by Curtis Hox
“No,” she said out loud. “I won’t hide.”
Simone emerged from the closet just as Mr. Hoover reached for the closet door, maybe to get an eraser or something. He spilled coffee all over his suit jacket and yelped.
“Relax, sir,” she said. “I won’t bite.”
The klaxons blared loud enough Kimberlee Newkirk had to yell to be heard. “Are those for you?”
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.
Simone nodded. “I think someone’s looking for me.”
“We should go to the cafeteria and wait,” Beasley Gardner said. She stood by the classroom door, arm’s crossed, nearly taking up the entire frame. She was a girl whose body had over developed with testosterone. She was muscled from head to toe. Worse, she had a rage problem. She scowled at Simone as if this were all her fault. Already the entire class had emptied. They’d heard the klaxons and were all probably running for safety. “Simone strikes again.”
Mr. Hoover was already rushing for the door. When he opened it, he revealed a hallway full of cheering students happy to miss first period.
“Is this what your mother warned you about?” Kimberlee asked. “That the Consortium would come after you for being a ghost?”
“I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”
“You’re a popular girl,” Beasley said.
“Shouldn’t you be getting out of here?” Kimberlee asked.
“I’m not hiding.”
“But if they catch you …”
“So what?” Simone let herself elevate a few inches off the ground. “I’m part of the Program, just like you two. They want to turn us into super weapons; they don’t want to get rid of us. I just have to stand up to him.”
“Who?”
Simone floated to the closed classroom door. Outside, the entire student body poured into the hallways on their way to the auditorium, the theater, or the cafeteria—all centrally located areas of safety. Simone considered joining them. “My dad said an old family friend with a grudge would come after me.” She turned. “He betrayed my father. But I used to like him.”
“Liked who?” Beasley asked, a scowl on her face that would scare the Devil himself.
“I don’t remember much. A guy who used to hang out when my dad helped Alters. He went the cyborg route. He’s coming around now because my brother is out of action. Otherwise, Rigon would kick his ass.”
“How is your brother?” Kimberlee asked like a fangirl asking about a rockstar.
“Still in Rejuv Facility. Mom says he’s a husk right now, but he’s conscious. It’ll be some time before he can walk again.” The klaxons stopped. “You two better go.”
“You’re not afraid they’ll arrest you for being a ghost?” Kimberlee asked.
“No.”
“Damn, you’re swank.”
“I know.”
“I hope you and your swanky self know what you’re doing,” Beasley said.
“I do too.”
Simone pushed through the classroom door, entered the hallway, and went looking for someone whose job it was to kill her.
* * *
Simone floated down the hall, ignoring the stares from a few stragglers. Most of the cruel looks were accompanied by screams, cries, and even a large belch. She even ignored the students who sprinted away. Principal Smalls ushered everyone inside the three large chambers in the middle of the building. But even he looked at her sideways, as if he couldn’t stomach what he was seeing.
She stopped at glass doors at the end of the hall. She watched rain falling in sheets outside. The pitter-patter of heavy drops falling on the sidewalk was loud enough to be heard through the closed doors. She hadn’t yet experienced rain as a ghost, although she had gone swimming. Simone passed through the cold glass. The touch of humidity was a refreshing sensation, making her feel even more aware of the weather than when she had a body.
She left the niche outside the door and entered the falling rain. The drops penetrated, each one pushing an electrified tunnel through her. She shimmered for a second, enjoying the sensation as if the universe itself had decided to tickle her insides. She saw flecks of light erupting all over herself, tiny firecrackers igniting at the same time. She stood in a clearing on the side of the main campus building. It was a large, grassy area with benches for students to sit on. It was ringed by trees atop a gentle incline to a ridge. Water ran in rivulets, rushing toward the parking lot drainage sewers.
I’m a junior Altertranshuman Unperson at the Sterling School, she thought, and I demand my right to be here.
She saw movement, about fifty yards away, up the grassy incline where pine trees swayed on the ridge. A Consortium cydrone emerged into the rain like some armored android with no fear of rust. Drops of rain bounced off its shiny exterior, a deep crimson edged in black and silver. She had heard her mother speak of these drones before: Ghost Hunters, they’re called, dear. They’ll kill you without a thought.
Simone floated forward to meet it.
The cydrone walked through muddy puddles on stealthy feet with more grace than a ballerina. Its head swiveled her way and locked onto her, but it didn’t hurry its pace. She waited halfway and watched it.
You’re too valuable, Simone, her father had said. They won’t hurt you. Look them in the eyes and don’t back down. You’re a Wellborn. Remember that.
“Okay, Dad, let’s see if you’re right.”
The cydrone halted ten feet away and stood at attention.
She saw their old family friend, Consortium Agent Cliff Nable, walk out of the trees and into the rain. Just as her father had said, they’d sent Cliff to sort her out. Like his cydrone, he didn’t seem to care that rivulets of cold water snaked down his face, flattened his hair, and soaked his clothes. He walked with practiced ease, no doubt assessing the situation behind those soulless Mirrorshades.
