Division Zero: Thrall (7 page)

Shani kept her focus on Zee, keeping him bound in his clothes. Evan gasped and clung to Kirsten’s side. Kirsten glanced over her shoulder with an ‘are you kidding me?’ face. Two men in the white and grey uniforms of Bakersfield Mall Security edged up behind them, pistol-shaped electro-stunners at the ready. Both looked like they were ready for Assault Marine boot camp.

“Agent Kirsten Wren, Division 0 Police. Stand down. What the hell is protocol 2?”

“Rapid removal of an innocent bystander to a position of tactical safety. Please drop your weapon. Don’t make me escalate. This area is under the watch of BMS, you’re in our jurisdiction here. We are authorized to use stunners if we have to.”

“She’s a cop, numbnuts,” grumbled Evan. “Notice she’s got a laser pistol.”

The one on the left, Smith, had his stunner trained on Evan. He twitched when his arm lifted to point at Kirsten’s gun. The look in his eyes made him seem concerned at what a small boy would do to him. Either that, or he desperately wanted to shoot
someone
.

“Is there something wrong with your ears, or are you just plain stupid? I told you I’m a police officer.” Kirsten sent a dire look at Smith. “Put that stunner down right now. If you shoot my son with that thing, I’ll cram it up your ass and hold the trigger down till the battery’s dead.”

Evan covered his mouth and gasped.

Smith squirmed at the thought.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Kirsten glared.

“Sergeant Lloyd Benning, 1
^st
Brigade, Bakersfield Mall Tactical Response Squad.”

She sighed at the ceiling. “Damn. Mall cops. You’d think you were on the front lines of Mars or something.” She held the ballistic pistol under her arm and fished her ID out of her back pocket. At the sight of it, both security men gawked. Kirsten stomped over and swiped a set of flexi-cuffs from Lloyd’s belt after tucking the confiscated gun in the back of her own.

Shani released the telekinetic hold of Zee as Kirsten pounced on him and wrestled him into the temporary restraints. All the while she fought with him, he glared at Evan, who simply smiled and waved at him. Kirsten wound up sitting on him, NetMini in hand.

“Need a blue and white at Bakersfield Mall by Sector D.” She glanced at Zee’s victim. “Send a medical unit as well.”

irsten held up the ten-inch cylinder, making a face at the viscous green-brown liquid inside. The outer surface reacted to her touch, lighting up with buttons and a display pad―nanotech embedded in the outer layer. She thumbed the virtual button until the display read 2 TBSP, and upended it over the pan. A squirt of the requested amount of olive oil spattered about, causing her to shriek and jump away.

“You’re s’posed ta put the oil in the pot before you turn the stove on,” said Evan from the main room.

She glanced at him, flopped on the comforgel bed, nose in a datapad. From the look on his face, she inferred he was busy with homework and not something fun.

“Oops.”

Holding the spatula like a dueling saber, she poked at two slabs of vat-grown chicken dancing and popping about in the oil. She squinted at several small plastic bottles of spice, trying to figure out which ones belonged in a project involving said poultry. Nearby, a datapad sat propped up on the empty box the ‘starter spice kit’ came in. She stared at the demonstration animation, attempting to learn the process by which people cooked actual food. What she had in the pan did not look anywhere near as good as the pictures on the screen, however at thirty credits a hunk, the chicken would be eaten regardless of what condition it was in at the end of her thermic assault.

“Mom?”

She smiled just hearing the word come out of Evan. A word, which had for so long been an object of horror in her mind, was now as far removed as it could be from that thought. He leaned into the doorway between her tiny kitchenette and the rest of the apartment, looking defeated.

“Hey, kid.”

“I need help with this homework. I don’t know how to answer this.” He trudged over, datapad dangling from his grip.

“I can’t read it right now; I’m trying not to destroy dinner. What’s the question?” She squinted at her pad. “What the hell is thyme? Did they spell it wrong? I’m supposed to add time to it? I guess it wants me to let it sit longer.”

Evan shrugged. The datapad animated a small bottle labeled ‘thyme’ upended over the food and shaken.

“Oh, it must be some kind of seasoning. Bother, we don’t have any. Black pepper works.”

“Umm, I gotta write about the Corporate War. This one guy says the government started it, this lady says the corp-rations started it. I gotta watch these videos and write a ‘pinion on which one I wanna believe and give at least two ideas how the war could have been prevented.”

Kirsten almost dropped the spatula. “What the hell? You’re in third grade, what kind of question is that?”

He dug his toe into the rug. “History.”

She jumped when the hunk of meat spat hard enough to flip over. “Well, I kind of got the condensed version at the department school. I…”

Evan wandered over and patted her on the back. “It’s okay if you don’t know. Why didn’t your mom let you go to school?”

The heat off, she yanked the pan from the stove and jammed the spatula under the meat. The chicken landed atop pasta bows she had made long enough ago to be cold. She used the reassembler to generate mixed vegetables; the horror of her attempt to cook hydroponic ones drowned amid suds in the sink. Evan trailed her to the table, letting his datapad clatter to the side of the plate.

