Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (41 page)

Rifles drooped. Pale grey helmets swiveled back and forth. One of them mumbled, no doubt to a communicator.

Kirsten squinted at him. “Tell Kincaid to relax before he has a stroke.”

Dorian sidled up next to her. “She’s got dye-red hair, black at the ends. Wearing a Netßunny shirt.”

“All I want is to have a chat with the redhead in the netbunny shirt.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “What the hell is a netbunny?”

“Famous deck jockey, some kind of cyberspace folk hero or celebrity, I think.”

A few minutes passed in a cold, awkward silence, broken only by the occasional sound of sheet metal flapping somewhere in the wind, and an unseen can rolling. Kirsten gazed past the guards, watching the glimmer of the mid-afternoon sun play with the ocean. A hundred yards past the gate, a section of building turned from white to black as a door opened. The motion drew her attention away from the sea. A man with the build of a former soldier came walking out upon the base of a great angled shadow.

He wore the same armor as the rest of the guards, but had no helmet, and had more small devices on his belt. Gleaming silver thread danced in the air behind two large pistols, one per hip, evidence of a cybernetic targeting link. White hair, too short to notice the breeze, glowed as he moved through a patch of unobstructed sun.

“So they weren’t bullshitting me. A single cop shows up at the gate asking to see one of our assets.”

I never did care for people who referred to other people as assets.
“That’s correct. You must be Kincaid. I’m investigating a paranormal event, and have reason to believe one of your
contractors
may be in possession of an item that used to belong to the spirit I am pursuing. I don’t care what you’re doing here; I just want to find this ghost.”

Kincaid made a face and drew in a deep breath as though he was about to scream at a teenaged daughter for sucking down too many pills. Red flooded his cheeks and faded, and then he took a step back. “Ugh. God damned psionics always make my God damned testicles itch. Tell me, kid, you ever get a case of Martian Nut Fleas?”

She glanced down at her form-fitting uniform. “Nope. Never been to Mars, and I don’t have―”

“You don’t need actual balls, girl, to get them fleas. You look like the kind of nail-picking, pale-faced, prissy, bottled-water-drinking, sushi-eating, salad-munching, forty-credit-latte-slurping, shaved-beaver kinda bureaucrat what never has anything give them an itch like I’m talking about.” He pointed at her chest. “Well then, you don’t have a damn single idea what I’m talking about. Itch so bad, makes you wanna just tear them off.” He mimicked the gesture. “Psios are the same way. They’re like those fleas. Makes ̓em itch, and not in a good way.”

Kirsten leaned close to the fence. “I don’t think there
is
such a thing as a damned Martian Nut Flea. You’re just trying to scare me off with some ex-military ‘oh, boy I’ve seen some shit that’ll turn you white’ chest-puffing macho bullshit you think will send me crying home to my bitch mother. Whatever you saw on Mars, trust me, it’s got nothing on what waits on the other side of the living world. I’ve seen things that will make
you
suck your thumb and wish you were dealing with something as tame as mutated scrotal parasites.”

Snickering corporate security men turned away from their boss, trying to hide their amusement.

Kincaid’s hard expression remained for another ten seconds before he cracked up laughing. “Not bad, kid. I almost believe you. I’ll give you a quick tour, but your attack dog’s gotta wait here.”

“I don’t trust it.” Templeton shifted his weight onto one leg.

Nothing in Kincaid’s head caused any worry about her safety. “It’s all right.”
I peeked at his thoughts, he’s just worried you’re a hitter for the competition.

Templeton had little reaction to Kirsten’s voice in his head. “I said it’s your show. If you want to take the chance, go right ahead.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it. Thank you for coming out here, I wasn’t honestly expecting them to be willing to talk. Corporates don’t usually believe me when I say I don’t give a crap what they’re up to.” She faced Kincaid again, nodding her acceptance.

“I’ll wait for you here,” said Templeton, folding his arms as if daring the corporates to try to move him.

She followed Kincaid over forty yards worth of discolored plastisteel tiles bearing stains where old cargo containers once stacked. He stopped unexpectedly, raising a hand.

