Rupture (23 page)

SIX

THE ROGUESLAVE GRAMGADON WALKED into the cafeteria and looked for a seat. Enough parents were still on campus that he mixed in, a regular middle-aged man with glasses, a receding hairline, and a kind smile.

He sat at a table and sipped some orange juice. He moved aside so a fatty with her fat child could sit nearby. He listened to them talk their useless domestic talk. His entire being rebelled at the sound. He glanced at the fat boy’s horrible haircut and the acne all of his face and knew the boy was a reject fit for a school of delicious rejects. So, human, and frail. The patterns in the boy’s defective genome made the slave’s mouth water; the thought of giving the boy to his lords made his blood boil.

He turned his head and pretended to be interested in the school posters on the walls. He couldn’t even focus enough to read them now that he felt the active agents inside him waking up. His lords in Cyberspace whispered from across the gulf, as if they sat right next to him.

Welcome Us, Gramgadon of Realspace. Welcome us so that we may come and dine. The games have begun. And you, our envoy, must speak. So say the Protocols.

He shut off the rational part of his mind that told him this was just a neurobot swarm in his brain communicating with smart wetware. No, he preferred the mystical because it made him feel divine. And what he planned to do here, today ... he was an agent of the Divine Ones, and they would grant him immortality when the war was over.

He had spent what seemed a lifetime serving them, first as a powerful glad fighter whose test was to kill the son of the Wellborn Maker Lord, and he had succeeded, driving a sword into Jonen Wellborn. Now, in this frail body that appeared powerless, Gramgadon was a supreme diplomat.

He soon saw the young Wellborn daughter and her mother walk into the cafeteria. The targets made him shiver, the Wellborn mother in that silver Alter uniform and those Consortium-branded Mirrorshades, the daughter so unsuspecting. The Rogueslave watched the mother warily, pretending to be interested in the clock over the door. The daughter wore a summer dress patterned in frivolous flowers and wore huge boots on her feet. She carried two rolled up whips through her arms, as if they were fashion accessories.

The Protocols owned by Skippard Wellborn were Skippard Wellborn’s, and his alone, but his family could be used as leverage. With them the Protocols can be changed.

The Rogueslave called Gramgadon stood, stretched his back like he needed some Rejuv, and even made a joke, “Nothing like a bad back to make a guy feel normal.”

A few of the other natural parents nodded.

Then the Rogueslave began moving toward the family of the Wellborn Maker Lord.

* * *

Simone walked over to Kimberlee’s empty table and plopped down, glaring at her mother. She set the whips on the table.

“You okay?” Kimberlee asked. She stopped reading her tablet and eyed the whips as if they were snakes that might unravel.

Simone ignored the question. “Any good?”

Kimberlee gestured to the device. “Psycho thriller. Great trash to fill the time.”

“I’m fine. My mom and I talked.”

“That was intense last night.”

Simone nodded at her mother, who was talking to a dorky natural guy who might have been hitting on her. “Tell me that guy isn’t chatting up my mom. Gross.”

“Probably not. He looks about as game as a Natty with a prostate problem.”

They both chuckled.

Kimberlee touched one of the whips. “You branching out into wrangling?”

Simone laughed again. “My mother thinks it’s time for me to grow up. My bucky is in my dorm. These”—she pushed the talismans toward Kimberlee—”are my new toys. They’re supposed to focus my mind.”

“Right, more of that magical stuff.”

“I’m good at it.”

“I wonder where the others are.”

“You haven’t seen Hutto?”

Kimberlee smiled, and Simone glimpsed the something in her that could be seductive, and dangerous. “
You haven’t seen Hutto?
” The mocking was friendly but loaded.

“Stop it. I was just asking.”

“Sure you were. He’s gorgeous. He’s charming. And you slept with him—”

“Shh!” Simone slapped her hand jokingly. “Don’t say that.”

“Well. You did.”

“Where is he?”

“Last I heard he and the others took off toward the farm … hey, what’s your mother doing?”

Her mother had taken the man by the shoulders and now held him tight. He was not trying to stop her. She paused, nose-to-nose, but obviously unhappy. She was speaking something to him that no one heard. But she looked angry enough to kill him. Then she yanked open his shirt, buttons flying, and revealed a frail and flabby torso covered in brands.

