Glitch (The Transhuman Warrior Series, Book 2) Read online

  “I know. It’s my fault.”

  “Where’s the drone?”

  “At the house.”

  “Oh, god,” she said. “What if they take it and hide it and we—”

  “I destroyed the house. It’s buried. We have time.”

  She put on her Mirrorshades and began firing off commands. “I’ll see you there.” She stopped. “If I were a ghost now, I could get there quicker with you. Right?”

  “Yance, you’re in bandages. You’ll ghost as you are now, not as you were when you were captured. Did you forget that?”

  “Does it matter? I’ll be digital. I can still summon, and I can still have the benefit of disembodiment.”

  “Take the chopper. I’ll meet you there.”

  She ran for the door.

  * * *

  Rigon sat in his chair in the middle of his bungalow. The lights were off, and the windows open. Enough moonlight glinted through the trees that he could see an endless display of shifting shadows, as if a thousand enemies were about to overrun him.

  The mesh that covered his body itched like hell—something his mother pretended to understand but didn’t because her bandages weren’t anything compared to what he was dealing with. He could feel every little bit and piece of himself being rebuilt.

  Right now, the pain in his right patella was so bad he whimpered like a child. It felt as if someone had driven a nail with barbs into his knee cap and had decided to pull it out in slow motion. The reconstruction doctors had told him it would hurt. That’s what they said. “Sir, it’ll hurt.”

  He had at least three more months of this agony before he could lose the suit and the chair and walk around like a human being. Another three of physical therapy just to get him moving normally. Another three to get his full physical strength back. For most agents it was a year commitment.

  Sometimes, he envied his family, all of whom could summon their entities at will, with little to no repercussions (as far as he could tell) other than the occasional shredded outfit and a need to eat a big meal afterward. He had to trigger a device that turned any physical matter within a radius of ten feet into energy. He had to die. As great as it was to be a cymech, it sucked getting over it.

  He shifted his weight in his chair enough to lessen the pain in his knee. He was getting better at compartmentalizing the agony. He could ignore it when he concentrated, although there was usually too much going on in his body for him to focus on one area.

  He was ready to trigger his sleep meds when he saw movement outside his door. It flew open, and his mother appeared in the doorway in her Rejuv bandages, armed, and looking like she did when he’d forgotten to mow the lawn.

  “Uh, oh,” he said. “What now?”

  “Your father.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He and ... Simone.”

  “Simone?”

  Rigon sat up, the old fire that he used to walk around with erupting in his belly. He struggled to hold himself up, but he did, enough to look around like someone might barrel in after his mother and try to rob them.

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit back. I’m sorry to disturb you, but you need to call in your commandos. Anyone we can get on short notice.”

  “Where?”

  “Gramgadon’s safehouse.”

  “Shit. That’s protected.”

  “I know. Your father said they slaved Simone to a mech. He brought the house down. She’s safe, for a time. We have to get there before they find the drone.”

  He didn’t need to hear more. “Got it.”

  He triggered his personal AIs, who lit up the room in the familiar network of HUD fields that fed him data from his personal metaverse. A simple mental command opened a link to headquarters. He sent the request for support, and waited. His mother stood by, but he could see she wanted to leave right away.

  The response came in quicker than he thought.

  “A chopper is on the way to pick us up,” he said. He listened to the rest of it ...”But nothing else.”

  “What?” She stepped forward like she might kick over his chair.

  “That’s what they said. Support denied. They’ll take us, but they want us to assess the situation and report back. No mech or airdrop support.”

  “It’s like I told you, Rigon. Even the Cybercorps is corrupted. Do you believe me now?”

  He should deny it, as he always had to his persistent mother. There were always a few bad individuals in any human institution, but nothing systemic within the Corps. His day job was as a cycop, but he was in the Consortium’s Cybercorps Defense Force Reserves and close enough that he still thought he understood what went on with the brass. For them to openly support a Rogueslave ...

