Wally. “If I can hack …” He banged away. “There we are. He’s accessing a list of all Sterling students.”
“Uh oh.”
“Each one classified as a specific type of person, all good and proper.” Joss pointed so that Wally could see. “Look at that.” A flash of red: Simone Wellborn, Altertranshuman, missing.
“She’s not missing,” Wally said.
“Not at all.”
Agent Nable began walking without moving his head. When a teacher standing in the doorway to her classroom eyed him like he might be a crazed killer, he stopped in front of her. When he smiled, still looking forward, she yelped and slammed the door.
