The Shadow Fixer

by Matthew S. Cox

  “What are you thinking about?” asked Sam.

  “The ghost.”

  “Ahh. Should have guessed.”

  She snuggled against his side. “He’s the second spirit I’ve run into in only a few days who did stuff way past what they should be able to.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Heh. Okay, so a ghost starts off really weak after they die. Can’t even make candles flicker, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “The longer they exist as a ghost, the stronger they get. Theodore, for example, can pick people up and throw them around.”

  Sam whistled. “Damn… scary.”

  “A ghost has to get really old, like a couple hundred years, to reach that point. The one at the Funzone today… he had the strength to drag two toddlers around and throw one boy way into the air.”

  “So, he was pretty old?” Sam kissed her.

  “Didn’t feel like it. I only hit him twice and obliterated him. And sure, I was angry at him for attacking children, but hardly furious enough to amplify my power much. Certainly not to the point of destroying a spirit powerful enough to physically touch people in two hits.”

  Sam pondered. “Think something else kicked his ass before you got to him?”

  “Possible, but not really. The older a spirit is, the bigger they go off if they’re obliterated.”

  He chuckled. “Why do you keep using such a fancy word for death?”

  “Because they’re already dead. Obliteration is complete destruction. Nothing left of them.” She exhaled. “Spirits can also transcend or end up in the Abyss.”

  “Ahh.”

  “So, yeah. If this guy had been old enough to throw children around, obliterating him would have at least fried every NetMini in the room and probably all the lights plus the bot Evan was riding. This spirit fizzled out with a mild flash. He couldn’t have been more than three to eight months old as a ghost—but had already gone proto-wraith.”

  Sam tickled her side. “You keep using these made up words.”

  “Hah.” She squirmed. “Like not all the way wraith. I think he was becoming one. So, an evil prick. Never saw a wraith-in-progress before.”

  “Good thing you got rid of him before he hatched.”

  She buried her face in his chest and laughed.

  “Mom?” asked Evan.

  Kirsten looked up as the boy walked around the end of the couch, already having changed into his pajamas. “Hey. Bedtime already?”

  “Yeah.” He walked up to her for the goodnight hug.

  She wrapped her arms around him, clinging, getting all emotional again from remembering what Maela told her about his wish. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

  “Thank you for being my mom. Today was way better than a bio birthday.” Evan leaned back to make eye contact. “This is the day you gave me a real life.”

  Kirsten’s heart burst into metaphorical little bits. She held him like a teddy bear, expecting him to start squirming soon, embarrassed at such a childish display of affection in front of his friends… but he didn’t.

  “You look tired, Mom. You should have bedtime now, too.”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Kirsten exhaled and released the hug. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

  “Night!” Evan hugged Sam, then ran off to his room.

  Sam stood, overacting a glance back and forth between her and the front door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Kirsten grabbed his hand. “I need someone warmer than a rune rabbit plush tonight.”

  7

  Ransomware

  Kirsten found herself sliding face-first down a hospital corridor in the middle of an earthquake.

  Old wheelchairs bounced past her. Sections of wall collapsed in billowing blasts of white dust. The floor calved like a splitting glacier beneath her, throwing her into a yawning void… for all of two seconds before she woke up to Evan sitting on top of her, shaking her by the shoulders.

  “Mom! You’re gonna be late.”

  She babbled, trying to speak before her brain produced any specific words.

  Evan rolled off to the side. “Alarm turned itself off already.”

  It took Kirsten’s brain a few seconds to process the meaning of the small human making sounds and moving around. Birthday party Sunday, followed by a tremendously shitty week—and weekend—of back-to-back 21-47 ‘emergency’ calls. They all turned out to be irritating, about half potentially harmful to the living, but nothing more serious than a guy being shoved down a flight of stairs. Not like an Abyssal ran around biting people’s heads off. She hadn’t gotten home last night—Sunday again—until well after two in the morning, thanks to a prankster ghost in a commerce center tricking her into an elevator shaft and sealing it—forcing her to climb through a maze of ventilation shafts to get out.