  “Let’s go. They’ll ping us and find the closest open space.”

  “We should get the others.”

  Rigon stopped his chair. “The students?”

  “At least Nisson and Hutto. They might be ... helpful.”

  He smiled behind the mesh veil that covered his face. She couldn’t see it. But the thought of using Alters was expedient. “And the girl, Beasley?”

  “She may not be ready for this.”

  He started at a ping in his HUD. “They’ll send a Blackhawk. We can all fit.”

  He saw his mother look into the middle distance, her lips mumbling. She had no integrated AI, so she had to speak words to activate her HUD. “Nisson’s still here. They’re at the club. Beasley didn’t answer. She’s probably under the covers, ignoring her calls.”

  “We’re using children as soldiers now, is that it?” he asked.

  “They’re part of the Cybercorps Program. They’re soldiers already.”

  Tonight, it didn’t matter to him. His little sister was in trouble. He would use anyone and anything to help her. He tried to push himself up, achieved a better sitting position, and let himself fall back into his chair.

  “Relax, Rigon,” his mother said. “She’ll be all right.”

  “Dad’s going?”

  “Of course. There’s more. It was Cliff.”

  “That fucking traitor.”

  “He claims to have ghosted Jonen and given him to the Rogues.”

  Rigon lurched forward, the tracks tearing up the carpet. He bolted through the open doorway and into the darkness toward an old pasture nearby. His mother ran after him. Rigon shouldn’t be thinking of doing this, but he had cyber resources even though his body was in repair.

  If Cliff Nable is still alive ... please let him be alive so I can run him over and over and over.

  The idea they’d saved enough of his older brother all this time to ghost him, and they hadn’t told him or his mother, was too much. Rigon tried not to fume, but he gripped the chair’s armrests so hard the mesh ripped into his skin. He let his HUD bounce in front of him as he commanded his chair toward the LZ waypoint.

  Like everyone in his family he’d assumed Jonen was gone for good. All the tragedy, loss, and sadness contained in two words: Real Death. He hadn’t seen his brother since he was a young boy. Simone had never known him. His mother had stopped talking about him years ago. His father ... had suffered alone. Jonen’s death was the impetus that had pushed Rigon’s father away. He had hated Jonen for a time after he’d died, but that hadn’t lasted, and the old love returned. Now, Rigon was ready, like his mother, for war.

  * * *

  The house had come down around Simone. She lay in rubble. She shut her eyes and drifted off to let her mind rest. Her father had told her to wait, but she couldn’t relax forever. She was able to look around, but whatever invisible binds kept her inside the machine, also kept her from communicating with it.

  She saw movement in the rubble and the familiar glow.

  “Dad?”

  She couldn’t turn the drone’s head, but she could see Jonen’s glowing sandaled feet in her periphery. She feared he might be there to harm her. He moved closer and used his energy to push more rubble away. The sparks that flew blinded her. “You
’re stuck.”

  “Thanks,” she tried to say. Nothing came out.

  “I’ve been where you are. Believe me. It’s not fun.” He bent down in front of her. “Dad messed them up with his attack.” He smiled. “I have a few minutes before the drones are back online to lasso me in.” He reached forward, as if he might adjust something on her drone. “Here, this’ll feel better.” She sensed his touch, the systems in her drone firing. It was as if all he did was flip a switch. Power. “I don’t have much time, so I can only give you control. It would take too much time for me to free you. You’ll have to wait for Dad to get you out. I suggest you run away until he comes back.”

  She sat up, banged the drone’s head on a piece of broken lumber. “Awesome.”

  He squatted in front of her in a space between a portion of the fallen roof. Dust and debris still floated in the air, a definite fire hazard. Of course, her brother’s illegal constructed representation didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked at her with curiosity, as if the two of them might spend an hour catching up.

