Rupture (15 page)

Hutto looked up. “Controlling machines?”

Wally looked over at the old-fashioned chronometer on a shelf. It was no bigger than a toaster, but he’d lugged it with him to school because it was the first device he’d mastered. “I’ve always been able to do it.”

“You just command them?”

“It’s more like becoming them.” The clock hadn’t been wound in years. He never used it for the time. Its gears were so precisely fabricated that moving along them eased his mind. “Pick a time.”

“Huh?” Hutto scrunched is face up in the eternal mask of the confused. “Like lunchtime?”

“No,” Wally said with practiced ease. Dealing with guys like Hutto with an intellect package that, apparently, had never expressed in smarts was rare, and Wally knew better than to front an attitude. “Like, on a phone.”

“Oh, okay. Midnight.”

Wally stared at the old chronometer inside its wood frame with its two hands and the thousands of moving pieces inside. He dove in.

What Hutto saw was the little guy stare at the old clock. But the prickly sensation along his arms and neck told him Wally was doing something to it. Hutto rubbed his forearms and mumbled under his breath. He’d felt the same thing in the clinic, as well, and had had about enough of that stuff for the night, although the memory of Simone’s mom in that super-hot silver Bodyglove caused another sort of excitement.

He forgot her when he saw the hands on the clock move. They began winding forward, clicking through the minutes and the hours, faster and faster. He could barely see Wally’s eyes, but he saw them staring wide open at the thing.

“Oh, fuck, more freaky shit at Sterling.”

The hands stopped at twelve o’clock.

Wally turned, smiling, as if he’d just knocked a guy out with a clean cross.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Hutto said. He returned to the edge of his seat, the expected enthusiasm bursting again. “I got a trick I can teach you. You know how to unhook a bra strap?”

* * *

While Hutto detailed the finer intricacies of one-handed bra strap removal to a fascinated Wally, Kimberlee and Beasley sat together a few rooms down from
the fight
, unable to stop eavesdropping.

Kimberlee’s room looked like your typical high-school girl’s, every inch of her walls plastered with symbols of popular culture from entertainers to athletes, and even intellectuals, to corporate brands. Kimberlee loved uploading hip advertisements and making collages. One of her favorites was digital Stoli bottles with the different designs; she probably had fifty of those on her wall, all of them scrolling through their animations.

She and Beasley sat on the floor, sharing a bottle of Boons Farm wine in biodegradable plastic cups. Kimberlee had snuck it in last weekend after a trip home.

Beasley was on her third cup—Kimberly had noted that it was over half the bottle!—and was finally starting to smile. Kimberlee realized that was the first time she’d ever seen the girl without a grimace on her face.

“Poor Simone,” Kimberlee said.

Beasley nodded. “She got beat down by an RAI. How many people can say that?”

“She looked
broken
.”

Beasley took another sip. “Just heartbroken. If she’s a fighter, she’ll recover. If not ... ”

Both girls knew that people branded by RAIs became Rogueslaves, or worse, time bombs. What happened to Joss was the result of a direct attack and nano infection. Becoming a Rogueslave took longer, but the end result was the same: You became a host, a tool, whatever your new master wanted. They hadn’t wanted Joss beyond using him to make the fabricator, so word was his brands were gone and the infection dissipating. But what did they want with Simone?

“Is she branded, do you think?” Kimberlee asked

“How would I know? I don’t mess with that stuff.” Beasley finished her cup and grabbed the bottle. She took a gulp. “If I can’t wrap my hands around it, I stay away from it.”

“Me, too,” Kimberlee heard herself say, then put her hand to her mouth, giggling.

“What?” Beasley asked.

“I’m naughty. Do you think by being chosen to come to Sterling, to enter this program, to ... become someone special, that our curses may be gifts?”

The slightest tension in Beasley’s jaw made Kimberlee pause. She had heard about Beasley’s problem, as had everyone, but never wanted to see it. She’d even heard about Beasley tossing Coach Buzz through a window when he was still in full gladiator shape.

“I have no idea how my problem can be of use to anyone.” Beasley set the bottle down and pretended to be listening to the muffled shouts, curses, and threats coming from down the hall. “The new girl sure isn’t happy about what her mother did.”