Simone saw the letters:
SWML.

“Oh, my god! Mom!” Simone said, putting her head in her arms like she might hide there.

“This is too good!” Kimberlee said. “Your mom is the coolest.”

“Everyone back!” Yancey yelled. “Everyone up against that wall.” She pointed over by a small platform that ran the width of the room.

Simone was on her feet now, never used to the fact her mother did the damnedest things. She didn’t obey, of course. She grabbed her whips and walked directly toward her. “Mom! Those are the same letters I have on my chest!”

* * *

Yancey embraced her daughter and continued to stare at the Rogueslave who, in a different life, had killed her son Jonen. He now sat gingerly in a metal folding chair, trying to button his shirt, acting indignant.

She waited a few moments while parents and students frantically moved away.

Yancey bit back anger at seeing him after all these years. He was nothing like the impressive glad fighter he’d once been. The Rogues had debased him in their service. It was almost pathetic. But she wouldn’t let herself feel pity, not for him, not for Gramgadon.

What she saw now was a human being who had given up his youth and his health to become a sickly tool of the Rogues. No, she didn’t pity him. In fact, she wished every pain and malady upon him. That man there had driven a sword into her son’s body and helped his henchmen ferret Jonen away so that the authorities couldn’t rejuv him. She had spent three solid years doing nothing but chasing down leads. No one ever found Jonen’s body or learned what happened to it.

But rumors persisted that her son’s cerebral cortex had been saved—that key element for the rehusking process that could take a dead person and make him live. But rumors were not enough, and she’d even eventually said her goodbyes to her first born. She’d pushed Gramgadon from her mind as she heard the sporadic rumors about his descent into becoming a Rogueslave. And when intelligence reports surfaced that he was clued into the Great Game, a major player for Dagons, one of the Blood Tricad, she knew she would see him again. And now he has SWML brands, she thought. Yes, he’s clued in alright, and that means he’s here for a reason.

“Gramgadon, the sellout,” Yancey said to the Rogueslave. The group of students and parents finally all moved away, most of them now huddling together. “What are they planning?”

“Is this guy one of them?” Simone asked.

“He’s slaved himself to them.” Yancey moved her daughter behind her. And then to him, she said, “So you thought they’d make you powerful? Was that it? They made you frail, though. Is it a test? Did they promise you that you won’t ever die?”

The man stood up sheepishly. In an instant he found his backbone. “You’re fools. All of you. You have no idea what’s coming. Bow down or be ground underfoot like insects. At least I’ll survive. You won’t. None of you.”

“Mom?”

Yancey ignored her daughter. She looked around and scanned the room. Nothing out of place. She listened for her son who was almost here. Sterling was about to hit the Big Time.

She heard a crash, and a few people screamed. “You’re brother’s arrived, Simone.”

They all heard the rumble of Rigon coming down the hall. He’d already smashed through the glass doors and was probably now tearing up the industrial carpet in the hallway. Everyone pointed, staring, and echoed amazement when they saw the metallic machine man standing outside the cafeteria doors. He squatted down, edged through the double doors and righted himself.

“Rigon?” Simone asked.

Yes, dear, she thought, he’s a cybernetic organism now encased in armor and you finally get to see him as one. 

“Say hi to you brother.”

Yancey felt an ache of regret because Simone knew what being a cyborg meant; when this was over, her brother would be gone for months as they regenerated his body. He was already gone, dead, really, in the old sense, although somewhere in there his brain was encased in titanium. And the essence of him still lived wherever they’d captured his genoscript, waiting to be given a body again. Yancey felt more than a pang of regret. She felt a mother’s loss of a son, even though she would see him again. And it was all she could do to avoid weeping.

“Rogueslave,” Rigon said. The sound of his amplified electric voice reverberated as it echoed off the walls. Rigon took two more aggressive steps. He pointed at the man with a weaponized arm that looked like it could shoot heavy-caliber warship rounds. “Gramgadon.”

“Step back, dear,” Yancey said. Simone unfurled her whips, like she might wrangle a stray calf. “That’s good, dear.”

“The Protocols are clear,” Rigon said. “You’re here to be heard. The Great Conflict commences with a new contest. State your lords’ intentions so that we may battle and give praise to the proper victors. No later protest need be had.” He stepped forward. “Now, slave.”