  The small person ran across the room on his way out, but caught himself at the doorjamb, watching her. The last thing he said sounded kind of important. Something about the alarm. She glanced at the little silver bar on the table next to the bed: 6:18. Blink. She realized she sat up in bed.

  Evan hung in her doorway, giving her a ‘why are you not getting up’ look.

  That’s weird. The alarm should’ve gone off at six.

  “Mom?”

  She looked at him. “Morning, hon.”

  “It’s Monday. Are you off ’cause of havin’ to do so much work stuff all weekend?”

  “No.” She glanced at the clock. 6:19 a.m. “Crap!”

  Evan smiled cheesily and darted out of sight.

  “Crap!” Kirsten leapt out of bed while attempting to pull her oversized sleeping T-shirt off.

  Momentarily blinded, she stumbled over something painful into a spin, trying not to fall on her ass. Her effort to stay on her feet worked, at the price of mashing her toes into the corner of her wardrobe cabinet.

  “Ow! Shit!” she yelled, hopping backward.

  The whirr of the hall bathroom’s autoshower started.

  After contemptuously yanking the shirt off, she gingerly examined her toes. Fortunately, none appeared to have broken, though it sure felt like she’d pulverized two of them. Grumbling, she limped into the attached bathroom, still warm and smelling like Sam. He had to be in the office by six, so would’ve left well before her alarm went off.

  Kirsten dragged herself into the autoshower and hit the ‘fast’ option, which compressed the normal eight-to-ten-minute cycle down to four, making up for haste with higher water pressure and less thorough spraying.

  The tube hatch secured itself with an audible click. Warm, sudsy water sprayed on her, the soap so strong she tasted it despite a closed mouth. She helped the machine out, manually scrubbing the critical points—face, pits, crotch, and crack as the military guys often said. Spending more than ten minutes around a Division 6 trooper would invariably result in them starting to tell a wild story about living out of a canteen for a week while stranded in the Martian desert, single-handedly fighting off a Cydonian crab with only a knife.

  A strange warbling beep came from the control panel in time with the hot air tornado of the dry cycle winding down.

  Kirsten pulled her hair apart like a theater curtain.

  A computer animation of a flaming bird somewhere between hot pink and electric lavender on an all-black field took up the entire screen, no trace of the usual operating interface behind it. Confused, she tapped the screen.

  The bird zoomed up to the top left corner. The word ‘Plasmahawk’ appeared across the middle of the display, drawn in the same colored fire. Beneath it appeared a text box:

  Greetings, citizen in search of a squeaky-clean feeling. This autoshower unit is currently locked down by Credit Sudzer v 3.1. Sorry for the inconvenience, but a GlobeNet king must collect his taxes. To remove my little virus and open the hatch, swipe a NetMini to pay Ͼ5000.

  Kirsten poked the screen.

  Nothing happened.

  She slapped at the holographic screen, also doing
nothing. Grumbling, she felt around the outside edges of the little box projecting the holo-panel. It didn’t have any usable buttons.

  “Not now… not now… Dammit!”

  The hatch refused to open. She shoved at it for a moment, punched it a few times, then tried to kick it—a complicated task in a narrow, clear tube. Having zero leverage for a kick, she rammed her shoulder into the hatch. The dull thud of her body slamming into thick plastic filled the bathroom. Maybe one of those big military types could break an autoshower open, but a five-foot-nothing sprite like her had no chance. At least, not without psionic Kinetics to make herself stronger.

  “What kind of idiot does this?” she yelled at the holo-screen. As much as she hated the idea of falling victim to a virus and paying some criminal actual money, if she had the ability to do it as fast as a NetMini swipe in the moment, she would have. “Who in their right mind has a ’Mini with them in the damn tube?”

  After a moment of fuming, she realized over eighty percent of the population had ImDent chips or headware implants capable of functioning like a NetMini for a credit swipe. She shivered at the thought. I’d rather jump naked into that purplish-black gunk in the Beneath than put metal under my skin. “Why the heck did bathtubs become a luxury item for the rich?”