Beasley Gardner realized she was feeling a little tipsy. She usually didn’t drink because, well, drinking and raging went hand-in-hand, and she was an officially classified Rager, according to the Consortium psychiatrists who’d evaluated her. They seemed to have names for everyone. Her dossier read Unexplained Induced Rage Disorder. That was better than hearing
Incredible Hulkess
in the halls of Sterling.

When she looked at diminutive Kimberlee Newkirk sitting across from her, chatting like Beasley was one of the girls, she didn’t know what else to do but fidget. She hated feeling uncomfortable, and hated feeling vulnerable even worse. She sensed Kimberlee was going to ask her to talk about it. Beasley knew only one way, forward, and so asked, “So what is a Succubus, anyway?”

Kimberlee coughed, spilling the wine on the carpet. For a moment it looked like both girls would sit there, eternally frozen, until Kimberlee laughed a little. “Christ, Beasley, why don’t you just come out and say it next time? ‘Hey, Kimberlee, have you ever killed a guy while kissing him?’ Or, ‘Hey, Kimberlee, is it true your tongue is three feet long?’”

Beasley grinned a big grin.

“Look at you,” Kimberlee said.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I smile.” Beasley threw her meaty arms up in mock confusion. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t know what I am, but I don’t like it.” Kimberlee fiddled with her drink, as if it might suddenly fill up all by itself. “If they can help me, I’ll do whatever they want.”

Beasley nodded. “Me too.”

They heard the shouting increase, then creaking hinges. Kimberlee said, “The door’s opening.”

She crawled to her door, cracked it, and peeked down the hall. She saw Mrs. Wellborn standing in the hall looking back in the room, and not pleased.

“The brand will be taken care of, Simone,” Mrs. Wellborn said. “Stop worrying about it. Just stop—”

The door slammed in the Consortium agent’s face.

“Snap!” Kimberlee said. “Simone just said a big screw you to her mother. God, she’s crazy.” Kimberlee peeked again. Mrs. Wellborn was gone. “All clear. Should we?”

Beasley stood over her like a giant who could hold up the world. Again the smile, this one with more wild abandon, as if she might enjoy getting caught. Beasley stepped over and pushed open the door. “Time for some more girl talk.”

* * *

“She wants me to be like her.”

Simone threw herself face down on her bed. Her pillow was soaked, and her sheets all crumpled, and she knew she looked like a mess, but she didn’t care. She had put her long-sleeved shirt back on to cover the horrible brand on her chest. It itched, and made her feel like dying. She groaned again.

Her bucky was in the far corner, where she’d left it. It hadn’t worked since she’d gotten back.
Not with this mark of the beast on my chest.

“My life is ruined,” Simone said. She sat up and faced her friends. “You two are drunk. Oh my god, you’re really drunk.”

Kimberlee shook her head. “Not that much. You want some? I can go get it.” She looked at Beasley, who was grinning. “I think she left a little in the bottle.”

“I want answers,” Simone replied.

“You got your ass kicked,” Beasley said. “By a real RAI. That was scary.”

Kimberlee cut in. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She realized she was unraveling, right here, right in front of them. If she didn’t salvage herself, word would spread around school the new girl was a crybaby. “I mean ... my mom says I am.” She pulled down the collar of her shirt. “I got branded.”

“You did,” Beasley said, leaning in to see.

Kimberlee knelt by the bed. “Does it hurt?”

“Itches.”

“You’re done for now,”  Beasley said.

Kimberlee and Simone both shot her evil looks.

Kimberlee crossed her arms. “There must be something—”

“My mom says it’ll fade. It’s just a beacon. They’re coming for me.”

“Coming for you?” Kimberlee replied, casting Beasley a glance to keep quiet. “That’s not good news.”

“Without my lords ... ” Simone fell back down, eyes closed, and beat her mattress like it mattered.

Neither Beasley nor Kimberlee asked about her
lords
. They obviously both knew illegal talk when they heard it. Worshipping an RAI would land you in jail, and you’d probably never return. Her lords weren’t that different from Rogues to most people. They could make the distinction.

“I heard about a guy who slaved himself to a Rogue,” Beasley said. “After getting him to fill his house with all sorts of chemicals, it turned him into a freakin’ ball that rolled down the street into traffic. He exploded.”

