Kirsten jumped the blade while thrusting hers down into his chest—killing him.
Slightly winded, she faced the path up to the ‘palace.’
“Help!” shouted the princess. “I can’t get out.”
Both dead guys faded away.
After a few seconds of staring at the warlord, imagining him to be Seneschal, Kirsten ran up the trail. The warlord drew a jian from his belt scabbard, waiting for her to enter the ‘arena’ inside the red wall. Kirsten charged straight at him, taking the first swing as soon as she got close enough.
He parried in a smooth, clean motion, setting up for a counterattack he had to abort due to the speed with which she recovered. Her downward chop stalled against his blade, inches from his face. He emitted a low grunt, shoving her backward off her feet. Kirsten rolled left, avoiding a stab he sank into the dojo floor. He wrenched the sword out and stabbed at her again, forcing her to keep rolling while he stabbed the floor again and again—until she got the idea to kick his leg out from under him.
The warlord and Kirsten scrambled to their feet at the same time. She feinted a strike, but he didn’t fully fall for it, so she didn’t risk attacking. He teased a few fake high thrusts, then committed to a low slash. Kirsten parried, tried to force her way past his defense, and ended up on her butt again, due to a major disadvantage in physical strength.
Roaring, he lunged, grabbing his jian in both hands for a powerful overhead cleave.
She leapt between his legs to dodge, landing flat on the ground behind him as his blade sank into the woven mat. Kirsten scrambled around onto her knees fast enough to slice the inside of his leg before he could turn. She ducked his imbalanced retaliatory slash, then sprang to her feet, thrusting the blade up into his chin—out the top of his head.
The warlord fell over, dead.
“You saved me!” said the girl. Her cage popped open all by itself—and the world faded out to pure white light.
12
Intentional Malfunction
The horrible glare dimmed to the ceiling of the virtual training center ceiling lights.
Kirsten scooted forward, pulling her head out of the giant interface machine—basically a 3,500-pound senshelmet. The military tech came close to the same realism possible by a direct brain connection via M3 interface jack. So deep, in fact, if someone pulled their head out of the bowl at the top of the bed before the sim disconnected them, they could suffer almost the same effect as an M3 plug being yanked out—basically a bad seizure with vomiting, severe headache, and a decent chance of brain damage.
Of course, no one told her this until she’d already used one more than a dozen times.
She now understood why the beds had straps. Unlike an M3 jack, these units didn’t block communication between the brain and real body. Someone doing acrobatic maneuvers in the sim had a roughly ten percent chance to sit up or roll around in the real world and break connection.
Gabriel walked over and undid the Velcro bands holding her legs while she wriggled her arms loose. It didn’t take much effort to get out as the safety straps were designed to stop accidental motions, not keep people prisoner.
“You had to throw a child into it?” She grumbled, only half pretending to be annoyed. “Feels like you’re exploiting a psychological weakness.”
“Don’t think about it as exploiting. People who are fighting for something always have an advantage over those who have less or nothing to lose.” He gestured at the ceiling. “You remember the basic tactical course in the academy, right? People fighting to defend their homeland routinely outperformed invading armies or mercenaries, even when the invaders had the advantage of better training and better equipment.”
“Yeah… I know.” She sat up, grabbing her face in both hands. “Still messes with me how I feel tired after these courses. And I’m sweating for real.”
“Well, you were twitching a lot on the last fight.” He smiled. “Nice job by the way.”
“You nerfed them, didn’t you?”
He held up both hands. “Swear. Only thing I did was drop in Royal_Child_Female_118 and slap together a few lines of script. It looked like you were holding back. Just needed a bit of motivation.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever end up in a sword fight against living people.” She spun sideways, letting her feet dangle. “The simulation is so realistic it felt wrong to kill them.”
“Ya never know.” He winked. “The crazy stuff you deal with, you might just end up invading an ancient Chinese palace someday.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
“Heh. Don’t be so quick to dismiss the idea. Not many people have the nerve to jump off the eleventh floor.”
