Division Zero: Thrall (50 page)

Whap
.

The noise made her eyes pop open.

Whap
.

The second time it had a plastic tonal quality.

Wiff
.

Kirsten sat up in bed. Evan stood near the fogged-up autoshower, whipping a towel at the tube as if practicing with a lash. She covered her mouth to hold in the laughter from the sound effects he added. He tried a few more times before giving up and climbing the sink to reach the clean-underwear dispenser. When he came trotting out tugging the briefs into place, he diverted toward her.

“Mom, can you show me how to do the lash?” He climbed onto the bed.

“Did you skip the rinse cycle? Your hair smells like soap.”

“No. The new stuff you got is strong, it hurts my eyes. I wanna learn how to do the lash so when the next demon comes after you I can save you.”

Kirsten giggled into a sigh. “It takes more than astral to do that. You’re not a mind blaster, thank… uhh.” She glanced at the ceiling.
Screw it.
“Thank God.”

“Why?”

She ran her hands through his hair, trying to avoid the disaster it would be from drying uncombed. “Even other psionics are afraid of people who can mind blast. When someone is powerful with that talent, it can permanently erase brains. It scares them more than death. I don’t want you to get stared at the way I do.” She hugged him. “I’m not very good at it, and Morelli can’t even bear to look at me.”

He pouted. “I hate not being able to fight. What good is seeing ghosts if I can’t stop them from hurting you?” Evan squinted. “What’s a bound weapon?”

Kirsten shoved him face-first into the pillow. “Don’t do that.” She attacked his bare back with tickles until he wailed for mercy. “It’s rude to eavesdrop on someone else’s thoughts.”

Out of breath, he curled fetal and giggled. When he could again speak, he pushed himself upright. “Just for ‘mergencies.”

“It’s dangerous, Evan. A bound item becomes solid to both spirits and living people, but it’s only as useful as what you bind. If you want to hurt a ghost, it has to be a weapon. A sword, a bat, a knife, something like that.”

“Can’t bind a gun?” He made a finger pistol and accompanying sound effects.

“Sure, if you are going to hit them with it. You’d have to bind each individual bullet for it to work. They are so small it wouldn’t do much to them anyway. The hydrostatic shock effect doesn’t work the same way as it does on a person.”

He made the blankest face she had ever seen. “Hy… dro… static?”

Hello, K. He’s nine.
“Bullets don’t hurt ghosts as much as they do people. Plus…” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I told you I could never hurt you. In order to bind something, you have to use your own blood. It allows your spiritual energy to remain on the item for a few hours.”

“I still wanna learn.”

She stared at him, thrilled his ribs no longer stood out so much. He was still thin, but half again the boy she found in that dingy apartment. “Okay, but you are only going to watch me do it. I am not going to cut you, and I am not going to allow you to cut yourself unless it’s an absolute emergency. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “‘Kay.”

With the help of a steak knife and a few spoons, Kirsten demonstrated binding. Much the way she picked up the nuances of astral projection from him, he skimmed her thoughts as she focused the power to see how it
felt
to do it.

“‘Kay. I think I could do it.” He smiled. “If I had to.”

She collected the empty coffee mugs. “I’m going to hop in the tube now. Promise me you won’t try to do this while I’m in the shower.”

“‘Kay.”

“Evan…” She squinted.

“I promise.” He held his hand up.

Kirsten pounded her desk terminal. A still-talking man’s holographic head imploded into a speck of light and winked out of existence. Several of her squad mates jumped at the sudden noise. Morelli lapsed into choking on his tea.

“That went well,” said Dorian.

Nicole glided by; packages of food floated out of a box she carried and floated to various desks as she passed. Kirsten took her egg wrap, thanking her friend for volunteering to run to the street exit to retrieve everyone’s breakfast.

“EnMesh couldn’t give me a damn thing I didn’t already know. Morris got let go five months ago for ‘conduct incompatible with employment.’”

He exhaled. “Wow, just when I thought the euphemisms were out of control, you find a new one.”

Kirsten drowned her chuckle with a mouthful of jalapeño-laced egg. “Mmm. I love these things, but they are annoying.”

“How’s that?”

“I can’t enjoy coffee for a while afterward, mouth is sore.”

“Iced coffee?”

“Dorian, you’re a genius.” She swiped her hand through the immaterial panels floating over her desk. A moment later, Samuel Chang’s head appeared. “Sam, I hate to bother you… can I ask you for a fav―”

“Sure.” He grinned. “You look good today, less stressed out.”

“Hah.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just hiding it well.”

“The color in her face is from hot peppers,” sang Nicole.

“Hush, you. You’re whiter than I am.”

Nicole gave her a raspberry. “Not my fault I go from ghost to sunburn instantly.”

Dorian glanced at her. “Didn’t gingers go extinct a few generations ago?”

Kirsten leaned back in her chair, whispering. “Her dad really wanted a blue-eyed redhead. Cost them a hundred grand in embryonic gene tweaking.”

“So, what do you need?” asked Sam.

“Can you get into the system at EnMesh Biomed? I need anything you can find on an employee by the name of Randall Morris. I’ll send over his file now.”

Sam bowed. “Your wish is my command.”

“Thanks.” Kirsten jumped at finding Nicole close enough to breathe on. “Gah!”

Nicole grinned. “Here’s your iced coffee.” She struck a pose. “Not bad for a hundred grand, eh? At least I’m a little exotic. Not everyone gets to be carried to Earth by angels.”

