Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (51 page)

Seneschal jerked her around, swinging her toward another wall. Kirsten got a foot up, and ran up the crumbling surface, spun over his shoulder, and slipped out of his hold. She staggered back three steps before gaining her footing and brought her mental weapon to bear. The lash bored into his back, searing a path through him as he whirled about to face her. Icarus appeared at her side, shuddering. Everything about his body said rage, except his eyes, which held regret.

Gloved hands wrapped around her head, tearing her away from Seneschal. Icarus flung her to the ground. She slid, spinning, over several small painful things.
Yep. I miss the armor.

Icarus stomped towards her, leaving Seneschal to clutch the point the lash caught him and gather his energy. Conflict glimmered in his eyes, regret clashed with inflated rage. At the sight of Vikram moving between posts, Seneschal staggered to his feet and summoned his rifle.

A thick mass of shadow moved in the distance, eight dim red eyes focused on Icarus. Kirsten looked up at him, not flinching at the sound of Dorian’s spectral laser shooting at Seneschal. She scampered backwards, trying to get on her feet as he closed. Icarus lunged in and grabbed her around the throat, hauling her into the air one-armed. She grabbed his wrist, gasping for air. Sound plunged into blurriness, as if underwater, within which she heard Charazu’s whispering.

“
Kill, kill, kill.”

I’m sorry.
Lightheaded, she knew a blackout was imminent, and then death. There was no choice.

A hastily gathered lash to the body sent Icarus sliding away. Kirsten landed on her feet, stumbled, and fell to her knees gagging for air and trying not to vomit. Her mind ached; empowered by extreme fear, the attack triggered the same painful mental recoil she got from mind blasting the living. Icarus went motionless on the ground, his flesh and clothing melting into a puddle.

“One down,” Vikram cheered. “You are next, Dalton.”

Kirsten dragged herself against a post, rubbing her throat and trying to get the dancing specks out of her vision. Hazy sounds of gunfire and shouting echoed as she searched for a second wind. Dorian’s yell shifted pitch as he sailed past her through the air. As she stood, Vikram sprinted through the column behind which she hid.

“Bad man is coming,” he whispered.

Kirsten edged two steps back. Vikram stopped, turning to face his pursuer. He whirled left and right in the open as if searching for a hiding place. Seneschal came through seconds later, raising his rifle with a dark grin.

“You’re out of ammo. I counted. All 493 shots.” Vikram pointed.

Seneschal chuckled. “Doesn’t use ammo anymore.”

Kirsten leapt from the shadows, raking the energy whip down Seneschal’s back. He howled, arching forward on tiptoe as his essence disrupted into black flakes floating away like ash on the breeze. She growled, remembering the dream, remembering the claws taking blood from Evan’s defenseless throat. Dorian arrived, jogging through a section of wall. The intensity of the lash made him pause, raising an arm to shield his eyes.

The tendril moved with a sound like roaring flames, piercing Seneschal at the shoulder and snagging on something at the center of his being. Kirsten pulled it taut, her power channeled into the desire to purge darkness from the world. He clawed at the thread of light protruding from his gut, howling as it sent racing cracks through his armored vest.

All sound sucked into a vortex of silence. Kirsten’s eyes leaked white fog as she thought of the look on Evan’s face, the blood on his throat. The lash flickered.

Seneschal erupted in a flash of white light and black smoke; fragments lingered on the breeze for seconds at a time before fluttering to the ground. The force of his obliteration knocked Kirsten off her feet, sending her sliding into a pile of collected metal scraps. The sound of distant shattering glass continued for several seconds through the silence. Somewhere, far away, car alarms went off.

She lowered her arm to expose her face, no longer worried about debris. Icarus, still a puddle, moaned. Dorian surveyed the spot of floor where Seneschal had last been, shaking his head with disbelief.

Vikram peeled himself out of a mound of junk and grinned. “You did it. You got him.” He approached, offering a hand.

Kirsten squinted at him as she stood without help. “Yeah, I did. You’re forgetting something else. I found out about you. You’re not a ghost, Vikram; you are the same as they were.”

His demeanor changed, skin darkened. The out-of-his-element affect of a hacker in a warzone turned to menace.

“A few thousand people died horrible, lingering deaths because of what you did for money. You played both sides, wearing a white hat by day and a black one at night.” She circled him. “You know I have to send you back, too. I’m not going to let you hurt N0ra. Dalton and Mariko already refused to accept their fate. Now, neither one of them exist in any sense of the concept. Don’t make the same mistake, Vikram.”

“Traitorous whores, both of you.” He leapt, clawing at her throat.

Kirsten leaned out from under it, recovering her balance as Vikram whirled. “She did what is right. The stain is on
your
soul for murdering the innocent. She may have brought about the circumstances of your death, but you did push the button yourself. You created your afterlife with the murder of innocents, and you entered it by killing yourself.”

“She violated the code.” His second leap scratched her sleeve.

“Like you wouldn’t turn on a fellow deck cowboy if someone offered enough money.” Kirsten let the lash stretch to the ground. “I guess you’re not planning to go back where you belong without a fight.”

