Glitch (7 page)

“We’re all pawns in the Great Conflict,” she said. “I do need your help.”

“I’ll do my part.” Coach Buzz continued to watch her daughter, impressed, but obviously troubled. “If she succeeds in the arena, will the Consortium make the rule changes so that Alters can compete in the IGL? Is that what they want? To beat the Rogues in the arena?”

“What do you know about the Rogue Fight Lords?” she asked.

“Rumors. Conspiracies. Fight Lord Zain’s been on top for a few years now. Everyone says he’s dirty. He sure flaunts the rules for an SAI. Not sure about any of that, but I do know there are rumors that the governing SAIs are beholden to Rogue AIs. The rule-makers are as corrupt as you can get. Figures the Fight Lords would be as well.”

“It’s true.” Yancey pulled him aside so that Simone couldn’t hear. “Good work, dear,” Yancey said over her shoulder. “Try that again.” To Coach Buzz she whispered, “What do you know about Dagons, Persens, and Rigalens?”

“Scary stories to frighten children.” He smiled. “Come on. The Blood Tricad?” He waited for a reaction. “That’s true? They exist?” He moved in closer. “I thought you said all those Lords of Darkness and all that were bullshit.”

“My daughter thinks they’re supernatural beings, demons, devils, you get the picture. That’s what’s bullshit. We aren’t sure what they are. I think they’re alien. My husband thinks they’re AI in the morning, alien in the afternoon, boogeymen in the evening. He doesn’t care, though. Bottom line: the RAIs, and the mutant entities they summon, want to make us their pets, or worse.” She waited to see if he understood. He nodded. “Good. I didn’t think you’d like that. Doesn’t matter what they are, does it?” He shook his head. “The Tricad is planning to present a wave of high-powered Rogueslaves in this IGL season, and rumor has it the regulatory board will allow a few exhibition matches. Our students will fight in one of these.”

“In a stadium?”

“Right here in Georgia—widecast live all over the world.”

“Zain runs that stadium.”

“I know,” she said.

“And the Consortium wants someone to challenge them. If that someone loses they can turn their backs on him, or her.”

“And if they win?” Yancey asked, watching her daughter.

“They can push for more integration of nontraditional persons in the games.”

“Our new battleground.”

“The incursions?”

“May be over,” she said. “They mess with us to mess with us. But it gets them nowhere. Too difficult for them to materialize here.”

“What about this little contest with her double?”

“They’re ramping up,” Yancey said. “Her double has gained notoriety in Cyberspace. My husband’s double—”

“SWML”

“—the very one, is backing her double. The little contest she lost when Hutto kissed her double should have been a minor blip in the system. But it launched her double to the top. It was as if her double had won ten straight contests.”

A pang of anxiety ripped through Yancey. She hadn’t told Simone that yet. Neither had her father. She had gone to see Skippard in person for the first time in years to discuss what to do. He was staying in his brother’s cabin deep in the woods beyond the cattle pastures. When she found him, Skippard Wellborn was sitting in one of the rockers with Picham Wellborn.

The Rager Beasley had driven her out there a few days after Simone’s first contest. Yancey had just gotten out of the facility and could barely move; she walked so stiffly she could barely get up the steps to the porch. But she faked it well enough that they didn’t notice.

Picham had aged into a wrinkled raisin of a man who spent too much time in the sun. The rags he wore looked a decade old themselves. He kept whittling a piece of wood, gave her a kind wink, and returned to work.

Her husband wore his standard lab outfit, looking relaxed, as if ready for a nap. Skippard glowed a soft gray, even in the bright sunlight of the morning, and when he waved his arms, trails of light swam about in wakes.
Show off.

“Simone lost,” Yancey said.

“Not a problem,” Skippard said. “It’s her first loss. Good to see you, Yance.”

She looked away. She didn’t want to get sucked in by his charm and forget how angry she still was with him. He chose to be a ghost, to be disembodied. He had left them for this life. “The chatter is calling the win ‘proof’ the battle between your double and you is almost over.”

