Glitch (9 page)

Simone wanted to shut her mind off for a week, as if she’d just run a mental marathon and needed a long rest. But she had so many questions. “What good are they?”

“They’re the key.” Her father walked to her and reached out, as if to pull her to him; he paused inches a way. “Your dress ...”

She saw he was pointing to the open collar. She pulled it down to her sternum and revealed the brand in full relief now:
SWML
. “These are your initials, Dad.”

“They are. I’m sorry.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He paused for only a few more seconds, a frown marring his face. The sadness turned to anger at this sacrilege. He turned and floated back to the cabin. He didn’t go inside, but went around it into the darkness.

“Let him be,” her mother said.

“Dad feels guilty about his double?”

“Every day.”

“His double is strong?”

“It’s a divinity in Cyberspace.”

“And he’ll use the entities if he has to.”

“He’ll turn every Altertranshuman into an ghost if he can. Now that you’re one, so would I.” Her mother stood by her side in the darkness, and Simone’s glow cast enough light that her mother almost looked like a ghost herself. “Tell me where you go at night, dear. I worry about you.”

“I hang out around here. It’s easy to shut my eyes and fall into a trance and pretend to dream. Too easy.” She imagined a tear forming, but no moisture emerged. “I miss breakfast with you, blueberry pancakes, and coffee with whip cream—and crispy bacon ... oh, yeah, bacon.”

“I do, too.” Her mother moved as close as she could without touching her. “Don’t forget that part of life, ever. Your father pretends he doesn’t miss his body, but I know he has to. He believes he’s stronger as a ghost … he may be right.”

“I’d also like some hot chocolate.”

“You miss it? Your body?”

She turned away. “Next week. They’ll be announcing the exhibition matches, and word is they’ll have a few deregulated ones, and that means Alters will be allowed to compete. But enough of that.” Her mother leaned her head back, rocking now. “Before I go, tell me. What’s it like being a ghost?”

* * *

“Your mom okay?” her father asked as the ATV’s engine faded in the distance. He appeared out of the dark and floated to the porch.

“I was telling her what it was like to be a ghost.”

“You should know, Simone, that I only have the best intentions for you.”

“I know, Dad. My entities didn’t like the fact I was a ghost.”

Simone was relieved when her father sat. Uncle Pic snored in his loft, while her father stared off as if seeing something on a faraway horizon.

“Being a ghost is a shock to them,” her father said, “one of the reasons I first thought they were AIs, instead of merely psychic manifestations of our own mental potentials.” He smiled. “But I have a solution. It’s child’s play, honey. What every Alter needs to be able to do, and I bet your mother hasn’t told you how—”

“Probably not.”

“—is to bind them so that they manifest themselves in whole but are in your complete control. They’re satisfied and will perform a task, in return.”

“I don’t have a body.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“Your mother will give me an earful for this but ... since you’re a ghost and don’t have a body, you have to make a deal with the devil. As a ghost, you must have a special relationship with whatever entity arrives. This entity will be disappointed it doesn’t have a body, but it can be made happy, and it will, for a time, allow itself to manifest, even without tasting your flesh in a complete transformation.”

“
Taste my flesh
?”

“Whatever they are, they like our physicality. Sometimes, I imagine them to be digital sun-sized incorporeal intelligences floating in the voids of Cyberspace, and we give them an exquisite experience. We are their caviar.”

“Fish eggs? Gross.”

“Exactly!”

“What about the rest of the psy-katas, Dad? Can you tell me what they do? Please?”

But he just smiled, glowing a soft cobalt. “They go beyond summoning, honey. They let you do wonders. First things first. Let’s see how the entity reacts. Once you’ve convinced it to work with you, you’ll have to repay it after every time you summon ...”

“How?”

“My first entity wanted me to run through the mountains ...
for a month
. Don’t make that mistake. Give it a single night.”

“God. How boring.”

