The Shadow Fixer

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Yeah.” Kirsten released the lash and pulled the E-90 again. “No point being subtle now.”

  She ran the rest of the way across the field to the door the WellTech doll entered. Somewhere off to the right, Exploded Head shrieked, begging and pleading the Harbingers not to take him. Kirsten didn’t have to see to picture him being swarmed and dragged down.

  Predictably, her police override code didn’t work on the door—but a shot from the E-90 did. She melted the locking bar and shoved the door inward, gun up, aiming at a more or less open space between four ancient concrete pillars holding up the overpass. Glowing blue fiberoptic cables ran from several computers on a table to the left, going up along the pylon to the overpass, likely connected to the GlobeNet somewhere inside the plate.

  The child doll sat in a chair straight ahead beside a coffee table loaded with junk, her expression bored. A much larger table holding electronic parts, disassembled bots, and tools stood on Kirsten’s right along the front wall. Beyond it, a portable autoshower tube, reassembler, and fridge. Three power cables ran along the overpass support behind the fridge, no doubt spliced into the city’s electrical grid up in the plate.

  Kirsten scanned the walled-in area, not noticing anyone else there—until she reached out telepathically in search of sentient minds. One directly above her. She peered up at the underside of a filthy metal platform spanning the doorway, reminiscent of battlements in an ancient fort.

  “Shit,” muttered a man.

  She dashed forward and spun, aiming her E-90 up at a guy in a trench coat. Fluffy blond dreadlocks surrounded a dark face with glowing white eyes—Astral Sight. His surface thoughts went from panic at the tremendous feeling of doom coming from the field outside to shock at seeing another person in his fortress to anger at the other person being a Division 0 cop. He considered going for one of the handguns on his belt.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said Kirsten. “My preference is to bring you in alive even if you did kill at least seven people, four of whom were Division 1 officers. But don’t think for a second I won’t click this trigger if you reach for a weapon.”

  The man stared over Kirsten’s head.

  Her E-90 went dark.

  “Sorry,” said a little girl voice. “Trev made me.”

  Trev yanked a handgun off his belt. Kirsten leapt forward, taking cover under the platform he stood on.

  “Got it.” Dorian smiled. “His gun’s as dead as his sense of feng shui.”

  “Help me,” said Trev. “Kill the cop.”

  Dorian shivered. He glared murderously at Kirsten for an instant, then grabbed his head in both hands, growling.

  Kirsten reloaded, stuffing a new e-mag in the E-90, then firing straight up into the metal plate. Small globs of molten steel fell from the tiny hole.

  “Fuck!” shouted Trev, leaping off, the bottom of his trench coat on fire.

  She swiveled to aim at him. He landed in a somersault, springing back to his feet. “Shoot the bitch.”

  The child doll picked a large handgun up out of the junk on the coffee table next to her chair.

  Kirsten darted to the side, putting Trev between her and the doll, aiming at his face. “Tell her to stop.” Light from her eyes flashed briefly over him.

  “Gah!” Trev also grabbed his head in both hands, trying to fight her suggestive command. “Dammit. Shit. No!”

  The doll stepped around him and fired, her little arm flying upward from the recoil of the giant handgun. Fortunately, the spirit’s aim sucked. Kirsten hit the deck a second after a bullet struck the metal platform over the doorway with a clank. Dorian continued growling and squirming, he and Trev both momentarily unable to do anything other than fight against forces attempting to control them. Despite it being a machine, Kirsten couldn’t quite bring herself to shoot the child doll. She dashed for cover behind a thick concrete pylon on the left, running to put it between her and the armed android. Another shot rang out as she ran, but the bullet didn’t hit anything close enough to tell where it went. Kirsten stopped at the end of the overpass support, transferred the E-90 to her left hand, and called the lash.

  She found herself in a narrow space between the bridge support and the wall of scrap Trev—or some prior denizen of the Beneath—built to enclose the area. Shelves held various boxes of old technology, most of it covered in dust. The space made her an easy target, so she hurried forward to the other side, pausing at the end.

  The soft scuff of small feet drew closer to the corner in front of her, the doll fearlessly coming after her like a miniature combat android. Kirsten kicked a plastic bottle out past the concrete wall.