“What?” Annoyance wafted from her face.

The retired solider stared just to the left of Dorian. “I’m bein’ told there’s a thermal anomaly following us. You got a tail, maybe a cloaking suit.”

“That’s just my partner. He’s a ghost.” She put an arm across Dorian’s shoulders. “Let me guess, you’re seeing a cold spot right about here?”

“So much for the element of surprise,” said Dorian.

“Oh, like they’re going to believe me anyway.”

Kincaid pushed his hand through Dorian’s chest, waving it around.

“So tempting…” The corner of Dorian’s mouth curled up.

After a few more passes of his arm failed to find a solid spy, he gave up. “Ghost, huh?”

“I said I’m here trying to find a ghost. I brought another one to help.”

Kincaid scratched his balls.

The upper floor of the primary operations facility was set up in the image of a temporary military command post. Kirsten followed her escort past a dozen more rifle-toting individuals in the same armor. Automated sentry guns swiveled; the awful chirping buzz they emitted as their aim swept over her made her feel a little better. They did not disable the police ID lockout. Knowing the sentry guns could not shoot at her eased some of her worry.

Sheets of hanging plastic, tinted metallic green from thousands of embedded wires, draped over a scaffold of thin pipes and enclosed a work area once used for shipping clerks. Twenty-eight desks and two empty spaces occupied the room among support columns and old office equipment. Six people lounged about, all watching her walk in behind Kincaid.

All the screens were dark, all the operators had logged out. Kirsten moved among the desks and nodded at a pair of Jamaicans in red military pants and black jackets before offering a pleasant smile at a short Hispanic man in normal street clothes. He had his boots up on the desk by a shiny black Nishihama deck, tapping a sheathed knife against his thigh. Just past him, an older man with silvery stubble and an old-fashioned tobacco pipe blew smoke through the blank dimness of a holographic panel. Three desks pushed together gave him a horseshoe workspace, each containing a deck plugged into the back of his head. Large and indelicate like the man, the drab green hardware looked hardened by many years of use. One of them bore the logo of Titan Corporation. Wrinkles gathered and bunched about his mouth as the stubble undulated into a smile. Deep-set eyes pierced through her, glimmering bright in contrast to his old military coat.

“Wow, a multi-boarder. Two alchemists and a Titan Ultra… gotta be a former military operator, might even be burned out C-Branch.”

Her expression told Dorian she had no idea what he just said, making him laugh. Past the older man, a woman in her early twenties draped her body over a matte-black deck, as if trying to listen to the machinery. Staring sideways at the wall, she whispered in rapid pulses. Half her hair was white, the other hot pink. A four-inch-tall strip of black cloth wrapped her chest, and everything from the waist down was lost beneath the largest, most cumbersome looking mass of frilly, lacy blackness Kirsten had ever laid eyes on. One boot tip, painted with black cat eyes, poked out from under the skirt. On the side of the deck, a sticker bore the silhouette of a charred man on fire, with a fragment of wire dangling out of his head.

She twitched, muttering “comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon” in an endless repeat. When she spotted the approaching pair, she flew upright in the chair. “Wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna login. I hear the electrons calling me.”

Kincaid glowered. “I’d appreciate it if you made this quick. Lorelei dosed some high-grade boosters for the run, they’re wasting.”

The frenetic woman held her hands up as proof, two silvery-blue octagons about an inch across gleamed, one pasted to each wrist.

“I think she took too much.” Kirsten frowned at him. “Please tell me you have a medic?”

“She’ll be fine, and yes.”

Kirsten stepped over the bulky skirt. “Really, I’m not here about what they’re doing online; you can let her in.”

Lorelei clasped her hands together under her chin, giving Kirsten an adoring look, and then promptly fainted over the desk. She had gone back inside, regardless of what Kincaid wanted.

The last contractor, a surly-looking girl who seemed younger than twenty, sat with her arms folded across her chest. She was as Dorian described, wearing a charcoal-grey shirt so tight it looked painted on. Cloth-covered buttons ran from the side of her neck over the left shoulder, and down to the start of plain black fatigue pants. Yellow circuit lines traced the image of a psychotically cute ax-wielding rabbit with pink hearts for eyes, a stream of cables out of its ears into a dozen net decks. The word “Netßunny” printed just below it.

