“It could mean he did transcend. If the soul moves on to the next place, wouldn’t the link break?” She took another step toward the car.
“I believe so, yes. But, it still doesn’t explain the”―he made a double-fisted pulling gesture into his body, that would have thumped if his chest was solid― “yank.”
“I don’t like it either.” She drew the last word out into a sigh. “To claim jurisdiction on this murder, I need more than a little tuggy feeling on a ‘partner’ command doesn’t even believe I have.”
“What about that?” Dorian asked, pointing up.
Her gaze followed the line of his finger left and into the sky to a large NewsNet bot. In the peculiar way the human mind tends to do, as soon as she looked at it and recognized the face of Kimberly Brightman, she picked the reporter’s words out of the ambient din of advert jingles. In the background, a prim, grey-haired woman with dark skin stood behind a podium of microphones. Kirsten had the feeling she was familiar, the two guards in military armor in the background made her think government official.
“…has announced that she is open to discussions regarding the abolishment of trade embargoes with certain regions affiliated with the Allied Corporate Council. As you know, for years now, Commissioner Vernon has adamantly refused to consider open trade agreements with the ACC, citing numerous human rights violations. This morning’s announcement comes as quite a shock to parties on both sides of the debate. Let’s go now to our Lunar Correspondent, Amy Gordon at Copernicus, with the latest reaction from the Senate.”
The image shifted to a young, fair-skinned woman with short orange-blonde hair and hazel eyes, caught off guard by the sudden shift of feed. Grey and black dominated the scene behind her, with most of the upper reaches of the video a clear view through the Copernicus dome into space. The city behind her, like most of the moon, appeared in black and white―with the exception of full-color advert bots flying around. She stood at the base of a long staircase into an elaborate stadium-like building, with a dozen soldiers in white-on-grey camouflage armor at the top. The gold and blue banner of the United Coalition Front hung on either side of a row of doors.
Her ‘do I have to deal with these people’ scowl down the street was obvious, sending Dorian into a fit of chuckling. The Lunar reporter startled, went wide-eyed in the direction of the camera, and put on a false smile.
“Thanks, Kimberly. I’m here at the Senate chambers, where reaction to Commissioner Vernon’s announcement has been mixed. Former allies immediately decried her change of stance, and leveled accusations of bribery or coercion. I had a chance to speak with Senator Garr a few minutes ago. If you recall, he was in favor of opening trade with the ACC.”
The video cut to an older white man in a suit so expensive it shined. He blathered on about the plight of the lower classes in ACC society, drawing justification for a trade agreement by how it could only benefit poor people who had no influence on what their government did.
“That’s such a load of horseshit I can smell it from the moon,” said Dorian. “If he thinks for one second the ruling class over there will let one credit get to the people, he’s dangerously deluded. It would be like paying them to keep shooting at us.”
“But…”
Dorian held up a hand. “Not on Earth. On Mars. You’ve spoken to some of those vets. The ACC keeps a pleasant face on down here, but up there it’s a whole other story. We have enough trouble holding on to our piece of Mars with the Martian Liberation Front bombing everything they can; giving the ACC more resources is insanity.”
Kirsten felt like a ten-year-old watching elders discuss things she neither cared about nor understood. With a lamenting smirk at the car, she muttered “yeah.” Her awkwardness at having no political knowledge waned at a sudden spark of worry. “Dorian, do you think it’s a little odd Vernon changes her mind on something so significant like this?” She glanced back at the Division 2 crew loading William Arris’s body into a van.
“That man had nothing to do with her office.”
“He worked at the West City Archives, didn’t he? That’s still government work. All it takes is access to a computer terminal on the hard net. Maybe we missed an abyssal and it possessed him, used him to get into the government building, and somehow got to Vernon?”
“That’s kind of a reach. Why would a demon care about politics?” Dorian tapped his chin with a finger for a few minutes. “I don’t know. I didn’t get the feeling the body had been in contact with an abyssal, but I’m hardly a scholar on the subject.”