She hadn’t seen him since she was a child and they’d played Augmented Reality board games together. He was grown now and was maybe an enemy, so she mumbled her mantras to be safe. She saw faces filling a row of windows in the band room. She also noticed surveillance cameras at each corner of the building training on her. That meant Joss and Wally, at least, were watching. “What do you want?”
Agent Nable stopped a few feet behind his cydrone. “It’s true?”
“What? Me, a ghost?”
“You’re bigger. You’re also like the rest of the Wellborns: an Alter.”
“Live and in person. Take a picture.”
“And now you’re also a ghost. No one at headquarters knows what to do with you.”
“I’m not dead. I’m not alive. I’m something else.”
“Technically, you are dead.”
She hated the fact he wore those damn Mirrorshades that hid his eyes. Water beaded on them, some dribbling off. She hated his expressionless face even more. Her mother told her this was often a sad consequence of taking the Cyborg route; some people stopped interacting like a human being, or interacting at all. Her mother and brother both wore them, but they hadn’t been affected yet, or not that much affected, and he was the one telling her she was dead.
“Why the robot?”
Agent Nable frowned. “You’re dangerous, that’s why.”
“Little me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you here to arrest me?”
The cydrone shifted, as if it expected a command.
“No.”
Simone raised her hands and spun in a circle, moving through her psy-katas, each step a tiny piece of a pattern that, she believed, allowed her to manifest supernatural entities. She hoped she didn’t have to summon her entity or channel any of her telekinetic powers, not with everyone watching, but she would if pressed.
The Consortium agent sneered at her performance. “Is that spinning around n
ecessary?”
She paused, arms out, floating a foot off the ground. “You tell me.”
“I have the authority to arrest you.”
Simone increased the sound of her mantra, now a low grumble like a revving combustion engine. In seconds she could reach her highest psy-kata and transform herself. She hadn’t since that time with Hutto under the swing sets when they’d both transformed—he into a Werebear and she into … whatever it was she became. They had actually done it, but neither of them had grown closer. Hutto had been given a chance to demonstrate his interest in her when she and her double approached him. All he had to do was kiss the real Simone, and he’d chosen wrongly, kissing her double. She hadn’t forgiven him yet. She wasn’t sure when she would.
“I have the authority to resist,” she said, biting back an urge to scream at him. It wasn’t her fault they were standing in the rain together, him getting wet for no good reason, she looking like a girl with an exploding firecracker vest.
“Calm down, Simone. It’s me, Cliff.”
She waited, thinking he might take off his shades and speak to her like a person. “I’m part of the Cybercorps Program. My brother branded the back of my neck.”
“I know.”
“Don’t bully me. I’ll summon if I have to.”
“Don’t talk about that, Simone. Jeez, that’s pushing it.”
“You’re not here to arrest me?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
She saw the cydrone shift again, as if it knew it were being addressed.
“I had a feeling you were ... in this condition,” he said. “Since your family was so good to me and we had a falling out, I thought I’d intervene. Someone had to take this case. I offered.”
“My dad said you’d come.”
The faintest hint of a human smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “You want to go to school, right?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s the deal. I’ll register you as an Altertranshuman Unperson of interest with the Consortium. Besides, as a member of the Program, you’re already cleared.”
“I am?”
“Came down last night. The Consortium will allow you special providence to continue in your condition. That means—”
“I can attend class?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome!”
Simone defused her psy-kata by spinning around in seven complete turns that was impossible for any embodied person. Ethereal sparks flung off without being doused by the rain.
“On one condition.”
She righted herself. “What?”
“My friend here keeps an eye on you.”
“Your friend?”
“While on campus.”
“Why am I being allowed …?”
“There are people interested in what persons like you can offer to the struggle.”
Her dad had been correct. “Transhuman warriors.”
He wiped water from his face. “We don’t use that popular terminology, but sure, okay. Whatever you say.” He offered his hand. “We have a deal?”
The cydrone shifted again, like a protective guard dog nervous someone approached its owner.
“Deal.”
She reached out. He merged his hand into hers. He reacted as if her touch were a shot of macro-chemicals to his brain, stronger than any opioid. His face seized up in a twisted display of ecstasy. She yanked her hand away.
“Gross,” she said, watching the muscles of his face ripple with pleasure. He tried to hide the reaction, but he looked like a guy caught yanking in the bathroom. “Really?”
“Sorry,” he said, “but touching someone like you is ... indescribable.”
“If we’re so great, why does the Consortium always get rid of us?” He didn’t answer. “Oh … they don’t.”
He tilted his head, as if he might elucidate. “Good day, Simone Wellborn. No channeling or summoning, please.”
“Cross my heart.”
He walked past her toward the parking lot as if he were simply a man who’d come to campus for a friendly visit. She wanted to jump up and down, but she couldn’t do that yet with any degree of verisimilitude. She spun again, like a top, arms out, hair blown by an invisible wind. She waved to the cameras and, with legs moving for the heck of it, she imitated a normal walk back to the entrance.
The Sterling School, whether they liked it or not, would have to deal with its newest student. Her official legal classification was now an Altertranshuman Channeler, Summoner, and Digi-Ghost Unperson.