  She glowered at her naked reflection on the clear autoshower cylinder, imagining Dorian saying something about economy of space making bathtubs obsolete. Tubs took up more room than a round tube only a little bit larger than an adult. Autoshowers let builders cram more tiny apartments in the same amount of space. Plus, people were lazy. Why take baths when they could have a machine clean them while they stood still?

  Lashing the machinery didn’t help. Despite the freakishly high amount of crazy haunts going on, no spirit locked her in the shower tube, merely the work of a jackass GlobeNet pirate named Plasmahawk. The echo of her rapid, angry breathing surrounded her. The formerly nice warmth of a shower morphed into a damp, sweaty prison. Some diabolical genius figured most people would be way too embarrassed to call a repair technician for help while trapped naked in the shower.

  Evan’s glowing astral form glided through the wall. “Mom, the shower’s broken. I can’t get out.”

  “Yeah… same here.”

  “Some guy’s asking for money.”

  Kirsten rubbed her forehead. “I know. He hacked the tubes. We shouldn’t pay him, or he’ll keep doing it. Grr. I hate ransomware.”

  The boy nodded.

  “Ugh.” She groaned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Too damn literal.” She punched the locked hatch. “We’re actually being held for ransom.”

  “Mom?” Evan scrunched up his nose. “Is it technically kidnapping if we’re still at home?”

  “Umm.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Oversleeping. Mashing her foot into something. Nearly falling on her ass. Now, locked in the tube. Too angry, embarrassed, and panicky about being late to think about such a weird philosophical question, she shouted, “Mondays suck!”

  Evan laughed.

  She squatted, examining the metal floor for an access panel. “If these things lose power, the lock mechanism releases. It’s a failsafe.”

  “Failsafe?”

  “Yeah. Means it’s an automatic safety feature so people don’t get trapped in autoshowers if the building loses electricity.” Nothing inside the tube opened to her scraping fingernails. Not a real surprise. Any panels inside the chamber would let water get to the wiring.

  “Where’s Theodore when ya need him, huh?” asked Evan.

  “Bite your tongue, kiddo.” Kirsten rolled her eyes.

  Theodore helped her all the time and did have a reasonably good—proverbial—heart, but the man was a pervert of the highest order. If he found her locked in an autoshower tube, he’d never simply open it for her without a little teasing. On the off chance he did, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “Theodore’s out… but…” Kirsten sighed, thinking of Dorian.

  Being naked in his presence felt a little awkward since she once had a crush on him. But the military, and by extension the National Police Force, used co-ed shower and locker facilities for over a century. Also, she needed help. Dorian would be totally professional.

  Before she thought too much about it—or wasted more time—Kirsten closed her eyes and focused on Beacon. Dorian Marsh, if you’re hearing me… could use a little help. Of course, he couldn’t hear her words. Beaconing for a spirit amounted to firing off a flare into a dark night sky, asking a particular spirit to come to her. It might also attract other nearby spirits, but the one she thought of specifically received the strongest pull.

  “Ooh. What’cha doing?” Astral-Evan tilted his head.

  “Beaconing.” She almost asked if they taught him about it in school yet but caught herself. Division 0 only had one Astral Sensitive on the West Coast: her. “It’s basically sending energy out into the astral world, focused on a specific spirit and asking them to come to you. No guarantee they’ll listen, but they’ll definitely hear you.”

  “Cool.” Evan smiled. He didn’t ask her to teach him how to do it because he assumed—correctly—she would… just not at the moment while trapped inside an autoshower tube. “Be right back.” Evan flew into the wall, the silver thread connecting back to his body trailing after him.

  Dorian arrived a minute or so after the boy left, stopping short at the sight of her standing in the tube. “Having difficulties?”

  “Virus locked me in. Can you turn the stupid thing off?” She slapped the hatch. “I can’t get out.”