  “You should definitely get out of here,” he said. “But before you go ...” He looked around, as if unsure whether someone were watching or not. “No matter what happens between us, tell Mom and Dad I wish I were with them. I wish I were free.” He looked behind his shoulder. “They make me ... do things.” He edged away. “Just remember that ... if I were free ... I could be myself.” He disappeared.

  She pushed at a canted crossbeam for space. She kicked aside a broken chair before climbing up through the rubble. Whatever method Jonen had used, worked; she had total system control.

  The entire brick house had come down into a huge pile of shattered wood, stone, drywall, and furniture.

  “Wow,” she said, and heard its electronic voice. “Dad’s got chops.”

  She exited the house with a single leap. She landed in the soft sward of a cut lawn littered with debris. She trotted toward a tree-line not far away and the darkness beyond it. There was no sensation like you’d get from pressure on the ground, but she could sense the world around her in a number of interesting ways. She imagined this was what it was like for Wally in his mech.

  She arrived in the shelter of darkness as she heard a loud horn. She heard others respond, each with a distinct, plaintive sound. The tone changed to anger, and aggression. They wanted her.

  She began to mumble her mantra of calming, and without even knowing it she began her steps of summoning, the drone mimicking them.

  * * *

  Agent Cliff Nable struggled to move, not far away, halfway down a gravel drive that pushed through brush running away toward the main road. The cydrones’ alarms awoke him. He cried in agony when he realized both legs weren’t working. His shades had blown off. He cursed for not having had them grafted to his head; he still had access to his metaverse and his AIs, but everything was scrambled.

  Broken legs ... and one arm wasn’t working right, which meant at least a dislocation. He tried to breathe. A stabbing pain meant he’d broken ribs. He wondered if he were hemorrhaging. The data wasn’t showing yet. He lay his head down and spit blood. He’d bitten the tip of his tongue off. His automated release of painkillers was already calming him.

  He could see a cloud of dust where the house had been. A quiet rage settled on him as he considered the fact of Skippard Wellborn’s existence. For years the Consortium had been working with the Rogues to capture him, each contest another step toward his obliteration. Some of them (Cliff, in particular) wanted to know his secrets because Skippard had many—his ghosting process, for one—and, as he’d proved today, how to blow a house apart.

  At every step, Skippard had eluded final capture. Something about the contests made Cliff wary. It was as if Skippard didn’t mind losing.

  That thought infuriated Cliff enough that he shifted his weight and cried out. A shooting pain in his back made itself known. It forced all the other pains to subside like minor players in the major drama taking place in his body. He forced the automated systems that controlled his pain receptors to do their work. He was stabilizing, and (he hoped) out of mortal danger.

  With his good hand, he fingered the device he kept hidden in a jacket pocket. It was his last resort, the last resort of any full cyagent who needed immediate help. It meant his partial death, but he would be a cyborg for however long he wanted, and he would be powerful.

  He had never done it before.

  He looked at the cylinder that comprised enough high-end technology that many organizations, institutions, nations would kill to have it. Worthless, if someone stole it. If anyone touched the device but him, it would defabricate in a minute. Just having it out made him feel better. It helped him visualize the powerful nanosystems that imbued his body. He was confident he wouldn’t have to use it, not if he could just lay here and wait for the authorities.

  If Skippard and his people arrived first and began digging Simone out ...

  “Fuck it,” Cliff said. He shut his eyes, and a smile stretched across his face, as if he were a martyr in the making. He lay there in the middle of the drive, maybe someone who might have fallen down drunk. He was a small man, he’d admit, not impressive at all. He’d been given an intellect package, but had never shown the promise of the top Transhuman agents, beyond his ability to Interface. He also hadn’t shown any of the defects. He was average, and he’d tell you he hated it …

  His thumb moved over the device, and he triggered it.

  A boom like a jet fighter breaking the sound barrier echoed across the fields. Twin geysers of blue energy shot out of the device and into the ground. They widened and covered Cliff, and for a second a rictus appeared on his face, as if he were being electrocuted.

