Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  She pulled her E90 out, but thought better of it and switched to the stunrod, holding it like a bat. Another orb shot around the next corner and swerved at her. Taser prongs popped out of it as it careened toward her abdomen. Kirsten leapt to the side and swung. A dull clank reverberated down the hall as plastisteel stunrod met ten-pound orb bot, diverting its flight into the side of the vendomat. Sparks surrounded it as its prongs dug into the metal box. Two seconds later, it emitted a cloud of thick black smoke and a loud report comparable to a gunshot.

  Kirsten had not moved since the instant of contact; the loud bang made her jump and let the stunrod slip out of her grasp. Its tip-first impact with the ground caused a flash of blue before it fell flat. “Ow.” She gasped, clenching her hands into fists. “Oh, damn. Okay, that was a bad idea. I can’t feel my fingers.”

  “I would have shot it, personally.”

  “You’re a better shot. It’s not easy to hit those little things.”

  Dorian waved dismissively. “The stun only lasts a few seconds, just catch them.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Why don’t you just take them out of the air?”

  “Duck,” he said, reaching to his right.

  At the sight of a shimmer of energy drifting into his hand, she leapt to the side. Number three, now an inert ball of metal, fell through the space where she just was.

  From around the corner, a woman’s voice screamed, “This is pointless!”

  A gunshot silenced the din that erupted in the wake of the shout. Kirsten sprinted to a holographic banner bearing the placard: “Executive Conference Room 3.” She peeked through the gap in the door, observing a number of well-dressed people sitting around an expensive looking onyx table. All eyes fell upon a dark skinned woman in a plum-colored dress.

  The woman clutched a huge orange rubber ball to her chest, as if hiding behind it would shield her from another gunshot. A spherical turret in the ceiling trained a single-barrel weapon at her as a digitized machine-voice decreed: “Write!” Her shaking hand uncapped a permanent marker, and the squeak of felt upon rubber broke the quiet.

  “You may as well join them,” said a voice, a mix of static and man. “Come on in. Don’t think I won’t unload on these simpletons if you raise that weapon.”

  Kirsten gave Dorian a meaningful look before she nudged the door open. She slipped into the room, keeping her E-90 pointed down. A group of executives stared up with the expected combination of confusion and pleading. In the center of the immense conference table, a spirit stood waist-deep in the surface. He appeared dressed for an outdoor excursion, complete with backpack and the kind of ridiculous hat full of fishing lures a tourist would buy. From an inch below his ribs, his body went transparent; the part through the table looked as she imagined ghosts appeared to normal people when they chose to do so. The man lacked any sense of recognition at the sight of her, and had his right hand stuck through the screen of a terminal meant to control audio-visual presentations.

  The woman holding the ball finished writing and passed it to her left. Pointing with his free hand, the spirit yelled at the sweating heavyset man now holding it. Spectral lips moved, but the voice came from speakers in the ceiling.

  “Your turn, Doug. Write.”

  Kirsten stared at the thin ghost, making no secret that she could see him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Team building exercise!” he shrieked, using the shrill war cry of an enraged techie. “They have to write something good about the person on their right and then pass the ball to the person on their left.” The spirit went wide-eyed manic. “It’s good for morale! We’re all one big happy team here, right?”

  When no one said a word, the ceiling turret put a bullet into the wall.

  “Right,” cheered everyone, in a nervous drone.

  “Once the ball makes it around the room, we’re going to break into groups of five and do team charades. Just to keep things upbeat, one member of the losing team is going to get shot in the backside.” The ghost cackled. “Good news though, the new benefits program you just signed on for covers superficial damage to the ass.”

  “What the hell is going on?” asked an older black man in a grey suit, hissing the question through clenched teeth.

  “That particular wank-stick is Joseph Xavier Freeh,” said the spirit. “CEO of Ancora Medical. Personally, I’m hoping his team loses at charades.”

  Kirsten set the E90 back in its holster and held her hands up in a disarming gesture. “Calm down. Clearly, you have some kind of problem with Ancora. I checked their records and couldn’t find any issues with former employees. Tell me what happened and I can help you.”