“I don’t care how strong my double is. It’ll never beat me. Simone’s loss—”

“Her double is already being vetted by the IGL Fight Lords, Skippard. Already! The Tricad is behind it. Your double is behind it.”

She saw concern in her husband’s face for the first time in years. How long had it been since she’d seen any concern at all? Since their first born, Jonen, suffered Real Death in a glad arena.

Skippard had never been the same after that. Everything he had done was a response to that loss. She could see he still believed that if he could succeed in creating the perfect Transhuman weapon, he could stop such losses in the future.

Years ago, when she’d told Skippard she was joining the fight he’d spun around in joy, as if there were no other choice. Later, when she told him of the horrible tasks she’d undertaken as a Consortium agent, he nodded as if it were her duty. She’d stopped coming to the cabin to visit him after that. He never seemed to understand, or feel, what he’d abandoned by becoming a permanent ghost or the fact Yancey had lost a son and now a husband. All he ever said was,
Ghosting is the best thing for us
.

He meant being disembodied was the best thing for his little project to save humanity. How could she challenge that? She wanted the same thing: to win; to survive; to be more than she was.

“Mom, watch this,” Simone said after completing a cartwheel. She added the combination Coach Buzz had showed her, finishing with a loud flourish. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Superb, dear. Keep trying. Your double won’t know what hit her.” She turned to Coach Buzz. “She’s going to lose.”

“Jesus, keep your voice down.” He looked angry enough to spit in the wind. “Don’t convince her she’s beaten before—”

“Her double will have
enlarged
itself. It’ll be ready, I’m sure. Games of wit are easier to win than games of skill. She has never had to fight.” She tugged him a few steps away. “If she does lose it’ll work its way through Cyberspace and create even more momentum for her double. It’ll reinforce the patronage of the Blood Tricad, which is a front for my husband’s double. This little contest is a perfect scenario for Zain to hype our Alters’ entrance in the arena. Imagine the pressure.”

“Her contest is connected to the exhibition match? No way.”

“That’s why her double asked for the game of skill so soon. It thinks she’s not ready. It
is
ready, though, and those backing it are making plans. The Consortium knows this.”

“She’s not ready.” Now he looked like he’d finally admitted it to himself. “She’s not.”

“Well ...”

Coach Buzz waited for clarification, but Yancey didn’t want to explain just what Simone was good at.

Not yet, she thought, he’ll learn soon enough—

As if on cue, Simone’s double emerged out of the far wall, appearing like a mirror copy.

Coach Buzz backed up a few steps, but Yancey stood firm. Simone stilled herself, floating now a foot off the ground.

“The doors are locked?” Yancey asked Coach Buzz.

“Bolted.”

The digital copy had a limited amount of time it could be here. Whatever metaphysical glitch allowed them both to exist didn’t like having them in the same space for too long. The Protocols of the contest dictated the rules of the double’s access. All the intelligences of Cyberspace were jealous beyond belief of these ghosts and their doubles. Even Yancey’s own entities, buried underneath the cosmic weight of her katas, itched to witness the event.

“I am here,” the double said, “for a contest of skill with Simone Lord.”

Yancey stepped between the two ghosts. “Simone, are you ready?”

Simone watched her mother act as a bulwark. It was an outpouring of love—even though it didn’t matter. These contests were for her and her alone. She had to win, or lose them, alone. No embodied persons could interfere, no matter how much they wanted to. “Yes, Mom. You might as well stand back—you, too, Coach.” She snapped her whips out to the side. “Let’s go, you annoying wannabe.”

“The win is to be determined by ...?”

“Ten unanswered strikes in a row.” Simone said. There was no need for any actual judges. The Eminences in Cyberspace watching them would know. “Are you ready?”

“We are.” Her double floated over to the dirt space. It morphed into an armored thing with triple-jointed articulated arms that were double in size. From each one fiery whips appeared. “And the prize?”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Simone said, circling, snapping her whips out. “Status.”

“It is fair, dear,” her mother said. “Remember, the rules are those set at the beginning.”

Simone began her dance. She let her double move at a distance, watching its rhythm. All she needed was a few seconds to finish her katas. But she had stopped as far as she could go before summoning her entity. Her mother had made her promise no more of that after she’d done
it
with Hutto. Simone had much more to learn before trying again, at least that was what her mother had told her.

