Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (34 page)

irsten sat on the rear bumper of the van. Bracing her sore knee, she watched slow drifting forms in the smog above change shape. Stillness settled over the desolation; even the wind decided to abandon this place. With every breath, her breast ached; tiny scratches on the armor the only evidence of a bullet’s touch. The words of Icarus drifted through her thoughts; she wanted―no
needed
―to know what he meant by her being
the one.

Damn, Vikram. What was he going to tell me before you chased him off like an idiot? Was he sincere, or was I being lured into another trap? Why am I so gullible?

The scuff of a boot on the footpath made her head pop up out of her hands. She drew her legs into the van, hooking a finger through the peeling inner lining of the door to pull it closer.

“Fuck you, Noz.” The voice of a woman came from the right. “Why’d you have to give me this shit? You know I don’t wanna do this shit no more.”

Huddled against the door, she peered up through the absent glass as a woman with bright lime hair stumbled along. Huge compared to its wearer, a Sons of Charon jacket fit her like a whorishly short dress. A compact sub-gun dangled on a strap over the image of the robe-clad skeleton. Loose grey pants wobbled as if heavy, small objects filled the thigh pockets.

Kirsten noted them.
Ammo, maybe drugs, maybe grenades.

“Noz. Fuckin’ Noz.” The woman swayed back and forth like a little girl singing a children’s song. “Give Leaf drugs, Frenchman’s gonna be pissed at you. Leaf wants to quit.”

In the woman’s opening hand, a mass of black crumbles. Rainbows gleamed on the surface, giving it the appearance of coal glass fragments.

Nightcandy.
Kirsten cringed.
Poor thing, that’s nasty shit. Hard to kick.

I won’t tell the Frenchman if you won’t.
Kirsten sent her thoughts into the woman’s head.

Fist clamped closed over the drug. Arms to the sides, she went wide-eyed and looked at the sky. “God?” She cackled. “I always knew you were a girl, too!” The green-haired waif spun in a giggling circle, as if trying to will herself to fly.

Kirsten let her forehead hit the door.
What the hell is she doing here… never mind, I can guess what they use her for.

The girl named Leaf stopped spinning, taking a step farther away and asked the clouds why they stopped talking to her. Kirsten slipped out from the van, stunrod in hand, and tiptoed up behind her. Chances were good even the silver cyborg from before could have snuck up on this one. Kirsten tapped her upon the head like a faerie with a magic wand. The stunrod flickered; Leaf fluttered to the ground.

The rod back on her belt, she dragged the unconscious girl to the van and removed the weapon and jacket before cuffing her hands behind her. After tossing the Nightcandy into the junk pile, Kirsten removed her helmet and set it to the side. She pulled the doors closed, straddled the unconscious woman, and brushed neon green hair away from a grime-streaked face.

“You poor thing.”

Kirsten forced the young woman’s eyes open with her thumbs and dove into her mind. Rene had etched his thralldom onto her neural pathways. Unlike Nila and her daughter, the effect on Leaf was closer to the surface. Direct and immediate, it was similar to the suggestions Kirsten could use; only hers lasted for a few minutes while Rene’s were closer to permanent. It was a technique she did not know―and did not much want to learn.

What he did to Leaf was more obvious, simpler, and easier to remove. Once satisfied the girl was no longer a loyal drone soldier of a rogue psionic, she decided to try a deep telepathic dive. The pathway to inner thoughts felt as if she slid naked through a plastic tube full of warm jelly. Kirsten shivered; she had never tried to go deeper into someone’s memory than surface thoughts before. Rumor claimed the task easier on an unconscious person, and she had time to kill waiting for Dorian, unanswered questions, and a test subject.

Images drifted out of the blackness. Drugs of various kinds, a desperate want to be free of them, but a fate that kept her sliding back into their skeletal embrace. This girl was somewhat better off than Rush; she let the Sons take her under their decrepit wing for personal use rather than sell herself as private enterprise.
Why are you in this sector?
Her voice echoed whispers into the unconscious mind. Scenes rebounded as if the words had bounced away from a wall and come back as pictures.

Perfect white teeth smiled from the well-groomed face of a man in an expensive suit.

Black.

The same man appeared on top of her, slapping and screaming.

“Failure…” Whack. “…amount to anything…” Whack. “…good thing your mother’s dead.”

“Daddy, no.” Leaf’s voice begged in the dark.

The same man crushing down on top of her, then pain, amid fumes of alcohol.

Black.

The image of him asleep, face aglow in the dim orange light of a comforgel pad. A female silhouette appeared in a stretched rectangle of light spreading across the floor.

Gunshots.

Relief mixed with horror.

Kirsten recoiled; warm tears streamed over her cheeks even though she did not want to cry. Hands grasped rotting carpet on either side of Leaf’s head as she sagged forward. Eyes closed, she drew labored breaths trying to get those images―those
feelings
―out of her mind.

Lips met hers. Kirsten’s eyes snapped open, her startled yelp muffled by a tongue. Leaf was kissing her. Kirsten froze, paralyzed for an instant by the sheer startlement of it, as well as the repulsive flavor of whatever this girl last ate.