  “What happened is that someone has hacked into our network. Why the hell haven’t the police done something?” Mr. Freeh glared at Kirsten.

  “It’s not a hacker, sir. It’s a ghost. Does anyone here recognize a white, light-skinned possibly Hispanic man in his middle-to-late thirties with short brown hair. Little on the nerdy side, big nose, dressed like he’s going to go fishing.”

  Two of the executive board gasped. The ball turret swiveled at Kirsten, the ghost’s face flashed to abject rage. Kirsten summoned a wave of psionic energy, projecting it into the spirit and knocking him out of the table. Sparks flew from the AV terminal as it died, and the turret went limp. His fury whirled into a chaotic tangle of panic, though he managed only to scream “What the―” before Dorian came through the wall from behind and tackled him.

  As the ceiling gun whirled around in a circle, beeped, and folded back into its recess, Kirsten waved at the door. “Everyone, out.” She leaned into the wall to avoid getting trampled. “Ormund, this is Agent Wren. It’s safe to come in. Please clear the day care.”

  “Copy,” said the voice in her ear.

  “Any fatalities?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Dorian manhandled the other spirit with ease, wrestling him to the ground and putting one knee in his back.

  “Okay, buddy. What happened?”

  “Wha? You can see me?” he screamed.

  “I’ve only been staring right at you for the past few minutes. Are you that dense?”

  “This one isn’t too old.” Dorian smirked at her. “I wouldn’t lash him; you’ll destroy him in one pass.”

  “Destroy? What the hell are you talking about? I’m already dead.”

  Kirsten pulled a chair away from the table and fell into it. “Look, you’re a ghost. That’s true. I get the feeling you have some kind of issue with this company. Unfortunately, I can’t allow you to hurt the living.”

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t ended you already,” said Dorian, forcing the man to look up at her. “She’s real sensitive about kids, you know. There’s a whole daycare full of them downstairs put at risk because of you.”

  “Dave… Dave Alvarez. I used to work for Ancora as a systems administrator.”

  “Did they have you killed for some reason?” Kirsten cocked an eyebrow. “Last I checked, sys admins are pretty replaceable. What did you steal?”

  “Nothing, ouch dammit, let go.” He wriggled under Dorian for a few seconds. “They didn’t have me killed, it was a stupid team-building exercise. They made us go camping out in the Badlands. They said it would be safe. This giant, fucking werewolf-from-hell with metal claws shredded me.” He flailed. “And a half-dozen of our security team.”

  “No one forced you to go out there.”

  Dave scowled. “You have no idea what it’s like. If you wanna get promoted, you have to do everything. All these stupid little fluff meetings, holiday parties, special morale events.” He rolled his eyes at the wall. “They think it brings us”―his voice lapsed sarcastic―“closer as a team and enables us to reach new plateaus of productivity in the next quarter.”

  “So you were going to team-build them to death?” asked Dorian, trying to suppress the urge to laugh.

  “I dunno…” The fight left him. “I just wanted someone to see how stupid it was. I di
ed for no reason other than where some stupid executive’s dart landed on the list of lame shit to do. You know they made us use our vacation time for it too, right? Yeah, I could have backed out, but they notice these things. People who back out don’t get promoted. People who back out stay low level admins for years.” Dave deflated and let his face fall to the ground. “Of course, Walter is still alive.”

  “You’re frustrated, I get that. Killing people won’t help. Believe it or not, it’ll just make it worse for you. Do you have any family left I can talk to for you?”

  “Three daughters and a wife. They’re scraping by. My eldest, Liz, can’t get a job at her age, fifteen, due to all the damn dolls taking low-skilled work. They can’t afford to move to a colony.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Dave.” She waved at Dorian to let him up. “I’ll take all the information you can give me about the camping trip and send it over to an investigative team that looks into corporate misbehavior. Ancora may not want to endure the stink of an inquest. For your part, you leave these people alone. I’m willing to trust you, since I’m sure you care about your family.”