Kimberlee interrupted. “I think we all heard about that—”

“Did you hear about the house?” Beasley asked. “Took out an entire block when it exploded.” Her genial mood had disappeared at mention of the Rogue attack. She pointed at Simone. “If your mother thinks that brand will help you kick your false lords, then I’m all for it, unless it does something worse. You better be too, Sister, because it’s definitely real.” Neither girl said anything as the pressure in the room increased. “One more thing. Stay away from me, until it’s gone. It makes me
uncomfortable
.”

Beasley moved quicker than they thought possible, and left.

“Was she about to turn?” Kimberlee asked.

Simone put her face in her hands. “See what I am now? I’m like Joss. I’m a—”

Kimberlee put her finger to her friend’s lips. “No more bad words.”

Simone turned away and pitied herself for being Skippard and Yancey Wellborn’s daughter. She had always known it would come to this confrontation. Hadn’t she? She’d been the center of their family since she was a young child. She couldn’t remember a time when everyone around her didn’t stare down at her with wide eyes and welcoming smiles and the encouragement that she could do anything in the world she wanted.

The father she’d barely known had been loving, she remembered. She missed him, although she had stopped thinking about him every day and stopped asking what had happened to him a long time ago. She’d seen the relief in her mother’s eyes and her brother’s that the questions had diminished. Daddy was gone. No explanation. No grave to visit. Just silence. But Simone wasn’t good at silence and had continued to challenge her mother about it. The real fights, though, had come when her mother returned from her job overseas, and would say nothing. Simone now knew these were real missions with real cy-warriors in real battles with Rogues. That was when her mother stopped encouraging her to trust in her lords. That was when she turned away from the true light. And the rift between mother and daughter only widened each year of her life. She couldn’t fault her father, who just never came home one day. But her mother ...

Simone felt another bout of tears coming and forced them back so that Kimberlee wouldn’t try to comfort her. Kimberlee sat in a chair, watching. Simone wanted to be left alone to pout in her moment of defeat, but she said nothing to her new friend. She missed her father more than anything. What could Kimberlee say to help that?

Simone rolled over and faced the wall and bit back her whimpers. She wondered what her father would say, if he could see her now.

* * *

Daddy is the biggest man she remembers. He’s at least seven feet tall and looks like a giant to the young five year old. His remaining son, Rigon—after his oldest, Jonen, died—follows him into the hallway by the stairs in their huge home where they all live together. Rigon has the same build as their father, the same walk, same thick head of hair, and the same can-do attitude, and even though he’s almost twenty years older than her, they’re best friends.

He lifts her off her feet, and swings her round and round a few times.

“My little pest,” Rigon says, “have you been practicing?”

He sets her down and she stumbles about, but grabs his pants to right herself.

Daddy looks like he might return to his lab in the basement to work. He’s in his favorite robe and has just finished breakfast. He’s still munching on a piece of toast.

She knows he is old, but he looks so
young
.

“She’s up to her third kata,” Daddy said. “Her mother says she’s an expert.”

“That’s great,” Rigon says. “Our little one will rule the world one day, won’t she?”

Both of them beam down at her with all the promise of the Wellborn family.

“Your mother and brother will guide you,” Daddy says, “as I guided them. And we’ll all live together forever. Isn’t that right, Rigon?”

“Sure, Dad.”

Rigon interferes before Daddy can say more by stepping in. He scoops her up and swings her around again. She wants to hear more of Daddy’s ideas, even though everyone always seems to be shushing him, or interrupting, forcing him back to his lab where he works away, hour after hour, on something called the Protocols. Simone doesn’t know what they are but knows they’re important.

“Let’s go see Mom,” Rigon says.

“She’s workin’ out.”

Mom will soon be leaving for a few months. She’s been hired by Daddy’s company to help with the troubles, but Simone doesn’t understand this, and thinks Mom will just be gone for a short time. Daddy is excited, and so is Rigon, who also works for Daddy, but her mother always acts like she’ll be homesick after a day or so. Simone knows she’ll miss her.

Rigon and Simone find Mom in her space, doing her movements, and speaking her words, making her mind right. To Simone, who has been imitating her since she can remember, her mother is all powerful: the kind of woman all moms should be—except, she sometimes makes Simone practice when all she wants to do is watch TV. Today, Mom is drenched in sweat in a skimpy leotard that shows her boobies and butt, but makes her look like a super athlete you’d see on the shows.