  “Ahh. Nasty bit of malware.” Dorian stepped closer, crouched, and shoved his hand into the autoshower’s base.

  A few seconds later, the whole tube went dark, a faint click coming from the hatch.

  Kirsten pushed it open and hopped out. “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” Dorian stood.

  The autoshower powered back up. Its holo-panel reappeared, displaying a critical error message, then the system rebooted.

  Evan reemerged from the wall. “I’m stuck, too. Can you open it for me, please? Nila’s also trapped. Shani’s trying to rip the door off with Telekinesis, but isn’t strong enough.”

  “Of course.” Dorian coughed, seeming uncomfortable, then followed the floating astral boy into the wall.

  He’d been sweet on Nila in life. Barging in on her in the shower as a ghost would be way more awkward than helping Kirsten. Grumbling, she grabbed clean underwear from the white box on the wall, pulling them on as she hurried into the bedroom. “Suri, please send a message to Captain Eze. Tell him my shower got hacked and I’m going to be a few minutes late. I’ll explain the details as soon as I get there.”

  “I can explain for you,” said her NetMini in an overly innocent woman’s voice. “I heard everything.”

  “Fine.” Kirsten waved dismissively, then wriggled into her uniform top. “Sorry. In a mood. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” chirped Suri.

  “Going to check the building for other victims,” called Dorian from the hallway. “I’ll catch up as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.” Kirsten stepped into her boots, secured the fasteners, then grabbed her utility belt and forearm guard, carrying them.

  Evan darted out of his bedroom, carrying his shoes and backpack, socks hanging from his teeth. They ran down the outer hallway to the elevator. On the ride to the roof, Evan put his socks and shoes on while Kirsten secured her utility belt and forearm guard in place. As soon as the doors opened, they sprinted across the roof parking area to the patrol craft.

  Kirsten hit the rapid-on button to skip the usual diagnostics and hurry the power-up process, something usually reserved for responding to emergencies as fast as possible. Evan gurgled at the G-forces of a high-speed liftoff and acceleration. She’d only been stuck in the shower tube for about fifteen minutes, but in order to get to the PAC without being late, she’d need to fly upwards of 500 miles an hour in a st
raight line, ignoring traffic laws. Not a big deal when responding to an emergency, but against regs in her present circumstances. Division 1 routinely ignored ‘trivial’ regulations. What would they do? Give themselves a traffic citation? Highly doubtful they’d give her one, either, but she still dove down to the fiftieth story and joined the normal flow of hovercar traffic.

  “Comm, Captain Eze,” said Kirsten.

  The dashboard chimed.

  Seconds later, Captain Eze’s head appeared in hologram at the center of the console. “Good morning, Kirsten.”

  “I’m sorry, captain. Going to be a little late this morning. I slept right through the alarm and then a stupid virus got me in the shower.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Since you don’t appear sick, I’ll assume you’re talking about the Plasmahawk issue.”

  “Credit Sudzer,” grumbled Kirsten. “Did it hit you, too?”

  “No, but I received an alert message from Division 2. You aren’t the only person affected by it this morning. Seems this virus spent the past several weeks spreading, disguised as a firmware update. Today appears to be the scheduled activation date for a few hundred thousand cases. These things usually go off in batches. Some one day, another batch a week or two later, and so on.”

  Kirsten repetitively bonked her head backward against the seat. “I feel dumb.”

  “You shouldn’t. It looked like a legitimate update. You’d have to be an engineer for the manufacturer of whatever brand tube you’ve got to recognize it as fake.”

  “Even Sam fell for it,” said Evan.

  “How do you know?” Kirsten glanced at him.

  “Because, he didn’t warn you about it. He had to have gotten the same update. If he realized it was bogus, he’d have warned you.”

  She exhaled. “Crap. I need to tell him not to use the tube at his place before he checks it. He showered before I woke up. Why’d it get me and not him?”

  “Activation most likely happened at a specific time of day,” said Captain Eze. “Things are quiet for the moment, spirit wise. I think they got it all out of their system last week.”