“Don’t remind me. And the guy had like ten hand grenades on his chest. I’m still not even sure why I jumped. Falling to my death would’ve taken longer than blowing up. Didn’t even think, just leapt. Only survived due to a luckily timed advert bot going by.” And maybe a little help from a Seraph.
“That’s how you stay alive in a sword fight. Or a hand-to-hand fight. Don’t waste time thinking too much. It will all start to feel natural and instinctive before you know it. Looked like you were almost there in the last two matches.”
“Maybe. I kinda psyched myself up a bit too much. Knowing this is a sim has me thinking of it like a video game. In a real situation, I’ll have all the motivation I need.”
He smiled. “Yes, knowing you can’t get back up after death to try again is great incentive not to let them stab you.”
“Sure is. Okay… shower time.” She plucked at her sweaty blue jumpsuit.
“All right,” said Gabriel. “Nice run. See you in a few days and we’ll throw some more time at jiu jitsu.”
She hopped off the bed. “I can hardly wait.”
“Don’t sound so excited.” He winked at her before walking off.
Despite being in love with Sam—and Gabriel having a wife—she watched him for a few seconds. Admiring beauty hurt no one. Gabriel Silva had the physique of a Greek god. Well, maybe a minor one. Gee-ball players often turned themselves into monstrous piles of muscle, but her trainer hadn’t taken it anywhere near as far. She also kinda liked long hair on a guy. Made him look like a warrior or something from the Monwyn world.
Kirsten headed out of the simulation room to the locker/shower area midway down the next hall where she’d stashed her uniform and gear. Two other women and three men stood by lockers, stripping in preparation to shower. Two people used shower tubes, another six by the benches in the middle of the room changed between Division 1 uniforms and training room jumpsuits.
No one paid much attention to her beyond a casual glance, acknowledging her existence. She kicked off the thin sneakers, stripped the jumpsuit off and stuffed it into the laundry chute before hopping in an available shower tube. Warm soapy water hit her like a full-body muscle massage. Despite her actual body being Velcro-strapped to a bed the entire time, the simulation’s extreme realism made her feel as if she’d hiked up the mountain six times. A few scrapes on her knuckles and shins where she’d hit the ground still hurt, even though her skin hadn’t been damaged in the real world.
A second after the autoshower switched to rinse mode, a holographic woman in a Division 2 dress uniform appeared standing outside the tube. The vacantly happy expression made no secret of her being a dispatch doll.
“Lieutenant Wren, 21-49 in progress. Your presence is requested immediately.”
Kirsten shouted, “Shit!” and mashed the emergency-stop button. Code 21-49 meant a ghostly manifestation presenting an imminent threat to life. A non-psionic saw a ghost, knew it to be a ghost, and the spirit tried to or had killed someone. Dripping wet, she rushed to her locker and scrambled into her underwear, uniform pants, and top as fast as she could move.
Carrying her utility belt, arm guard, and boots, she ran down the hall to the elevator. Knowing it wouldn’t give her enough time to put anything more on—only going down one floor—she didn’t b
other trying. The instant the doors snapped open, she sprinted out of the Division 1 wing into the common area, crossing to the Division 0 wing, heading straight to motor pool.
Dorian already had their patrol craft online, having pulled it up right to the door into the garage, her door open and waiting.
She jumped in, tossed her stuff on the passenger seat, then yanked the door down while simultaneously accelerating. Dorian activated the emergency lights and transponder. The gull door sealed, emitting a faint pneumatic hiss. She activated hover mode before reaching the ramp out. The gate opened in response to the car being ‘Code 3,’ allowing her to hit 160 MPH still inside the garage.
Once she leveled off at 700 feet, ten stories above civilian hovercar traffic, she lined the car up with the direction indicator pointing to Sector 3181, then let go of the sticks. “Dorian, take it for a bit.”
He disappeared.
Kirsten pulled her boots on, smacked all the fasteners closed, attached her belt, then clamped the armored bracer around her left forearm. The screen popped up indicating a missed emergency notification as well as two calls from Captain Eze. According to the active dispatch details displaying on a mini terminal next to the Navcon, she headed to an Ancora Medical facility.