  Bang!

  The bottle exploded into a twist of shredded plastic surrounded in a puff of dirt.

  Hoping to take advantage of recoil fouling the false child’s aim, Kirsten rushed out from cover. The doll stood only a few feet away, teetering back, both arms over her head, the hand cannon practically flying out of her grasp. Kirsten swiped the lash at the doll in a hasty, weak attack. The energy whip struck a squishy-solid mass as it passed through the little body, which ought to have been insubstantial to it. The strike launched a blurry, spectral mass of light away from the doll, sending it zooming off almost to the wall surrounding the fortress before it coalesced into the shape of a young woman in a miniskirt and puffy jacket bearing the logo of the Jade Scorpionz gang.

  “Oh, no,” said a little girl voice from the doll. “I’m not allowed to touch weapons.” She tossed the handgun aside like a hot potato. “Please don’t be angry with me. I don’t know where it came from. I’m sorry.”

  The ghostly woman gawked at Kirsten. “Freakin’ ouch! And thanks!” She ran through the wall.

  “Get back here,” yelled Trev.

  “Eat a dick!” shouted the woman from outside.

  Kirsten whirled to face him. He almost stood straight up, twitching like an android having a logic circuit breakdown. “I don’t think she likes the controlling type. Get on the ground.”

  “Grr.” Trev squatted. He started to shift to all fours but froze with only his left hand touching dirt. Growling, he forced himself upright. “How are you doing that to me? I’m not a ghost.”

  “How do you do it to spirits?” She pointed the E-90 at him. “Trev, whatever your last name is, you’re under arrest by authority of Division 0. On the ground, now.”

  “Go away!” he yelled, a tiny flicker of purple light coloring the white Astral Seeing glow in his eyes.

  She barely noticed a tickle at her psyche. Even if she didn’t have Suggestion, his attempt to use it on her would have failed.

  “Shoot him in the damn knee.” Dorian growled, still struggling to fight off the command. “Put him on the damn ground.”

  “Not a bad idea,” said Kirsten, completely bluffing. “Three… two…”

  Her E-90 went dark again.

  She sighed, glaring to her left at a ghostly Discarded pointing at her. Tattered rags and grey fabric covered every inch of him, including his face except for eye holes. “Ooh, damn that really is annoying.”

  Trev roared, charging in to grab her. She weaved to the side, avoiding him while stuffing the dead E-90 back in its holster. He crashed into the junk-covered coffee table, kicking it over on his way into the wall. Growling, he shoved himself back, spinning into a roundhouse kick. Kirsten ducked, then launched herself at him, trying a jiu jitsu takedown. She seized his shoulder and arm, sweeping his leg while crashing all her weight into him. He tried to catch her, but stumbled due to her trapping his leg, and fell over backward, Kirsten on top of him.

  The Discarded ghost blurred over, trying to grab her. Spectral hands pulled at her chest, freezing cold, but having no solidity to get a grip. The shock of sudden, extreme cold paralyzed her for a second, allowing Trev to throw her to the side. She rolled over twice before coming to a halt on her back. Trev pulled a knife off his belt and leapt at her. Kirsten swung her right leg up, deflecting his pounce via kicking him in the groin. He flew pas
t her, landing in a heap on the ground.

  Still on her back, Kirsten called the lash and smacked the Discarded ghost across the face and chest. He emitted a screech like an electrocuted hog before disappearing entirely—most likely jumping back to his remains.

  “I said kill her dammit!” yelled Trev.

  Dorian snarled, shaking from his battle against compulsion. “K. Shoot him. Please, just shoot him in the face.”

  Kirsten scrambled upright, as did Trev.

  “Stop!” yelled Kirsten, her eyes flaring white.

  “Yeaaargh!” bellowed Trev, stagger-leaping at her.

  She blocked his punch, smoothly flowing into a counterattack kick at his face. He caught her ankle and held it. Grr. Furious, she locked stares and Mind Blasted him. Drooling, Trev let go of her leg, stumbling off to the side in a drunken sway, holding his head. She jumped on his back, trying to tackle him, but lacked the body mass to take him down. He wobbled back and forth around the fortress wearing her like a backpack, bouncing off two tables before wrenching himself around in a hard spin, flinging her off. She flew onto the bed, landing on her chest. He drew another knife, grasping it in an icepick grip and hammering it down at her back.