  “Yeah,” said Dave, standing and dusting himself off. No longer through the table, he resumed a solid appearance. “All I wanted was for them to acknowledge they were careless. I don’t think they’ll cave in though, they made us all sign waivers before we went out there.”

  “The detectives will look into the deaths of the other security staff as well. If they coerced you to go out there and then forced you to sign off on liability, a judiciary panel will have a field day with it.”

  “I don’t imagine Mr. Freeh would want to see it on the NewsNet,” said Dorian.

  Kirsten grinned. “Good idea.”

  Amid the bustle of emergency crews tending to the wounded, Kirsten found Joseph Freeh surrounded by a trio of assistants. He bellowed at one girl who seemed younger than Kirsten as if the ‘network breach’ was her fault. She took notes on a datapad in preparation for a torturous system review he intended to drop upon their engineers.

  “Mr. Freeh, a moment?” Kirsten walked up to him.

  “More police nonsense? It damn well took you people long enough.” He shooed his assistants off to the side. “Caramel latte, extra shot.”

  “A coffee man, I can respect that.” She put on an earnest face. “Mr. Freeh, about what just happened here. One of your company’s employees is lingering after death as a ghost. He was killed by some marauding genetic disaster while attending a corporate team-building event. Camping in the Badlands?” She blinked.

  “That was last year. It was McNamara’s idea. The man’s a survivalist. He intended it purely for the adventurous crowd. The employee had every chance not to go. He knew the risks.”

  “Dave puts it in an entirely different light. Corporate culture twisted his arm. He was afraid he wouldn’t get promoted if he didn’t attend. On top of that, the company forced him to sign a waiver of liability on a dangerous, foolish trip he had no choice but to participate in if he did not want to sabotage his career. Dealing with ghosts is a touchy subject, Mr. Freeh. It’s not like I can haul him off to jail or hit him with a fine. I can either destroy him or find a resolution to whatever issue is keeping him from moving on to the next world. Given the circumstances here, most especially because he did not kill anyone, I’m inclined to give him what he needs in order to move on.”

  “And what would that be?” Mr. Freeh frowned.

  “Nothing grandiose, he is just worried about his family.”

  “Touching.” Freeh looked to his left. “Where is my coffee? Good Lord, man, it’s been almost three minutes.”

  “The way I see it, the company is at least fifty percent complicit in his death, as well as the deaths of six or seven security personnel. I’m well aware Ancora strives to maintain a reputation as a squeaky-clean corporation that cares. I’m sure the NewsNet will devour a story about a fatal compulsory camping trip.”

  The CEO reeled as if slapped. “You’re dangerously close to libel, Miss”―he peered at her chest― “Wren.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to talk to the press. I’m not permitted to discuss specific cases with them. However, I will be filing a request with CIB, that’s Corporate Investigations Bureau by the way, to begin an inquest regarding the deaths. Those investigations are a matter of public record and any reporter digging for dirt on corporations might―”

  “Alright.” He held his hand up. “What is it you want?”

  “I was thinking you provide one and a half times Mr. Alvarez’s salary to his wife until the day his youngest daughter turns eighteen or until his wife obtains employment sufficient to provide for her family without needing a stipend. Do that, and I might lose my report to CIB.” She started to walk away, but paused. “Oh, by the way, I’d recommend against any more camping trips out there… or at least make it genuinely optional.”

  Freeh’s rapid mental math seemed to factor her request far less damaging than a potential media scandal. “Done.”

  “What now?” asked Dave.

  Kirsten shook hands with Freeh and walked back to her car. “Go home, be with them. When the stipend starts, you might feel a release from this world. Trust the light.”

  “Thank you.” He tried to hold her hand.

  She made herself solid to spirits and let him. “Behave yourself. Don’t make me regret being a softie.”

  “I won’t. Thank you!” David floated off.

  “Damn shame,” said a Division 1 officer near the row of cars. “Waste of such a pretty girl.”

  Kirsten whirled, her building snarl fading when she realized they weren’t talking about her being psionic.

