Division Zero: Thrall (23 page)

“Don’t give me that. You’re being a little bitch while I’m getting fucking shot at!”

“I’m sorry,” it chirped. “But, you’re always so rude to me.”

The orbs appeared. Kirsten fired. The alley flashed with deep blue light from each pulse. Forty yards away, two of the murder balls blasted apart amid orange-yellow fire. Free of the weight of the orb, one hover core took off skyward like a missile, leaving a brilliant trail of sparks. It managed to reach the tenth floor before its spiral trajectory caused it to smash into the wall with a dull clank. It bounced between buildings on either side of the alley a few times before it detonated in a dazzling shower of sparks that crept like spiders down the metal walls.

Kirsten ducked away from the corner as the remaining two orbs ripped full-auto in her direction. Cringing from the noise and debris spray, she decided to run rather than risk popping out for another shot. The sensation of her soles peeling and unpeeling off the ground, picking up any stray piece of light trash, brought her dinner back into her throat. The scent of garbage and urine in the air only got worse the farther she ran.

After another left, a grey concrete building came into view. None of the street level windows had any glass left in them. The interior was dark and wide open―but sunken. Without a second thought, she hopped up onto the windowsill, which was about knee-high from the sidewalk. Finding the place empty, save for a few cube desks and upturned chairs, she jumped down and ran to crawl into a hollow under one of the sturdier looking workstations.

Roaches the size of butter sticks scurried out of her way as she tucked herself into a ball. The whirring, electronic noise of the orbs outside grew louder; then faded. She wanted to sigh with relief, but held it in. Shivering made enough noise already. Tucking her E-90 between her knees, Kirsten grabbed her NetMini. A pink cartoon kitten-face displayed with fat raindrop-tears flying out of its eyes.

“Please don’t make a sound,” she whispered.

The kitten nodded and faded out to the normal control interface. At least the models with AIs recognized their owners, and she did not need to put in a passcode. Kirsten stared at her filthy toes and frowned at how little her garment covered.

“I called for help” scrolled through the air just above the device.

Kirsten thumbed her way through several screens, placing an order for an athletic suit and sneakers. She paid the extra fifty credits for “super rush” delivery. At the sound of hover-inducers returning, she clamped the screen to her chest to hide the holographic emitter’s light. The orbs went by again, missing her. A minute of nauseating, cold silence passed with her staring at her now-grimy legs. The E-90 offered some reassurance, just from holding it.

Light swam over the walls as a rectangular bot floated into the room. She tensed, squeezing her weapon tight. As the source of the glow edged around the desk, she leaned out from cover and aimed at it. A handful of yellow holographic exclamation points and question marks appeared in the air around it. “Please, no hurt” appeared below a cartoon child’s face.

She relaxed.

The delivery bot shuddered, nosing closer to her as though it was a battered dog.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m getting chased by orbs.”

It pivoted back, abandoning the hesitance in its approach. The delivery bot sniffed at her purse where the NetMini was and chirped.

“Shh.” Kirsten waved in a ‘keep it down’ gesture.
Amazing how these things seem to convey mood.

The front doors clicked open, and she removed two boxes. After a happy little wobble, the delivery bot whirled about and took off. She shredded both plastic cartons, removing a one-piece dark blue general-purpose athletic suit. A pinch at the gem on her collarbone rendered the expensive body-drape limp and it fell off, leaving her clad only in panties for as long as it took her to leap into the new garment. A quick-mesh fastener closed it from crotch to throat. The grey sneakers adjusted themselves to her feet at the touch of a button.

Kirsten looked down at herself and scowled.
Amazing how not being half-naked makes me feel confident.
Now, she wanted to go bot hunting rather than hide.
Don’t be stupid, they’re still orbs. A jogging suit won’t make you a better shot.
Not wanting to waste so much money, she rolled the expensive body drape into a silk log and stuffed it in her purse.
Konstantin would be pissed at me if I lost it. Oh, no. Maybe I should go back for the shoes.

She spun to face heavy metal scraping behind her. A refrigerator-sized cabinet, some manner of old network storage array, glided out of the path of a large assault bot. The body was as big as a guard dog, with eight gunmetal blue legs pulling it through a gap in the wall. It shifted, angling itself at her. Kirsten did not give it the chance to fire. Several blasts split it in two jittering halves, her Class 4 laser making short work of its armor plating.