“Not at all.” He chuckled, as if she had so much to learn. “Be prepared to make that sort of deal. It’s one of your main drawbacks as a ghost. You’ll want to always bargain for the best deal. In the end, if you’re to succeed in the arena—and you must because each contest tips the balance—your entity will need to bring provisions. Make it come prepared. It’ll cost you, but pay the price.”

“Clothes?”

“Armor, weapons, this sort of thing.”

“I’ll have to bargain for them ...”

“Every time. Remember, it’s a deal with the devil. You’ll have to pay. Just make sure the payment is acceptable. When you’re both in agreement you can allow it the manifestation that it wants, but only after you have made the arrangements for payment.”

She wanted to ask him if he was happy with whatever past arrangements he’d made, but she kept her mouth shut.

“It’s time for you to bind your entities.” He stood. “Watch and learn the steps.” He left the rocker and began to move through the katas five feet off the ground.

FOUR

“BINDING. THAT’S WHAT EACH OF YOU must learn if you want to master your entities.”

Hutto ignored Consortium Agent Yancey Wellborn’s voice. He sat on the mats, as he had since lunch, eyes closed, mumbling the same words over and over again. He had to admit he felt relaxed as he followed her instructions, but memorizing phrases and dancing around like some epileptic break-dancer with chiggers in his ass-crack wasn’t fighting. He understood glad-fighting, and this wasn’t it.

His family was in the game, and today his father would make a surprise visit to Sterling and set them all straight.

Hutto couldn’t wait for everyone to witness his father’s arrival. It was one thing to join a Glad Club and pretend at fighting or even talk about it as if any of them—besides himself—ever had a chance in the arena; it was another thing to see a real gladiator walk into a room and hear him converse about the art.

Agent Wellborn paused in front of Hutto. “You have each learned the mantras and katas of centering.” That was true. He had memorized the words and said them while moving through the silly dance steps that had made him blush the first time he’d tried. The idea his father would see him prancing about made him wince. She continued. “They’re the entrance to the other katas. You don’t have to move through them in order.” She stepped away.

He looked to his right and saw the hulking form of Beasley. She appeared to be half asleep, but he could tell she was grounded in her centering mantras. Her lips moved without thought. She had just finished her psy-kata and sweat still beaded her brow. Joss and Kimberlee had already practiced and were now sitting still. He could hear little Wally stepping through his martial dance. Hutto wanted to look but had already been caught peeking once.

Agent Wellborn paused. “Hutto, concentrated. Each of the katas is important, but for Alters, binding your entity is vital. You need the right sequence of movements and the correct mantras, and all else follows.”

Hutto obeyed and continued to mumble the mantra. When he’d heard that Simone was going to enter an unsanctioned glad fight—and do it next week—he couldn’t believe it. At the same time, he was so excited about the opportunity that he’d wear a pink boa if they asked. The Sterling School would be associated with the fight game—something illegal for high schools—and he wanted to be a part of it.

Their resident ghost, Simone, was somewhere on her own,
practicing
. Hutto grinned when he thought of what that could mean. The gladiatorial art of violence and conflict had been refined through the centuries, and the idea you could just learn it overnight was ridiculous.

His father would set them straight, just as he had set Hutto straight from the time he was six. An eight year old had beaten him up while his brothers had watched. The first thing you learned: Getting hit in the face wasn’t so bad.

He heard someone walk in.

Hutto turned. His father waited in the open doorway. Coach Buzz stood at attention in his office, peering through the glass at Gladmaster Tarean Toth. Even Agent Nable stood. Hutto’s dad was seven feet tall and strapped with muscle, even for a man his age—and if you asked him his age, you might get a fist of knuckles for lunch. He wore their family’s signature informal battle dress: a ceremonial cuirass of shaped bronze on leather that bore the flaming dragon crest of the Toth fight team. He also wore the jet-black kilt all retired glad-fighters wore in public. The sandals were comprised of straps that reached to his calves. Leather strips at his wrists could be wrapped around his knuckles.