  “Yeah.” His partner let out a long, slow sigh with a weak shake of his head. “Who the hell does a thing like that?”

  “What happened?” she asked, moving closer.

  They looked up.

  “Squad mate just found a dead woman a few sectors south. Just listening to the comm. chatter go by.” He held up his forearm guard, projecting an image of an alley filled with crime scene techs and patrol officers. A nude body lay half under a police blanket. The victim appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

  Kirsten cringed. “She doesn’t look like a prostitute. Too healthy. Well, except for being dead. Any weird stuff going on?”

  “Nothing anyone reported. We’ll call you if something happens.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  The squad room was dim when she walked in, lit only by excess light from Captain Eze’s office. She knocked at the door, earning a wave-in once he saw her.

  “That took longer than expected.” He smiled, nodding at the couch where Evan slept.

  “Sorry, there were so many witnesses to interview. Their tech people grilled me like a slab of salmon. Thanks for watching him.”

  “You are most welcome. He was no trouble at all, though he’s been trying to talk to you in his sleep.”

  Kirsten smiled. “He’s one of a kind, though I’m sure he’ll have a bratty moment eventually.”

  She tossed his backpack over one shoulder before scooping him up. He whined in his sleep, cuddling into her at the disturbance of being moved.

  “You don’t have to wake up.” She kissed him on the forehead.

  “Mom?” He mumbled, somewhere between asleep and not. “You should break Konstantin’s heart.”

  She blinked, staring at him for a moment. The statement, mean as it sounded, came with no malice in his voice or on his cherubic face. Kirsten shot Eze a look of bewilderment. Evan’s hint of consciousness faded as fast as it manifested, leaving him deep asleep once more.

  “He’s probably feeling jealous.” Eze winked. “Talk it over with him when he wakes up. Heck, the kind of money that man has… I’m almost jealous.”

  She chuckled and cradled Evan close enough to whisper into his ear. “I don’t care how rich he is, kiddo. You are the most important person in my life.”

  A trace of a smile curled his lip.

&nb
sp; mid the din of a hundred and change sugared-up children, Evan all but dragged Shani by the arm. In his left hand, a flashing plastic box attempted to make the sound of a thunderstorm. The miniature cacophony was lost to the abject chaos of Sector D, originally a chain of kid-tainment places known as Funzones until they got bought out. Evan, being nine, ducked around the crowd, taking advantage of any spaces or gaps.

  Be careful!

  He spun as Kirsten’s voice entered his mind. She was a few paces behind him in the crowd, alarmed at his sudden departure from the table.

  My turn’s up. He waved the flashing box.

  Soon the two kids squeezed between bored adults watching a hopelessly uncoordinated boy fail at a gripper claw game. Evan approached an attendant manning the Monwyn the Magnificent sim and stood on tiptoe to hand back the flashing pager. He looked over his shoulder, bouncing, waiting for Kirsten to catch up. Catching sight of the miserable older boy, Evan nudged Shani and pointed.

  She gave him a confused look for a second, and grinned. As soon as the boy turned away in defeat, the toy cyborg figure he had been going for flipped out of the pile, seemingly of its own volition, and fell into the exit chute. At the sound of the thunk, the boy whirled to find the toy in arm’s reach, and cheered.

  “Okay, kid. You got a half hour.”

  Evan looked up at the high school-aged attendant in an ill-fitting uniform, and smirked. He wanted to protest the meager time ration, but it would only waste what he had. “Okay.”

  “You know how to work the―”

  “Duh.” Evan raced past the operator’s station to a cluster of four pods.

  Only one was empty. Inside, two bench seats faced each other, with a pair of wire-laden helmets on each side. Evan took one and sat where it had been. Shani followed, sitting next to him. She frowned at the giant helmet, before giving him an unenthused look.

  “Never used a helmet before?”

  “No.” Shani put it on. “Just the visor at home.”

  “This is different than just watching.” Evan leaned over and slid the apparatus down over her head. “It talks to your brain. It’s like we’re really there.”