“Oh, no,” said Kirsten. “Comm, Captain Eze.”
The captain’s holographic head appeared over the middle of the console. “Wren… I see you’re already on the way. What happened? You didn’t answer earlier.”
“Was in the shower after sim training.”
“Ahh.” He nodded once. “I should have guessed due to your wet hair.”
His mentioning it made the water soaking into the back of her uniform shirt colder. “Did you try to call me about this dispatch or something else?”
“The dispatch. They escalated it as a 21-49 and you weren’t responding to a page.”
She relaxed a little. At least she didn’t have two problems to deal with. “I’m on the way to Ancora. What happened?”
Captain Eze heaved an inaudible sigh. “A PR rep from Ancora contacted us, requesting assistance. She didn’t provide many details beyond saying a patient has been killed and her people are blaming a ghost. The woman made it abundantly clear she thinks they’re insane, but the entire surgical team—including a doctor—had the same story.”
“Wait, killed?” Kirsten’s heart sank into her gut.
“Unfortunately.” Captain Eze bowed his head. “Miss Ishikawa didn’t hesitate in conveying her complete skepticism.”
Kirsten frowned. “So why she’d call us? Not like they have to cover their backside legally. No one takes ghosts to court.”
“Won’t stop someone from attempting to sue them.”
She grumbled. “I’m three minutes out.”
“All right. Stay safe, Kirsten.”
“Thanks. I will try.” She exhaled out her nose.
He only used her first name when worried about her. Most likely, his overprotective side came out. 21-49 calls were highly rare, but she’d dealt with multiple paranormal entities capable of killing people before. As long as she didn’t find an abyssal at the med center, she should be okay.
* * *
Kirsten dove the patrol craft in hot, kicking up a huge blast of cryonic fog and ion sparks.
As if expecting her to ram the giant hovercar straight through the doors of the emergency entrance on the roof, people scrambled for cover. She decelerated hard, stopping to a hover five feet away from the door, sliding sideways to land on the sidewalk so she didn’t block arriving MedVans. Dorian shut down the drive system as she leapt out, then followed her, not bothering to run around people. Shivering visitors, patients, and one orderly in their wake, shrieked as if doused with ice water as he phased through them.
A head-sized floating orb bot zoomed over to her, a prim-and-proper voice calling out, “Excuse me? Are you the police sent here about the unexplained event?”
She wanted to ignore the bot but facing a sea of clueless faces and the urgency of a killer ghost, she forced herself to stop. “Yes. Where is the ghost?”
“I am unable to comment on the location of any unexplained phenomena. However, I am here to escort you to the scene where numerous staff members have indicated they observed one.”
She fought the urge to yell at the bot, merely thrusting her arm forward. “Lead the way. Is it true a patient is dead?”
“As a non-sentient artificial intelligence assistance unit, I am unable to comment due to issues of patient confidentiality. The medical technicians in the procedure room we are going to will be able to provide this information.”
“This is why we have so many gangs.” Dorian waved dismissively at the bot. “Each one of those machines is someone out of a job.”
Kirsten decided not to start a political debate with him in the middle of a 21-49 scene, jogging after the flying ball in silence. It led them down a series of hallways to an elevator, then another series of hallways plus two security checkpoints it breezed by without engaging the security staff.
At long last, the bot entered an incredibly long, shiny white corridor. Forty doors, twenty per side in a staggered pattern, led to procedure rooms containing medical tanks and their associated computer systems. Padded benches lined the walls between the doors, all empty. The scenery reminded her of the hall where she sat waiting for Brooke while the medics tried to detox the Lace out of the eleven-year-old. Up to forty people could be floating in breathable gel, with only a few ones and zeroes standing between life and death. It didn’t take much energy for a ghost to drain power from nanobots. Even a relatively young spirit could easily kill someone undergoing a precarious enough surgery.