  Kirsten shoved herself aside, rolling out from under the attack; the blade plunged to the cross-guard in the old-world cloth mattress.

  “Can I dance, too?” asked the WellTech doll. “Looks like you’re having fun! I love dancing.”

  “Adorable,” muttered Dorian. He’d stopped visibly fighting, standing rigidly. His expression shifted from serial killer to normal to serial killer.

  Kirsten scrambled off the side of the mattress into a side kick, ramming her boot into Trev’s chest. He stumbled back, losing his grip on the knife, which remained impaled in the mattress. He’s stronger than me, but I don’t think he’s got any training.

  Trev recovered his balance.

  She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on Mind Blast. Her eyes vibrated in their sockets under the barrage of chaotic sensory information streaming into his brain.

  His eyes crossed. Trev screamed, “Border router overrun pickles and rabbits” while lunging at her, swinging his arm around in a wild, unexpected haymaker.

  Concentration slowed her reflexes too much to avoid the attack. His knuckles mashed into the side of her face, throwing her back onto the bed. Spots danced in her vision. The hit to the head elevated the dull Mind Blast headache into a nauseous nuclear bomb between her ears. Kirsten rolled on her side, vomiting onto the mattress in front of her.

  Whimpering, Trev grabbed his face and sank to his knees, repeating the words “Cake ribbons” over and over.

  “What on Earth did you do to him?” asked Dorian, red-faced.

  Ugh… I hate Mind Blast. The paradox irritated her. Developing the power would get her used to it and lessen the annoying side effects, but also result in it becoming more powerful, rate higher, and consequently, scare everyone in Division 0 into treating her like Commander Ashford. Admittedly, he took Mind Blast well past simply being able to bonk people over the head and not get a headache. She didn’t need to develop it anywhere near as much as him.

  Kirsten spat bile, coughed, then crawled the rest of the way across the mattress, grasping the edge in preparation to stand. Trev grabbed her by the hair, dragging her upright. She screamed at the pain, focusing it into another Mind Blast.

  “Data syncing.” Trev fell over backward like a plank, his fingers raking through her hair, dragging her hair clip out. “Poodle server. Fiberoptic neuro chicken.”

  “Ow, son of a…” Kirsten sank into a crouch, cradling the back of her head.

  Dorian ran up to her. “You’re bleeding from the nose. Bind the stunrod so I can tune this guy up.”

  “Memory pudding,” muttered Trev.

  “Uhh, seriously… what the hell did you do to him?” Dorian glanced at the twitching man.

  “Mind Blast. Nothing unusual.” She rubbed her face. “Ow. I’ve never zapped a psionic with it before. Maybe he’s partially resisting it. No idea why he’s babbling nonsense.”

  Dorian held his hand out. “Stunrod please.”

  “Are you free of control or just asking me for the stunrod so you can use it on me?”

  “Oh.” Dorian lowered his hand. “Free, but if you give me the rod, he’s going to try taking me over again. Better not do it. Just shoot the son of a bitch.”

  Trev sprang upright again, screaming, “Mind fuck pickles” over and over while rapidly punching at her.

  Kirsten dodged and blocked most of his uncoordinated onslaught, but even blocking sent her stumbling a few steps each time due to her size. The instant his barrage slowed enough to give her an opening, she stomped on his knee and rammed her forearm guard into his face, exploding his nose into a spray of blood. He grabbed her throat in both hands; she punted him in the groin. When that didn’t make him stop trying to strangle choke her, she thrust her arms up between his and went for his eyes.

  Roaring, Trev threw her aside like a ragdoll.

  “Ooh, throw and catch me!” called the WellTech doll. “I want to play, too.”

  Kirsten landed on the table of tools and disassembled bots—the exact opposite of a comfortable mattress. She cried out in pain, momentarily stunned from crashing onto a bed of sharp. Trev staggered around in a drunken stupor, staring fearfully at her for a few seconds before pointing at Dorian.