Without asking permission, his father strode onto the dirt and approached Hutto. He ignored the rest of the people in the room, even as he took it all in. Hutto waited, as he should, allowing his father to observe him for as long as he pleased.

“You been having some fun, I hear?”

Hutto stood at attention. “It’s been crazy round here, Dad. Consortium agents, robots, Rogues, all that mess.”

“Damn waste of time.”

“When you going to let me fight again, Dad? Don’t make it a year, please.”

“The Sterling School is a place for you to figure everything out, so you can fight.” He glanced at little Wally and bit his bottom lip. “That’s why I put you here with these … people.”

“I know.”

“Good.” He glanced at Coach Buzz, who was now standing in his office doorway. “You look like you got ate up, Buzzal.”

“And spit back out,” Coach Buzz said.

His father regarded Agent Wellborn, who hadn’t said a word. The rest of the students sitting like yoga flunkies in need of a whooping stared at him as if he were the Devil incarnate. “What’s this I hear about Sterling entering students in unsanctioned matches?”

“The IGL will be deregulated soon, Tarean,” Yancey said.

He waved that away. “Bah, horse-shit rumors meant to stir up the radicals. By the way, how’s that son of yours doing?”

“Rigon’s recovering in record speed.”

“Good for him. Shame about what happened to your other boy. You know I feel that way. You never did hear me out on that.” Agent Wellborn moved around her students. Hutto’s father could lift her up with one hand if he wanted to. Still, she approached as if he were no more imposing than Principal Smalls. “You’re a little thing, aren’t you?” He looked around. “Where’s this ghost daughter of yours? I was hoping to see one for real. What’s this you have to tell me, Agent Wellborn?”

“Mr. Toth,” Yancey said, “the IGL has offered the Cybercorps unsanctioned exhibition matches. My bosses want to use the Sterling School Glad Club. We need an official Gladmaster.”

“You do?” Hutto asked.

“To see how well Alters compete—”

“—in the arena,” Tarean replied.

“Unsanctioned?” Hutto asked.

Yancey nodded. “Open.”

“All right!”

Hutto’s father raised a calming hand, but Hutto spun around and threw a roundhouse in the air. “Son ... Hutto ...”

Hutto stilled even though he was ready to enter the arena right then. “You have to let me fight now, Dad. You have to.” Hutto looked at the other Alters. “See, there’s me and ...
her
.” He pointed at Beasley. Beasley stood, as did the rest of the students.

“And the other one’ll be the ghost,” his father said. He asked Yancey, “What do you want from me?”

“Help us train them.”

“You want me to help you train my boy to be a Pitdog?”

“He’ll fight in the IGL, just like you did.”

“It’ll be against Tranz rejects or augments. I never fought against anyone who wasn’t fit for the arena. I won’t allow my boy to butcher people or be butchered.”

Consortium Agent Nable silently approached. “Mr. Toth, you have no choice. When you realize what’s at stake, you’ll see the wisdom in this, and the club does need an official Gladmaster.”

“What do you want me to do?” Tarean asked.

“Yes!” Hutto said, throwing a vicious cross.

Yancey stepped forward. “Can you train two Ragers and a ghost to fight in the arena?”

“You just called my son a Rager.”

“I did. A Rager Werebear to be exact.” She stood her ground, as if he were no threat to her at all.

“I can, if you can ... control them. The arena won’t change, even if those in it do. It’s about will, domination, and victory.”

“Good.” She looked across the club. “Simone.”

Simone emerged through the ceiling. His father watched her descend. Hutto saw his look of disbelief before he turned around without acknowledging her, and left.

* * *

“I guess your father doesn’t like me,” Simone said to Hutto, alighting on the floor. He now sat yoga style, eyes shut, but manage a subtle smirk. “So today’s the big day, right?”