Kirsten kissed the E-90. Sure, there were higher-classed laser weapons, but both were rifle sized. As far as pistols went, there was nothing more powerful without going into plasma weaponry―which the police could not get their hands on. Sure, the E90 had over-penetration problems most times―but she adored it at that moment. Dots of light swarmed at the far end of the room, the size of a quarter of a city block. The derelict office she chose to hide in was, for the most part, wide-open space with only a few walls. The pursuing orbs had gone around the building, having missed her. Now, catty-corner to where she stood, they decided to cut through the ground floor rather than move around the outside.

“Dammit, how the hell did they find me?” She shot once, a near miss, before running for the window.

From the inside, the bottom of the window was at the level of her face. Kirsten leapt up, hitting the windowsill with her chest as she wrapped her arms over it. Thunder roared; bullets pulverized the concrete around her to dust as she pulled her body through the hole and slithered on her belly into the alley.

“Someone tracked your order,” said the NetMini.

“Dammit. Who?” Kirsten crawled through puffs of powderized concrete chasing bullets through the wall above her.

“How should I know? I’m a NetMini, not a GlobeNet Neural Interface Deck.”

Kirsten scrambled to her feet as a lull in the shooting came. The sneakers made her feel faster. A short sprint later, she ducked behind a crashed hovercar embedded in the wall of an abandoned building. The ground in the area was etched and pitted by Cryomil that long-ago leaked from the wreckage. With one hand keeping the E-90 pointed at the window, she climbed through and seized her NetMini in her left hand.

“Where is my backup?”

“I have no idea,” it said. “I’m not on the department network, all I can do is make vid calls.”

“Did you call them?”

It made a soft chirp. “System logs do not show an ack.”

“Ack?” Kirsten blinked. “How did you not get an ack? You sent it?”

“The most likely scenario― “

Kirsten fired at the first orb to show itself.

“―is that the transmission was intercepted.”

She glared at the wounded orb spinning out of control. It tried to re-aim, but the damage kept it moving in the flight of a drunken moth. The bot had been a difficult shot before, now it was futile to try given her sense of skill with the weapon. At least the erratic movement ruined its aim as much as it prevented her from hitting it.

“Memory dial six,” said Kirsten.

“Calling,” said the NetMini.

“Patrol craft,” added Kirsten’s recorded voice.

Her chosen ‘ringing’ animation of a prancing white cat bounded across thin air in hologram for a little more than sixteen seconds before she heard the standard departmental voicemail announcement. Command did not permit personnel to customize the vidmail greeting in their patrol units, both for reasons of personal security as well as making it easier to trade assigned vehicles.

“Dorian? Are you there? Please tell me I left the damn speaker on. If you can hear this, I need a hand. Getting chased by a damn hacker and his pet bots.”

Static.

“Dammit.” She gazed at the indigo smog above her, lined with glowing green-white threads of hovercar traffic and ad-bots.
I could beacon for him but… no way, not calm enough. Shit!

Another orb poked out of the window. She fired, chasing it back inside. It tried again, with the same result. The third time, it popped up and right back down. She held her fire.
The damn thing is baiting me… why?

She spun at the sudden whine of a hover-inducer behind her, facing to the rear as another orb careened around the corner. Not bothering to shoot, it flew straight into her gut. She crumpled over it, carried into the air several feet before she slid away and fell onto the dead hovercar.

Despite being stunned and winded from the hit, she retained the presence of mind to hold on to her weapon. The orb continued to rise; unaware it lost its passenger for several more seconds. When it did, it flipped over and rocketed down. Kirsten flung her arm across her body, using the momentum to initiate a roll to the side. The fifteen-pound solid plastisteel ball smashed into the hood, denting it, and bouncing her to the street. She wanted to curl in a fetal position and cradle her stomach. Normal breathing felt like a distant pleasant memory at that moment.