“She did… online.” Kirsten stared at the food. “She was careful to make everything look just normal enough to the outside world. I’m confused… That question sounds like something they’d ask in eighth or ninth grade, not third.”

He ate with one hand while poking at his datapad with the other. After a few minutes, he scowled at it.

“What?”

“This datapad is broken. I’m touching the icon for my history homework, but when I open it, it’s labeled Pol Sci 101.”

“Let me see that?” Kirsten took the pad, examining the page headers inside the presentation.

She backed out to the main menu, which took on a far more childish appearance than the layout of the quiz. A cartoon Mars pioneer smiled, pointing at a note indicating history homework for Mrs. Wolf’s third-grade class. When she poked it, the datapad went into a splash screen introduction to a sophomore-level political science course.

“That isn’t your homework, hon. I think the teacher sent a corrupt link.”

“It was probably Abernathy playing a prank.” He smirked.

“Oh wow, is he still there?” She giggled, sighed, and got somber. “I wonder what’s keeping him here. He was such a sweet old guy.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “He’s only nice to girls. He keeps messing with me since I can see him.”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s like a giant five-year-old. Stupid little pranks.”

Kirsten fiddled with his datapad, getting a new link from the system that went to the proper assignment. Third grade-level questions about early Mars colonization.

“There, that’s the right homework.”

His pout made her laugh. “Thanks, Mom. I could’ve had an excuse tomorrow.”

“You don’t want to make a habit of cutting corners like that. Unless you want to move to Mars or some far-off colony when you’re old enough to have to work, you need to get through university.”

“I’m gonna be like you when I’m big.” He beamed.

“Then do it because I’m asking you to. You might feel differently about it when you grow up. It’s better to have options.” She paused a moment to adore the sparkle in his green eyes.

She managed to get one decent picture of him with her NetMini before he started making silly faces. When their laugher died down and they remembered the food, Kirsten reached out and put a hand on his arm.

“Ev, if you don’t want me seeing Konstantin… If you feel like I’m not giving you enough attention…”

He stared at the mixed vegetables. “I guess it would be cool having a dad, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He looked at me mean. He’s probably a rich weenie that hates little kids.” Evan frowned. “And he’s old.”

Kirsten stared into space for a moment. “He’s a sweet man, Evan. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Konstantin is…”

“Mom?”

She blinked. Her arm lowered to the table, drawing her gaze to the gold serpent bracelet, Konstantin’s gift. The sight reminded her of how much money he had already spent on her, and brought a twinge of embarrassment at the thought. The amount was trivial to him, but felt on the verge of crazy to her. She saw his face in her mind again, that roguish smile, that well-weathered skin, that Turkish coffee.

“You okay? You look strange.”

She fanned herself. “I’m fine, hon. I think I just put too much pepper on this chicken.”

Evan shook his head. “No such thing as too much black pepper.”

“I agree,” said Theodore, as he phased through the wall. “The boy’s got good taste.”

Kirsten sat upright. “Hi, Theo.”

The ghost circled the table, long olive-drab coat open and drenched. Scraggly black hair framed a pallid face, still wearing the same wry grin he usually sported when sneaking up on her in the shower. For once, his pants were not blood-soaked and his fatal bullet wounds not apparent. The puddled boot prints he left on the kitchen floor faded away in seconds; however, he did bring the scent of wet dog with him. Evan shifted in his seat, making a face as if he were in deep thought. His eyes lit up with a faint light as he turned on his ability to see ghosts. The gesture was casual, taking him only a second or two. He spotted Theodore and paused chewing long enough to attempt to mumble a greeting through a closed, full mouth.

“It won’t be too long before you can see them all the time,” said Kirsten. “It took me till twelve to get there…”
Of course, I spent a few years trying to ignore them.

He grinned.

“Sorry to barge in on ya while you’re eatin’.” Theodore wandered around to the empty side of the table, acting the part of leaning on the back of an unused chair. “We may need your hel―what happened to that pork?”

“It’s chicken.” Kirsten frowned.

Theodore looked at the array of cooking materials around the stove area and cracked up. “Oh, damn.” He cringed.

Kirsten’s gaze darkened, attempting to bore through the table. She pouted at the plate while the sense of failure crawled up her spine in search of tear ducts from which to escape.
When, exactly, was I supposed to learn how to cook, Theodore? When I was locked in a closet or living on the street?

“He forgot what it’s supposed to look like. Theo hasn’t touched food in, like, forever.” Evan showed no sign of slowing down, shoveling another large hunk in his mouth. “Ifm goomf.” He rushed to swallow. “It’s good!”

She could have pulled him over the table to hug him.

“Yeah, well, I guess you gotta start somewhere. Maybe I can ask around The Kind. I think there’s a chef or two in there somewhere. Might be able to talk them into giving you some lessons.”

Kirsten leaned back in the chair, smirking at Theodore. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Evan adding more black pepper. She shook with muted laughter. “I guess. Now I know why everyone just uses reassemblers. Why go to all that trouble when you can just hit a button.”