  “Make sure she doesn’t follow me!” Trev stagger-sprinted for the only exit. He missed, crashing into the doorjamb, clinging to stay on his feet.

  Kirsten groaned and started to sit up, but Dorian jumped on her and pushed her down. A cluster of sharp points jabbed into her back.

  “Ow!” yelled Kirsten.

  “Do it.” Dorian shuddered, rasping, “Do it… can’t resist.”

  Trev slipped out the doorway and ran.

  Kirsten extended the lash. Rather than fling it like a whip, she mentally commanded the energy cord to stab Dorian in the leg like a striking snake.

  “Shit!” He yelled and jumped around as if he’d been shot in the foot. “Damn, that stings.”

  “I’m sorry!” She sat up, reaching for him.

  “Don’t be. Broke the compulsion. Way harder to resist a command to be irritating. He couldn’t make me hurt you. Hope it pissed him off.”

  Kirsten slid off the table to her feet, rubbing sore spots where metal pieces jabbed her. She smiled at him but couldn’t afford to get too sentimental at the moment. Being able to resist the compulsion to kill her proved he loved her at least like a kid sister, or a real partner.

  “Aww. Did he have to go home? Are we done playing?” asked the WellTech doll.

  “Yeah,” muttered Kirsten. “We are definitely done playing.”

  32

  Sandcastles

  Kirsten ran out the door in the fortress wall, stuffing her last e-mag into the E-90.

  She still didn’t want to kill Trev, but the medics could replace a knee easily enough. Taking one of his legs out bothered her less than another Mind Blast, which could cause permanent damage. She’d already tenderized his brain quite thoroughly. Besides, the more she used it, the more the ability would develop. People in Division 0 already acted afraid of her for having a fairly low rating in Mind Blast. If she ranked higher in it, she worried they’d start avoiding her like they did Commander Ashford. The man could silence the PAC cafeteria merely by entering it.

  Trev neared the edge of the dirt field by the time she emerged from the fortress. Though a class 4 laser weapon laughed at a mere hundred-meter range, the iron sights of a handgun didn’t fill her with confidence. She’d be lucky enough to hit him at all, much less surgically take out a leg. Fortunately, he still stumbled along in an ungainly, lopsided gait as a result of repeated Mind Blasts. He’d likely be suffering loss of motor control for a few hours at least.

  Kirsten powered past the soreness and dizziness, forcing herself into a run, weaving around debris. Trev went left at the highway, lo
ping along a little faster than a highly motivated jogger. She gained on him easily, until he glanced back and noticed her step onto the highway. Shouting curses, he found the clarity of mind to straighten out his run. His larger size and longer stride made up for his disorientation. She took a stimpak out of her belt case and injected it in her thigh, mostly for the energy boost.

  A second wind hit her a few seconds later, along with tingles in her nose from nanobots repairing blood vessels. The stimpak hit her like a triple shot of high-grade espresso. On the wings of synthetic adrenaline, she started catching up to him again.

  I have nine more stims. He’ll eventually collapse. Don’t have to shoot him. I have a stunrod.

  She eased off to conserve energy, matching his speed rather than trying to run him down. An endurance marathon worked to her advantage, being lighter and smaller. Settling in about sixty feet behind him, she paced him down the highway, waiting for him to run out of breath.

  A thunderous, screeching moan of stressed metal rolled overhead.

  For an instant, it sounded as though the entirety of West City was about to collapse on top of her.

  She gazed upward, her eyes drawn to a large object falling from the underside of the city plates sixty or so meters above, directly in front of her. Kirsten stopped short, staring aghast at an enormous machine component plummeting toward the highway.

  “Trev!” shouted Kirsten. “Look out! Stop!”

  He ignored her, continuing to run for two more seconds before the dumpster-sized box slammed into the road on top of him. The whump of metal striking the ground echoed over itself four times into the distance. She caught sight of a massive blood splatter an instant before a huge cloud of dust obscured the impact point.

  Kirsten cringed, looking away. “Gah!”

  “Ooh. He’s going to need way more stimpaks than you’re carrying,” said Dorian.

  “Shit!” yelled Kirsten. “What the hell was that?”