Damn thing must be out of ammo.
She forced herself onto her back and had the E-90 up and ready when the orb leapt at her for another try. Her aim was a split second slow. The shot gashed the side of it open, knocking the sphere into a wide spark-trailing arc that glanced off the building across the alley with a bell-like clang. Unable to fly any more, it swiveled to face her on the ground. She let her arm fall to the side, almost laying on the traction-coated driving surface. The trigger squeeze caused nothing. The readout showed the E-mag at two percent charge; not enough juice for the powerful laser core to get even one more shot.

“Shit.” She rolled upright.

Running again, she took the first left, went one block and a half and skidded through the next possible right. Two orbs waited for her, causing her to squeak to a halt on her new sneakers. With a startled yelp, she leapt back before they could shoot and continued straight. The orbs chased her around the corner, weapons extended but not firing.

A lone orb foiled her next attempt at a left turn in a similar manner. Another pair emerged from a street two blocks distant, forcing her to turn right. No orbs blocked that path and she sighed with relief until another one came out of an alley and caused a rapid left turn. Leaping over trash piles, Kirsten screamed at her NetMini.

“Siri, please get me some backup. Division 1, Five, Six, hell, even goddamn Nine. I don’t care, get someone out here!”

“I’m sorry, Kirsten. There is a lot of signal interference here. You’re off the map now, the closest relay point is approximately 1.44 miles to your relative northwest.”

“I’m in a damn black zone?”

“I’m sorry, Kirsten. There is no navigational information available for your current GPS location.”

“I’m in a damn black zone.” Kirsten all but shrieked as another sudden orb forced her to turn.

Panic lessened a dozen paces later, enough for her brain to reboot.
Why aren’t they shooting anymore? They can’t all be out of ammo. It’s like…
She stumbled to a slow jog.
They’re herding me somewhere specific.
She clung to her empty weapon for security. “They could’ve hit me, I bet. They’re trying to get me to go somewhere… What the hell is going on?”

“Eleven point three percent of victims of stranger-initiated sexual assault survive. Your odds will increase to seventy-three point nine percent if you inform your attacker you are a police officer.”

“Gee…” Kirsten gawked at her purse. “Thanks, Siri.”

“If you are being pursued by an organ-harvester, your odds of survival are somewhat less. Would you like to hear the―”

“No thanks.” She came to a halt and stuffed the empty weapon back in the purse.

Alone, off net, and with no charge left in her only E-mag, Kirsten surprised herself at how little fear she felt. For a few seconds, she entertained the fantasy of having ordered additional E-mags instead of clothing better suited for running and gunning with bots in the middle of a slum. As long as there was a living person behind this attack, she still had mind blast.

She was not going to be anyone’s victim.

Bullets danced across the ground, a shot obvious in its deliberate miss. Her brain figured that out a few seconds after she resumed running for her life.
Okay, asshole. Fine, you want me, I got somethin’ for you.
She went around another corner, ushered by the orbs through a series of turns until she found herself at the opening of a dead-end alley packed with trash-crushers. Spent autoinjectors covered the street in a glittering Christmas patina of red and green plastic. The area stank of chemicals and human waste; the aroma of synthetic booze and vomit was noticeable on every third breath.

“Alright, shithead. I’m here.” Kirsten folded her arms, scanning the alley for any sign of movement.

Given the surroundings, she expected organized crime or a gang.
They probably saw me in that slinky thing and thought I was a damn call girl.

“Come on out, already. I’m not a damn escort, and I’m not at all interested in working for you.”

Her voice echoed. The orbs filled in behind her, all four of them, still not shooting. She gave them a dismissive smirk until she noticed the tiny clicking noises they made. They were still
trying
to shoot her; they had run out of bullets.

A loud metallic thud made her spin forward, as the sound of wrenching metal broke the silence. Two trash-crushers skidded to the side and tumbled over, flung out of the path of a spider-bot with a body as big as a car. A rotary cannon emerged from its back and blades extended from its two front legs, raised like the chelicerae of a massive tarantula.

No surface thoughts. Nothing to mind blast.

Time seemed to slow as she whirled away from it in search of anywhere to dive for cover. She faced into blinding light coming at her fast. Arms crossed over her face, she threw herself to the ground amid the roar of a machinegun. Heat just shy of painful bloomed over her from above while the clatter of eighty rounds per second struck armor plating. A great concussive smash shook the air in the dead end.