She grinned at the baloney title.
They needed a new classification system for her. She didn’t mind at all; in fact, she relished the fact as she floated through the glass door into the calm of the building and saw faces staring at her as if she were an angel.
* * *
Simone returned to class with a Consortium Ghost Hunter as a chaperone. It walked unheard as it followed her, its silent servos allowing effortless movement. Everyone who saw the cydrone trailing the ghost down the hall stared. A human-operated mech was one thing, an intelligent cydrone another, and a real live Digi-Ghost meant no one could talk of anything else.
The faculty ushered students back to class now that the klaxons no longer blared. Mrs. Douglas’ first-period marine biology for juniors filled up. Just as Simone entered the classroom, Mrs. Douglas exited her classroom office and saw what awaited her. Her knees buckled, and she plummeted to the floor. Joss Beckwith was standing near her and tried to catch her, but failed. His shoulders and hips looked fixed, but he still scratched at his neck, even as he stood over her.
“My arms don’t work right,” he said.
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.
“I guess not,” the one-and-only glad-fighter Hutto Toth said.
He stood next to Joss, smiling at Simone, the perfect representation of masculinity. He’d pulled his blond locks back into a ponytail. Next to him, two-foot-tall Wally Dorsey stared at Mrs. Douglas as if he thought she’d died.
Beasley stood over the teacher, ignoring Simone and her mechanical friend in the back of the room. “Didn’t the teachers get a memo or something about Simone?”
Hutto peeked at the fallen teacher from behind Beasley. “Did you frown at her and scare her shitless, Beasley?” Beasley spun. He backed up, still grinning, as if he expected a blow. “Just playing, Big Dog. Just playing.”
She raised a ham-sized fist. “See these knuckles? They’ll be smashing your nose today in training.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Wally stood on a chair. “Did she bang her noggin on the floor?”
Joss lifted her head. Mrs. Douglas babbled and slobbered on his hand. “Great,” he said, as if he’d dipped his hand in mud. “Teacher drooled on my fingers.”
Half the class crowded around the downed teacher like gamblers at dice.
Kimberlee pushed forward. “Joss, hold her head up. Let her breathe.”
A semicircle of students had formed around Simone and the cydrone in the back of the room with enough space anyone could bolt if they had to, but close enough for a good look. She let them look at her. She stood there in a summer dress open at the neck, wearing her knee-high boots with the big buckles. Simone imagined they’d throw rocks if they’d had them.
Russell Wooten and Chip Monroe walked in late, and gawked.
“Take a picture,” she said. She put her hands on her hips and faked a pose.
Chip, the quasi-Neanderthal Transhuman, walked past her as if she were normal. “Nice robot.” The big football player sat in the middle of the room, put his head on his hands, and dozed off.
“Freak,” Russell said. He bopped a band student in the back of the head for no reason and sat.
Principal Smalls appeared with Nurse Betty, who wrung her hands as if an Ebola outbreak had just happened.
Mrs. Douglas was sitting by now but looked no more refreshed than if she’d been shot and bandaged up. She was trying to blot her eyes. But it didn’t work, and her makeup ran down her ragged face in splotchy lines.
Simone stood in the back with her silent guardian, watching the period implode.
Principal Smalls made everyone sit in their chairs, facing forward, with no talking. As always, his wide belly pushed at his belt, and his balding head looked moist. After a frazzled Nurse Betty escorted Mrs. Douglas out, Principal Smalls paced back and forth, wringing his hands.
“Oh, enough of this,” he said. “All the Cybercorps Alters, including Simone and her guest, in the library.”
“Yes!” Hutto said. “No class.”
* * *
Second period rang for the rest of school, while for the Alters—Beasley, Kimberlee, Hutto, Wally, Joss, and Simone—the bell meant the beginning of their training in the Consortium’s experimental Cybercorps Defense Program.
Hutto sat on one of the empty tables in the middle of the small library, feet on a chair. The others gravitated to him as if he were the de-facto leader. Wally chatted with Beasley and Kimberlee, while Joss played with his tablet. Simone’s cydrone found a place by the wall and stood at attention, as lifeless as an unplugged dishwasher. The walls of the library were lined with stacks in rows like the spokes of a wheel. She moved down one of these aisles, hiding among the books, keeping her distance.
Principal Small followed, shut the double doors. “Everyone, listen up. We had thought to allow you all to start the semester with your classmates. But that doesn’t seem prudent.”
“Not at all, sir,” Hutto said. “Prudence is important.”
Wally laughed. “Study hall!”
“Yes, well ... no,” Principal Smalls said, “this won’t be your typical study hall, and it’s temporary.”
“Study hall!” Hutto said.
“Off the table, Mr. Toth,” Principal Smalls commanded. Hutto plopped into a chair, kicked back with legs out, hands behind his head, as if waiting for someone to throw a pie in his face—or crown him king of the world. “Take out your biology texts and read the introductions. I want one-page summaries by the end of the period. We’ll follow with history and literature before lunch.”