Shit. If there’s a killer ghost down here…
The relative lack of chaos came as both a relief and a shock. On one hand, the quiet meant the spirit didn’t continue on a rampage. Unfortunately, it also offered her little clue where to go—and seemed altogether wrong in the wake of a death.
“Almost there, officer,” said the bot.
She didn’t feel like arguing over her rank with a robot, so ignored it. To most civilians, every member of the NPF was ‘officer.’
It stopped at the seventh room on the left. “Here we are. Feel free to go inside.”
As if I’d wait. She waved her armband at the ID reader, invoking a police override. The door slid to the right, emitting a soft whirr. All the chaos she didn’t see in the corridor went on inside the room. Two women in white jumpsuits argued over the idea of ghosts being real. Another woman and two men in light grey jumpsuits went around examining display terminals as well as the insides of three refrigerator-sized computer cabinets.
Strong residual spirit energy hung in the air, though the room contained no ghosts other than Dorian. She reached out with her mental feelers, sensing a handful of distant spirits elsewhere in the hospital, though none matched the energy in this room. Much like how dogs could identify individuals via their noses, different spirits’ energy felt unique.
No real surprise a hospital had a handful of resident ghosts.
The most prominent source of paranormal energy came from the medical tank at the far end of the room. A clear cylinder three times the width of an autoshower spanned between a pair of thick metal platforms, one on the ceiling and one on the floor. Within the peach-hued gel floated the nude body of a Hispanic man, his abdomen open, intestines unfurled into the fluid. Except for being dead, he appeared reasonably young—late thirties perhaps—and in good condition, meaning not like an off-gridder or fringer who spent years away from medical care or good hygiene practices.
Beside the med tank, a black woman in a blue Division 2 jumpsuit crouched over a portable terminal connected by wire to the tank’s platform base. The sight of a crime scene technician already here shocked Kirsten into staring for a few seconds in disbelief. For her to be here already must mean Division 0 never received a call until well after Mr. Mendoza died. Someone—probably a brand-new Admin cadet—punched in the wron
g code or got confused when told a person had died. 21-49 meant an active scene where a ghost was about to kill someone or had killed and still rampaged. This scene was more of a 21-60, an observed spirit manifestation where someone died, but the ghost had already left the area.
Dorian approached the tank, tracing his fingers over the clear cylinder at heart-level to the dead occupant.
“Tech?” asked Kirsten, approaching the tank.
The Division 2 tech peered up from the holographic screen, went wide-eyed at the sight of her, and sprang to her feet, saluting. “Lieutenant.”
Kirsten returned the salute, eyeing the woman’s nameplate, which read Kelly, T. beside the rank logo for Tech First Class, an E5. “No need for excessive formality at a crime scene. Can you tell me what’s going on here? They said we had an active spirit manifestation likely to cause harm.”
“I’m glad you’re here, lieutenant.” Tech Kelly exhaled hard. “Psionic stuff freaks me out. I can concentrate again with you here.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow at her. “She’s afraid of you but calmed by your presence?”
“Have you found anything yet?” Kirsten set her hands on her hips, failing to hide all the annoyance in her tone.
“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Tech Kelly waved rapidly in a ‘no no no’ sort of way. “I get just as rattled when there’s a bad guy running around with a gun and I don’t have one. Psionics are cool, just not when people use ’em bad. When the other two Zeroes were here, I didn’t have to worry whatever did this might come back.”
“Other ones?” Kirsten blinked.
“Yeah. You’re the third Zero here. Initially, Ancora thought they were hacked. After my team couldn’t figure out what happened to the machines, we figured it had to be a psionic messing with the computers. You guys sent a pair of Tactical officers first. One just kinda stood there looking useless while her partner walked around touching all the machines. He said he felt ‘weird energy’ in the air but couldn’t tell what made the machines freak out. He didn’t think a psionic person did it, but he did keep insisting this room ‘felt weird,’ like a haunted place. When he started talking about spooky stuff, the medical techs and doctors mentioned seeing a ghost appear.”
The Shadow Fixer Page 15