  His eyes widened and looked like they might pop out of his head. His hair stood on end for a second. The nanobots in his body, arranged in well-coordinated battalions, all went to work at once, as the energy from matter in the ground became their fuel.

  In seconds, a depression sank into the drive, and Cliff Nable began to melt away.

  * * *

  Simone heard the sonic boom and saw the eruption of energy, but the land dipped into a hollow, and she couldn’t see the source.

  She had enough control of her drone to move as if she were a child trying to walk in an adult’s shoes. Already, she had cleared enough space under the trees to perform. A ring of battened-down wild grass marked the spot of her psy-kata steps. She had no idea why she was doing this, or if it would even work. She had already summoned once today. Her entity might be exhausted. Besides, she was enslaved in a machine! The physical dance was just a way to channel the movements in one’s mind. She had yet to master a purely mental psy-kata, as her mother had. Right now, she needed a little more space.

  She continued to mumble her mantra and perform her dance. She focused on the destroyed house and what might be coming from that area. If she saw movement, she would finish, and fight.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a shape moving across a far field. She paused for a second to look closer. Her cydrone’s optics zoomed with bright green infrared and she saw a cymech moving toward her.

  She finished her summoning.

  Supertrans returned with gleeful laughter in her ear.

  The other times she’d summoned, the sensation was of expansion. Her body and mind just grew. The thing that came gave her a new longing for a body. Each time the desire was to move, to feel, to be. In the arena, an inexorable impetus to pounce overcame her, and she had, even though she hadn’t given the command. She had been along for the ride. As if her entity were a well-trained pet that did what it was supposed to at the right time—except she was feeling its emotions and tagging along with it. Its desires became hers.

  When the expansion happened inside the drone, after a few seconds, maybe a half minute, the machine expanded as her entity tried to push all the way through it. She heard Supertrans’ far-off roar, as if it echoed through time and space. The creaking and bending stopped. Her
cydrone had morphed into Supertrans.

  She forced it to take a step forward. What emerged out of the woods was nothing like what ran into it. The cydrone was larger, but organic looking. The hard lines had disappeared, and were now textured, almost like stippled skin over a machine that now looked alive. It paused at the edge of a gully that separated the trees from a fallow field. It looked across the field. Inside, somewhere, Simone wondered what had happened. The machine-organism that she’d summoned raised its limbs as if it were stretching them.

  It ran forward to meet what was coming.

  Simone hadn’t given the command.

  Supertrans had taken over.

  She imagined herself sitting in a bouncing chair, maybe strapped down with a seat belt and safety harness, like you would on a roller coaster. She had access to its systems, but only to monitor. She could assert herself, but the effort would take so much energy to fight through both the system AI and her entity. Better to let Supertrans take charge.

  She shut her eyes when she saw the first blast of light. A brushed metal Consortium cymech had opened fire! The rocking impact jarred her; it would have killed her if she’d had a body. She mumbled her mantras, kept her eyes shut, and tried to brace for the next impact. The physical forces were all in her mind, she told herself. They couldn’t hurt her.

  She heard Supertrans yelling its war cries. When it leapt, she managed a glimpse and saw they were at least forty feet in the air, now falling, and about to pounce on the enemy cymech, which looked up ...

  Cliff!

  * * *

  “Movement, nine o’clock, everyone,” the Consortium Blackhawk pilot yelled over his shoulder.

  Even with the door opened, everyone heard and looked.

  They watched two mean-looking cybernetic machines tearing up the ground in the middle of an empty field. These weren’t the big ones, of course. Hutto pointed. Yancey and Rigon both watched through their shades, and both received the data quick enough to know what was happening: a Consortium cyagent had triggered his mech-device. They glanced at each other, both realizing that was Cliff’s signature. They would have to wait to be certain. But the other drone ...