Glitch (2 page)

Rogueslave
: A human who has given over his or her body/mind to an RAI in the hopes that, one day, he or she will be given power after the RAIs' final victory.

Rupture
: A critical moment in human history when artificial intelligences were recognized as legal persons. Social historians call it a rupture because humanity's notions of itself as supreme were challenged by these new persons. A series of radical changes followed, demonstrating that humanity's very conception of reality has been shattered.

Skippard Wellborn Maker Lord
: A term used by those in Cyberspace for the actual person named Skippard Wellborn in Realspace. His double uses the moniker SWML.

Incursion
: An attack into Realspace by RAIs that actually manifest themselves as fabricated physical objects and beings.

Super Artificial Intelligence (SAI)
: One of the most powerful types of AIs. The first "rogues" (RSAI) emerged out of this (also called a RAI). These can also have the prefix Major-Plus, a nod by the Consortium to the influence of Aldous Huxley.

Transhumans
: Humans who have been drastically enhanced by science and technology. They have "transcended," or even "transgressed," or "transformed" themselves away from mundane humanity. There are four main packages parents can buy for their future children: intellect, athletic, physical, and aesthetic. The first makes you smart as heck; the second makes you handle your body well, as would an athlete; the third makes you robust and healthy, as well as—in some cases—gives radical anatomic enhancements like a second heart or improved nervous system, etc.; and the fourth makes you attractive based on a number of different cultural preferences. Adults can get retro packages (given after birth) but these don't have anywhere near the efficacy of those engineered from the early fertilized ovum stage.

Once Transhumans became present enough in US society (the rest of the developed world soon following suit) then society had to recognize them as a new form of humanity. Other legal classifications soon emerged. The original designation for traditional humans is Natural Humans, or the slang “Nattys.” There are also Nonhumans (artificial and synthetic beings granted personhood because of a high level of intelligence; also called Nonhuman Organic Persons, or “Nonnys”), Unpersons are people who have been “ghosted,” a process in digital uploading which accidentally generates a partial copy of a person in Cyberspace but leaves a digital mirror of the person in reality, called Realspace; also called Digi-Ghost or Digital Ghost.

World Walker Megamech Destroyer Class USC-Kraken
: A massive robotic weapon used to defeat the fabrications of the RAIs in Realspace.

ONE

SIMONE WELLBORN WAITED IN THE CLOSET of Mr. Hoover’s class for homeroom to end. It was dark inside, so she dimmed herself, just in case someone opened the door.

She smelled pencil shavings in the antiquated sharpener hanging from the wall. The shelves were full of other classroom necessities: white-board markers, old erasers, paste, glue, steno pads. Her heightened sense of smell had taken awhile to get used to; she would love to argue with any traditional humanist that Unpersons were not human beings anymore because they didn’t have physical bodies. She had lost hers, but she’d gained so much—although dimming herself did require concentration.

She moved closer to the door to lessen the stink, but also to hear. She pushed her head forward into the door enough to glimpse a blurry image of the classroom. She had wanted to step through to announce she’d be attending class like a regular student, but Joss, Wally, and Hutto had just left in a hurry. Something was going on.

A wave of energy blasted through her, as if every particle of her insubstantial body separated at one. She cried out as she expanded, struggling not to explode. A few seconds later, she reformed.

The klaxons began blaring.

She heard a distant voice. It seemed someone down a well was calling her name. She listened, shutting her eyes, buoyant in the closet. The pull of the other realities where data lived and people interfaced in Cyberspace tugged at her like an angry child. She was caught between that world and Realspace but refused to decide which she preferred because—

Simone … run!

She heard the voice, as would someone listening through a wall to music played in another room.
Joss …?
Her friends were sending her a warning through the school’s cyber systems. “I hear you.”

Simone backed away, this time moving through a shelf and feeling the unexpected contact. She imagined heated needles prickling her arm. Harmless, cobalt sparks flew.

Consortium cydrone! Get out!

Simone turned to flee through the ceiling and back to the woods to her uncle’s shack or to the other places she’d been hiding since she’d lost her body. Then she paused.

“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 necessary?”

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.