“I belong right h―”

Dorian sacked him from behind, sliding on top of him for several feet. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Vikram reached up, clawing at Dorian’s shoulder. He wrenched Vikram over, struggling to contain him. Kirsten shifted, trying to find a place to sneak a lash in without hitting Dorian. Their grapple came apart, Dorian ducked a claw swipe and punched Vikram square in the side of the cheek, knocking him back several paces. The former hacker’s eyes tracked the glimmering lash as Kirsten closed in, distracting him from Dorian’s next move. A downward punch across the face knocked Vikram to all fours.

Kirsten feigned to the right, and then spun around the other way, trailing the lash straight into where Vikram tried to dodge. The hit knocked him on his back, his form faded translucent. He gasped, raking his fingers through the air, moaning.

“Either avarice and greed make weaker demons than hatred, or the crew got a piece of you when I wasn’t watching.” Kirsten stalked after him. “Last chance, Vikram. Do you accept the consequences of your life? Will go you back where you belong?”

He held a hand up in surrender, nodding. She relaxed.

The fearful stare went dark. He leapt. Kirsten yelped, startled. Vikram’s mouth spread to inhuman width, packed with pointed teeth. She went backwards as they collided; warm drool and a lick of a tongue touched her throat before a prick of painful fang found skin.

Dorian’s face rose up over Vikram’s shoulder, brows jammed together in an angry glare. He seized Vikram by the shoulders, halting his dive and letting Kirsten fall away to the ground. Dorian stepped into a spin, hauling Vikram around and throwing him down. From the ground, Kirsten struck out and split the returned deck jockey in half in a dazzling flash of blue-white light. A demonic wail rose into the air as his severed legs sank into an expanding black miasma. She shifted up onto her knees and slapped the energy whip down once more, splattering what remained of his upper body into a detonation of hot, black ectoplasm. The energy wave from Vikram’s obliteration fluttered her hair and washed through her on the breath of an icy wind. Seneschal had been stronger; there were no windows left to break.

The lash flickered and went out. Kirsten sat back on her heels, staring at the spot, tracing fingertips over a bloody scratch on her shoulder.

“Are you upset you had to do that, or upset you were wrong about him being savable?”

“Everyone’s savable,” she whispered. “They just have to want it.”

He reached for her, valiant in his effort not to appear weakened again.

“Thanks.” Kirsten stood, accepting his hand. “I’m not sure I have enough left for the gate.”

“Help!” Shani’s yell warped into a shriek of primal terror.

“I heard her that time.” Dorian shot her a look.

Kirsten held up a fistful of three stimpaks at once, and pulled the safety caps off with her teeth. The synthetic adrenaline entered her thigh with the force of a full night’s rest.

“Yeah. Me too.”

ailing emanated from the far reaches of the blown-out level. At one corner of the building, an intact enclosure contained the stairwell access. Kirsten sprinted up to it, clearing debris away from the door. Expecting more resistance, she yanked hard on the handle, but leapt back with a squeal of alarm as the door fell off its hinges to the ground. On the landing in front of the steps, a circle of black spray paint surrounded a small altar with a metal eyebolt at each corner. Pictographs similar to the ones drawn beneath the gate etched the entire surface. At the center, an ancient knife gleamed in the feeble light of a solitary LED bulb dangling from a naked wire.

Shani cowered against the far corner of the room, nightgown stained with dirt, hands tied behind her back, and ankles bound. A scrap of cloth hung loose around her neck, soaked wet where it had been used as a gag. She sniveled, her tear-streaked face lit up with recognition.

The altar was just big enough for her.

“Shani.” Kirsten rushed over. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think Seneschal did this.” Dorian shook his head at the altar. “There’s a live one we haven’t seen yet.”

“I’m scared,” Shani whined.

Kirsten picked her up, balancing the girl on one arm as she reached for the decorative knife to cut the rope. She stopped, hand two inches away.

“I… no, that just seems like a bad idea. I don’t want this knife anywhere near you.”

After carrying the girl out to where the patrol craft headlights created a bright spot in the unnatural night, Kirsten set her down, took a small utility cutter off her belt, and got to work on the rope around her legs.

“Who brought you here?”

“A man.” Shani sniffled. “He put something over my head, I didn’t see him.”

Icarus gurgled. His puddle-self changed shape, as if trying to drift closer.

“I’ll call them in a moment.” Kirsten stopped cutting for a second to look at him, cringing at the ghastly sight. She pushed down on the cutter, digging black cord into Shani’s skin. “Damn. What the hell did they use?”

“What?” Dorian leaned over.

“I don’t see a knot in here, and this cord is laughing at my uti knife.”

Dorian folded his arms. “I kept saying they should issue Nano.”

“They’re worried about accidents, I guess.”

Icarus’s arm slurped out of the muck, dark flesh sliding off the bones in pink clumpy glops. “Aaaahhhhzzz…”

“Damn.” Dorian looked away. “If there was only a way to take a picture of that, we could get rid of violent crime for good.”