The deck in front of her was unusual in its length, almost four feet from end to end. About a third of it on the right side had a different overall aesthetic design as if Vikram had grafted two lesser units together; all of it charred and damaged. Where one small cosmetic flange had snapped off, dark blue metal threads gleamed.

“What’s with the funny b?” Kirsten leaned back to whisper in Dorian’s nonexistent ear.

“Something the hackers do; I don’t understand it, either.”

Kirsten leaned over, examining the gleam. “Vikram molded a case out of DuraFib armor. Explains why it survived.”

“This the one you wanted?” asked Kincaid.

“Yep.”

He faced the room. “Okay, everyone back in, no open terminal screens until we’re secure.”

“Get away from my deck, lady.” The girl let her boots drop to the floor.

“I just need to touch it; I’m not going to break it.” Kirsten put a hand on it, feeling for traces.

“Diva gave it to me.”

The girl grabbed Kirsten’s arm, and wound up on her face across the desk after a smooth flip.

“Guess you are learning something from Gabriel. Nice reversal.” Dorian clapped.

“Ow! You’re gonna break my fucking arm!” A subtle tone of imminent tears skimmed below the anger in her voice.

Kirsten leaned over her. “And you just assaulted an officer of the law. Can you keep your hands to yourself, or do I need to restrain you?”

The girl clawed at the far edge of the desk with her free hand, whining, nodding. Kirsten let go, not prepared for the pouty glare that came back at her once the girl fell into the seat.

“What’s your name, how old are you?” Kirsten leaned on the desk. “Don’t lie to a psionic cop, it’s a bad idea.”

“N0ra, with a zero not an o. I’m ei―sixteen.”

“Sixteen? Parents?”

“Dad went to Mars, never came home. Don’t know if he’s dead or just ditched, don’t much care either.”

“Mother?”

“She emptied dad’s credit statement on some cosmetic surgery place. She’s fifty but looks your age now, found a new man who hates kids. Course, it’s awkward to have a sixteen-year-old daughter if you’re trying to act twenty-one. She left. I got thrown out of the apartment last month when they repoed it.”

“Guess mom expected her to pick up the rent,” said Dorian.

Lorelei popped awake again, chattering on about some “Bitsmasher” soft.

“It’s no big deal. Sarge took me in.” Her hair swirled about as she smiled at Kinkaid.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow. Kincaid’s glare flattened.

“No! Eww.” N0ra shivered. “He’s a better dad than the sperm donor.”

After verifying she was in the system, Kirsten lowered her wearable terminal and gestured at the deck. “So how’d you really get this? You said someone named Diva gave it to you?”

“Divanda… something Indian sounding.”

Kirsten checked through her notes, face lit green by a pane of scrolling text above her arm. “Dvandva93 maybe?”

“Yeah. We hung out in the same group when I was on the street. He, uhh… got out of the biz, gave it to me when he quit. So his name is Vikram?”

“Was, Nora with a zero.” Kirsten got ready to console her. “He’s dead.”

N0ra picked under her fingernails, and then picked at the deck. The endless chatter from Lorelei ceased after a giggle; her body collapsed over the desk like a smashed gothic faerie. Kirsten turned to check on her, but relaxed at the sense of active surface thoughts; the rapid streaming lines of cyberspace the woman now saw knocked Kirsten dizzy for a few seconds. Kincaid kept a close eye on the terminal screens, making sure they stayed dark.

“Diva was an asshole.” N0ra’s face reddened. “No, he didn’t touch me. He killed thousands of people.”

“What?” Kirsten and Dorian both blurted at once.

“I found some shit on him… He did a hack on Antheus Biochem about a year ago. They had testing and fabrication facilities somewhere in Africa and India. Another outfit paid him to sabotage stuff; he rerouted pumps and let experimental shit out. I can’t even pronounce the crap, the words were
this
long”―N0ra held her hands apart―“the clouds wiped out a lot of people before the company got rid of it.”