She attacked with a cartwheel combination, one whip snapping into her double with an eruption of energy that echoed off the interior walls. Her double moved quickly and also attacked. Both fiery whips hit her with full force and knocked her backward. She had no friction to stop her, but her willpower kept her from slamming into the floor. She elevated higher and cartwheeled again. Her double laughed and moved out of the way of the strikes.

Simone soon fell behind. When her double began to taunt her, Simone couldn’t resist and mumbled the mantra to complete her summoning.

A few steps more ...

“Our puny connection to your human life proves we are weaker as humans,” her double said to her. “Give up, and free ourselves to reach our new potential.”

Simone began the final steps of her psy-kata.

“Simone, do NOT summon!” her mother yelled.

The transformation had already begun. She had expected a slow transformation, like the other time. Instead, her entities bubbled up with glee. They were everywhere inside her. This was unlike her experience with Hutto; this was immediate power. Her double reacted in fright by backing up, her entities like fire to oxygen.

We are here
, the entities said in her mind. Simone focused her eyes on her double, and her entities saw it. They roared through Simone as they reacted at seeing her double.

“Simone!” Yancey yelled. “Stop the transformation!”

But already Simone the Ghost had disappeared as her entities emerged.

“They aren’t going to be happy,” Yancey said.

“What’s happening?” Coach Buzz asked.

“A mistake.”

Yancey watched Simone allow the entities, who now claimed her as their own, dominate her reality. They expected to experience the weight of flesh, to taste the bite of the air, to smell the tang of the earth and all the solid things they craved. When they realized she was a ghost, they acted just as Yancey expected: like spoiled children.

She pushed Coach Buzz backward, away from the incorporeal form that now looked more like a humanoid alien creature with claws, and scales, and dagger teeth than a high school girl. The individuated entity that emerged was a killing machine in full angry form, but without a body to make its own. Yancey recognized the creature, of course, a smaller version of her own powerful Myrmidon. But Simone should never have summoned it as a ghost. She was not prepared for such an experience, and neither were her entities.

The shape solidified as much as it could. It found the ground, expecting gravity to hold it, but flailed about when it remained a ghosted manifestation. Simone screamed, and Yancey could see her within the particular entity that had surfaced.

“Mom!” she heard her daughter say through the guttural voice of her entity. “Help!”

Simone’s double recovered from the shock of seeing the alien creature and struck. “One, two, three,” the double said, as the whips’ tips made contact with the flailing thing.

The entity roared. The double was quick, agile, and struck again.

Simone and her entity lost control and went barreling into a heavy bag, disintegrating into a million specs of light, and creating much needed calm and quiet.

“You two witnesses,” the double said, “do you agree we are winning?”

Yancey nodded. “I’ll ask her to quit.”

The double hovered on the far side of the room.

Coach Buzz stared at it. “What is that thing?”

“A copy that wants to be the original,” Yancey said.

“I can understand that.”

The double bowed its head.

Yancey turned on him. “Don’t encourage it.”

A few seconds later, Simone coalesced out of the air like a swarm of insects drawn to its hive. She looked flustered. Already, the return transformation had reversed, as if it had never happened. She was in her regular shape but still disoriented.

“They weren’t happy,” Yancey said.

Simone shook her head. “They cursed me.”

“I told you not to.”

“I don’t plan on being this way forever, Mom.”

Her double floated forward. “Do you submit?”

Simone struck. “No!”

Yancey said, “
Simone!
”

They watched Simone take a beating for the next ten minutes. If she’d been embodied, she’d have been a bloody pulp. Each strike that scored sent sparks flying, and soon wounds began to appear in the form of data tears.

“She’s hurting,” Yancey said to Coach Buzz.

“Can she die in this state?” he asked.

Yancey just kept watching.

Soon, the double was striking with ease, and Simone moved as if underwater.

“Halt!” Yancey yelled.

The double raised its arms to strike again but held back the blows.

“Simone!” Yancey yelled. “That’s it! You’re done!”