Kirsten went red-faced, exasperated at Nicole’s continued mental eavesdropping. “I didn’t have an angelic parent, Nikki. I only met one, and they called themselves Seraph.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Umm. I dunno.”

“Potato, po-tah-toe,” said Dorian.

Sam looked up all of a sudden. “Oh, Kirsten, I found something on your other suspect. Last night, a citycam picked up a hit on the unidentified man in that video. I managed to find him in the system under the alias of Ajit Emir. He’s a perfect match for your Nafiz Ajouri. Mr. Emir, or whatever he goes by, has quite a record. Nothing individually alarming, but a lot of small-time burglary charges and tax pops. He sells a lot of weapons and drugs and doesn’t claim it. Div One has him listed as an opportunistic warrant.”

“So they’ll grab him if they spot him, but they’re not searching.” Dorian shook his head.

Kirsten blinked. “Sells guns and drugs and all they get him for is not paying tax on it?”

“He sticks to under-the-radar military stims, Flowerbasket, Sandman, and a couple of the harder things like Nightcandy, but he won’t touch Lace or Phindara. All the weapons he sells are civ-legal. All he’s really
doing
is evading tax. Anyway, I got a hit on a NetMini. CR 408 and Lake Street, sector 418.”

“Thanks, Sam.” She stood. “I haven’t forgotten. I will make good on my promise for dinner. Just, with this damn case…”

“I understand. I heard about the commissioner.”

“You did?”

Sam winked. “I have level 4 clearance.”

Kirsten drove in quiet, setting the patrol craft down in the parking lot of a nameless six-story commercial structure. Subdued red light leaked through curtain-covered windows on the ground floor. She jogged to the door, stopping inches short of grabbing the handle―an enormous bronze phallus.

“Oh, my God.” She reached for the center, hesitated, went to grab the top, paused again, considered the bottom, and sighed.

Dorian cackled.

“What are you, twelve?” She scowled. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

He gestured at the door. “No one ever expects a giant bronze dick in their hand.”

She ignored it and flung the door open. “You… are… impossible.”

Two men, one behind a front desk and one outside of it, stopped kissing to glance in her direction. They gave her the head-to-toe look. The one behind the desk raised a light brown eyebrow.

“Good morning, officer. You’re a few days early, but I have all the employee records ready for you. I assure you, all the vaccinations and immune-boosters are up to date.”

“The only thing louder than his shirt is the pattern on that tie.” Dorian held his arm over his eyes as if staring into the sun.

“I’m not here about your service.” She offered a pleasant smile. “I need to have a word with a client of yours. He’s wanted for questioning in a murder case.”

Both gasped. The man in front of the desk trembled.

“Need me to do anything?” asked the clerk.

She shook her head to the negative. “If things get nasty, hit the deck and stay down till the dust settles.”

The NetMini trace on her armband display led her down a dark hallway of polished wood and blood-red carpet. Every several meters, a small table held a vase or small sculpture. Despite the unassuming exterior, this concealed adult club appeared to cater to men with an excess of money. She stopped outside room 8 and readied her E-90. Azure dots swept back and forth along the barrel, lighting her face in pulses.

Dorian poked his head through the wall. “Looks like one guy. Right of the door. He seems to be waiting for you.”

“Got it.” She burst through, diving to the left, aiming at the wall just inside.

His ambush foiled, the dark skinned man stood motionless, arms aloft. A black leather mask covered his entire head except for open zippers over his eyes. Tight, shiny black pants left little of his scrawny glory to the imagination, and he clung to a stunrod as if it were a divine relic.

Two seconds of silence passed before he let loose a war cry worthy of a mujahedeen and leapt at her. Kirsten ducked to the right, cracking him across the skull with the handle of the E-90 as he went past. He stumbled, gouging a dent out of the drywall with the stunrod before he fell to his knees with his free hand on the back of his head.

She backed up a pace, leveling off her laser. “Drop the stunner and get on the floor.”

The man stood, wild eyes glaring through tiny slits. He took a step closer.

He wants me to kill him.
She holstered the E-90 as he lunged in, stabbing for her gut with the sparking, blue-tipped wand. Kirsten spun into him, slamming the hardened armguard into his wrist to deflect the attack as she seized the offending limb with both hands. With a graceful twist, she ducked under his arm and redirected the weapon into her attacker’s throat. Bright blue light gleamed from the eye-slits as spittle foamed out of the bottom of the mask. As tingles reached her hands, she let go, leaving him convulsing on his feet for several seconds before his twitching body collapsed. Every muscle had disconnected from his brain for several seconds.

She wrenched the stunrod out of his grip and held it aloft. Images of the murder of Alaina Munoz flashed through her mind; the struggling young woman held down by this man as his accomplice plunged a dagger through her heart.

“You son of a bitch!” Kirsten shrieked, cracking him twice across the chest with the metal baton.

Brief contact with the stun element caused pain over the entire body, but fell short of the all-out paralysis of a proper application. As the man lay curled on the floor, Kirsten kicked him twice in the gut. “Who are you working with? Why are you killing those people?”

The man wheezed, coughing. “W-wait.”

“Dammit, Kirsten, calm down.” Dorian leapt between them. “You’re acting like I was a few months before my first summary.”

She exhaled, tossing the stunner over the bed before pacing in a tight circle. “Thanks.” None too gently, she rolled the man on his stomach and sat on him. When she tore the mask away, the face staring back at her was not Nafiz. Too young; this man was only her age. A different sort of nausea settled into her gut. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tariq. I”―he coughed― “work here.”