Free Rupture by Curtis Hox Page B

it to the ground.” She stood in slow motion. As she crossed the sill, she said to no one in particular, “Keep her in her room until her mother arrives.”
    “Sorry.” Principal Smalls said to Simone before closing the door.  

THREE

    THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION COUNCIL’S most recognizable member, Rigon Wellborn, licensed Consortium AI Police Agent and famous Consortium poster boy, strode into the clinic. He was tall, well-built, damned good-looking, and charming. By the look of him, he had all four fundamental enhancement packages, plus every extra layer money could buy, and, obviously, it was great to be him.
    Principal Smalls and the few students who lingered saw a man wearing laced-up combat boots, black cargo pants, and a short-sleeved button down. He looked like he might be a model or an athlete ready for work or play in the jungle. He wore a pair of highly prized black Consortium Mirrorshades that completely hid his eyes and were grafted into the side of his head, a sure sign he was also a registered Cybertranshuman. On the left front pocket of his shirt was an embroidered symbol of his profession: the International Consortium Cyber Police Agency’s white-and-gold flag with a human face in its center.
    Rigon scanned the room, reading data on everyone he saw through his real-time, retinal-interface HUD. He was wired in his head with several service AIs that downloaded data for him from his own personal metaverse. He learned what he needed to know about them all in a glance. “Cordon off this area. No one gets in or out without my permission.”
    He heard each of his team’s affirmatives through the augmented audio chip spliced into his auditory nerves. He ignored the defective Tranz students he saw lit up in his HUD. The display spread out before him as he moved, dropping tiles of data all around the room. He breathed deeply and smelled the traces of Sterling’s cybernetic systems in the air. From his left, down the hall, and behind a door, he sensed the heavy weight of a major nanopresence.
    That’s him. Poor kid.
    He took a full two minutes of complete stillness to let his own nanostructures orient themselves for what they were about to encounter. He understood the power of these RAIs to transform flesh in a matter of seconds. It was one of their most powerful weapons. His bosses in New York—and his mother—would disagree. Rigon had been arguing with her on the way to Sterling. He had flown in from New York; she was coming from Singapore. She wanted him to be just as cautious of the psychic attacks the Rogues might use, as he would be of the physical. He would, of course, but his strength had always been in cycontrol, and he wouldn’t let his systems be invaded and manipulated—not by some Rogue AI with the balls to show itself.
    He felt every nanoparticle in his body respond to his call for fortifications. He could run through a wall, if he had to, or fire, or ice. He now possessed a good hour of complete control of his phenotype. He was ready. And if things went bad, he’d trigger a device at his hip. He felt comforted it was there, knowing at any minute he could use it to transform himself into a killing machine.
    He saw Keila and Arthur Vaughn walk into the clinic with Sterling’s fight coach, Buzzal Vaughn. Arthur wore a conservative three-piece suit, as well as a fedora. He stood ramrod straight and stared fearfully at Rigon as if he were going to burn the place to the ground. Keila looked like she always did: at just over five feet, five inches, with flaming rust-colored hair that she loved to let hang freely, she stared at him as if she might start yelling at any minute.
    “You look beat up, man,” Rigon said to Buzz, snapping out of his trance with an instant smile, the readouts around Buzz flashing red in Rigon’s HUD. Buzz was awash in Rejuv bots doing their good work. He and Buzz went way back, just as he went back with lovely Keila, who stared at him like she wanted to run him over with