“Gah!” Kirsten sat up, pushing the woman down by the shoulders and spat to the side. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry, Leaf thought we were making out.”

The ache of the stunrod waned, the sense of handcuffs entered her mind, and the sight of black police armor slapped her with terrifying reality. Kirsten barely got her hand over the girl’s mouth before she could scream.

“Quiet.” Kirsten fought to hold her down for a full minute before she slouched with defeat. “
Quiet,
” she commanded.

Leaf went limp.

“Good.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Listen to me, Leaf. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m not here to arrest you; I want the Frenchman. I’m going to get off of you now, can you stay calm?”

Leaf nodded.

Kirsten climbed away, taking a seat closer to the doors. Leaf struggled in an attempt to sit up until Kirsten grabbed her dingy excuse for a shirt and pulled her seated; after which, she shrank into a ball against the side of the van.

Silence occupied the air for a moment. Kirsten rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Rene got into your head and forced you to serve him. I cleaned it out. I also saw what your father did to you.” Her arm fell away from her face, hanging limp over her knee. “…and what you did to him.”

Leaf almost vomited.

“I’d have shot him, too.”
Liar, you’d have run away. Maybe
they
will understand. Even creatures like Harbingers could forgive her that one; they damn well better.
“Honestly I don’t know how much Division 1 knows; I won’t say anything unless I get called in front of an inquest.” Kirsten summoned a weak smile. “Don’t worry, brain spelunking psionics aren’t admissible; you’re safe.”

Leaf wheezed, her lips doing an impression of a fish as she tried to talk. Kirsten removed the compulsion to be quiet.

“Are you God? You spoke to Leaf out of the sky.”

No, I’m just psionic.

She shivered as the voice entered her thoughts. “Oh.” Leaf sank, dejected.

“What’s your real name? I’m Kirsten.”

“Jennifer Ruiz, but people call Leaf, Leaf ̓cause of green hair.” The dangerously thin girl shook her head, making her lime-hued locks dance around.

“Are you eighteen yet? Do you have any family left you can trust?”

“Eighteen inna couple months. Grandma on my mom’s side, but she won’t want Leaf. Leaf can’t stay clean. Leaf steals and Leaf buys bad things.”

Kirsten flashed a tiny portable light in her eyes, pulling them open one by one. “You said you’re not quite eighteen yet; that means you’re still a minor, and the government will pay for the detox.”

“Yeah, and put Leaf’s ass in jail for killin’ the dad.”

“There is a very good chance it will be considered justifiable considering your circumstances. Besides, that was two years ago; they will treat you as a minor. You don’t like where you are, you want off the shit, and you don’t want to die before twenty, do you?”

Leaf stared at the floor.

“Did you kill anyone when you were with the Sons?”

She shrugged. “Leaf no remember. Got into some scrap-ups with the Zoners and the Diablos a couple of times. Leaf mighta shot some of them.” The girl bit her lower lip. “Leaf close eyes to shoot.”

“Who’s Noz?”

“One of the Sons. He’s got people inside Realtown, can get candy and other stuff. Leaf told him don’t want no more, but he just gave it.” She looked away at the ground, mewling. “Noz knows Leaf can’t stop. Leaf doesn’t like Noz.”

Dorian’s taking too long.

“Okay, Jen. I’m going to go deal with Frenchie. If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll take you with me back to… umm, Realtown and do as much as I can to make them go easy on you. I know I’m a cop and you don’t think I give a shit, but you don’t deserve this life. I’ve seen too many girls like you wind up as ghosts. I don’t want to see another one.”

Kirsten took the purloined jacket and shrugged it on over her armor; shuddering at all the fleas and creepy-crawlies she imagined permeating it. Adding the sub-gun to her outfit, she slipped through the doors.

“Hey.” Leaf scooted forward, tugging at the binders. “Leaf don’t want tied. If finded, Leaf is fucked, for realz.”

With a hand on the door, Kirsten stared at the pathetic creature in the van, aghast at the damage the drugs did to her. She wanted to keep her there, secured, but knew the girl was right―in a literal sense. A few beeps later, the electronic restraints popped open and went back on Kirsten’s belt. Leaf reached for one of the jacket pockets; Kirsten caught her hands.

“Look, I know this seems like a shitty choice between getting killed out here or possible jail time. If it were me, I’d take the nice clean cell and free food and be happy the bastard got what he deserved.”

I could compel her to wait…
I’d be no better than Rene.

Kirsten backed out of the van, the last seconds of her pleading look blocked by the doors she tugged closed after snagging the helmet. Undoing the clip, she fluffed her hair into a curtain of wild blonde with both hands. Kirsten tucked the helmet behind her back, put one hand on the hanging submachine gun, and did her best mimic of Leaf’s strung out stagger.

The men hanging out around the courtyard did not pay too much attention to her as she walked into view. She ducked into a narrow alley just left of the hotel before anyone noticed the gloss black armor on her legs.

“What’cha got there?”

The man’s voice behind her made her spin; her reply came as a squeak. Just past an enclosed conduit, hidden from sight from one side, a large bald man with a heavy beard leaned. Immense arms crossed his chest; his Sons of Charon jacket creaked in protest.