The Rogueslave Gramgadon straightened as best he could under the cyborg’s gaze. “I make this announcement: Under the Protocols established by the Wellborn Maker Lord and guarded by the Eternal Eminences, this contest of dominance is for her, Simone Lord.” He pointed at Simone. Yancey shielded her, even though she wasn’t in danger, yet. “My masters’ soldiers are arriving now to battle for her body. My masters want the girl’s genosoul. If they capture her body, they’ll take its script as a prize. They’ll keep her double as a trophy.” He smiled again, like he had no care in the world. “I have made the announcement. We do not need your acceptance. Let the contest begin.”

“Understood,” Rigon said. “The stakes are for the Wellborn girl. If your masters win the battle for her body, they win this contest. It has been announced. And she’s ready to enter the Great Game. Now, come with me, you little pisshead. I’ll escort you away from these fine folk. Because of the Protocols, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

Gramgadon began to laugh, as if the joke was on everyone else, but started walking for the exit as Rigon commanded. “I’ll be with them when this is all over. This frail body’ll be cast aside for something powerful. They’ll reward me. I’ll spit on all of you flesh-bags.”

“Sure they will,” Yancey said. “If they don’t blast your mind to bits first.”

“Never! I’ve done so much for them! You know that! You understand!”

“You speak another word,” Rigon said, “and I’ll end you here, Protocols be damned. I’ll pay the price in Cyberspace, no matter how long it takes.”

Two of Rigon’s team members grabbed the man and hurried him away.

“He gets to go free?” Simone asked.

“He was just the messenger. It’s in the Protocols.”

“Daddy’s Protocols?”

“Not now.” Yancey ignored the confused look. “A Dread Walker will soon follow, dear.” She grabbed her daughter in a hug. “We have to prepare.”

“What’s a Dread Walker, Mom?”

Yancey looked down at her daughter, who had finally become a pawn in the Great Game. She would never forgive herself for losing her, so she planned to succeed tonight, or die trying. And if all else failed, she had one last resort: Skippard’s Ghosting Protocols could be used to save their daughter from the Rogues. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She kept observing her daughter closely, as if a strong wind might blow in and take her away. ”Pests, just pests.” Simone began scratching at her arms. “And it’s begun.”

Yancey pulled her aside. Most of the students and parents were still stunned by Rigon’s entrance. They didn’t noticed the desperation creep into a mother’s face. “Now, listen closely. I’m not sure when it happened, but the Rogues marked you, probably when you first visited Joss. The little buggers in you are just to light you up. They’re harmless, Simone. Your brother’s here. I’m here. We’ll protect you.” She grabbed Simone by the arms. “What’s about to happen to you means nothing. It won’t change you. You’re still you. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom. You’re scaring me.” Simone continued to scratch her arms, and her neck now. “What’s happening?” Tendrils, like tiny snakes, began to move upward along her limbs. “Mom!” Simone continued to scratch. “There’s something in me.”

Yancey could do nothing but watch the nano-invasion edge upward to begin the process of capturing Simone’s essence. By the time the attack almost reached her daughter’s eyes, there was only time for one last moment. Yancey said, “Remember, you are Simone Wellborn, and you always will be.”

“I will, Mom.”

Her daughter’s eyes were wide with fright.

“Tell me quickly, now,” Yancey said, “what do you see?”

Her eyes darkened as the Rogue messenger-bots, nearly completing the onslaught with only a few precious seconds longer, flashed in her retinas. “I see. Oh, no ...!”

“What is it, dear? You have to tell me?”

“I see teeth at my neck. Lots of teeth.”

Simone’s eyes rolled upward. Yancey caught her as she passed out. One of Rigon’s stout team members appeared and scooped her up.

“Now, ma’am?”

“The grain silos. I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

Yancey followed the agent out of the cafeteria, then sent an update to her son, who was done seeing the slave to an autocar and was already back out in the fields.

Rigon, I’m going to the silos to hide Simone. I’ll wait for the Walker there. You have to kill as many of them as you can. Hurt it as much as you can for me. I don’t know if I can defeat it alone. Where is your father?

He returned a single cryptic message:
Walker’s here. I haven’t seen Dad.