“Maybe I should go check, just a quick meeting. Won’t take long.” She ducked under the rising gull-wing door before it was all the way open.
The flight to Sector 2408 took forty minutes, over two-thirds of the city. The West City Administrative Complex consumed an entire sector square, as well as infiltrated the adjacent ones. Unlike most of the surrounding construction, the main building of the WCAC was only four stories above ground. Most of it went down, protected. Rumor claimed it extended into the earth, more than fifty meters below the surface of the elevated city plates.
She glided to a landing just outside the perimeter wall and drove through the checkpoint gate after a show of ID and a two-minute verification wait. Military personnel clad in generic-green camouflage armor with gold visors littered the area around the stairs. The silhouette of the body armor made it difficult to tell which ones were women; height proved the most reliable means.
Kirsten ignored them all watching her as she went up the stairs. The lobby was a grandiose affair consisting of chrome and black marble. Clusters of benches and plants ringed ornate columns, and the cavernous space held many glass tube elevators. Open to the ceiling, the reception area occupied the bottom of a shaft that offered a view into all four above ground floors through glass walls.
Most surprising of all, the two men and one woman behind the onyx desk all had surface thoughts, and all of them were concerned at the presence of a psionic in this building. She frowned, paying them no heed, and walked up to a large obelisk bearing a directory hologram. Her reflection stared back at her from the shiny ebon glass just behind a five-foot tapestry of light inscribed with names and titles. Commissioner Claire Vernon’s office was listed on the third floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the woman receptionist muttering while keeping a worried gaze on her. Kirsten almost punched the elevator button, emitting a heavy sigh.
“That didn’t take long.” Dorian looked around. “What’s got you in a mood so fast?”
She slid through the opening doors, spinning in time to meet the receptionist’s glare before they closed. “Three idiots at the front desk scared shitless of a psionic.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally here, K. This is a place where there are more secrets than people. There’s no security protocol on a brain.”
Her burning glower lifted to the floor counter. “I guess.”
Six figures in Marine Assault armor formed a horseshoe around the elevator as she emerged on the third floor. One close to the center lacked a helmet, seeming to be in his later forties, all-white hair in a neat military brush cut. He raised a hand at her approach.
“This is a restricted section, miss. Visitors are required to go through the receiving area downstairs.”
“I’m not a visitor; I’m here on official police business. I need to see Commissioner Vernon.”
He regarded her for a quiet moment, almost as if he had expected someone like her to show up. “Under what inquest number?”
As Kirsten’s mouth opened to speak, the other five Marines twitched, itching to raise their weapons. She lost her voice at the sight.
“Miss?”
Her eyes flicked back to him, noting the word ‘Gerard’ stenciled on his chest by a stack of chevrons. “I don’t appreciate being threatened, Sergeant. You do realize Division Zero is every bit as legitimate as One or Nine.”
“I’m sorry, Agent. It is a matter of national secu
rity. Your jurisdiction does not extend to military installations. Do you have an inquest number?”
“I am investigating a suspicious death that may be related to the Commissioner’s sudden change of heart. My purpose here is to determine if she is under any paranormal influence.”
“Agent Wren, it is only due to your credentials checking out that you’re not being detained already. I can’t let you inside without an official inquest and an order from CENTCOM.” He advanced, taking hold of her right forearm in a grip far less than comfortable. She tensed―old instincts die hard. “Tell us who sent you and we’ll go easy on you.”
She tried to jerk her arm away, but scarcely moved him. Dorian bristled, though his angry glare went unnoticed. Sergeant Gerard smirked at the terror seeping through her eyes and let go. It took her a few seconds to recover any sense of confidence.
“You think someone sent me to reprogram the Commissioner?” She blinked. “I’m a damn astral, not a mind-wiper. If you think I’m someone’s tool, sent here to do some political dirty work, do you really believe I’d just walk in through the front door?”
Gerard crossed his arms. “I don’t know what to think when Psios are involved, so I don’t. I follow orders. The only way you’re gettin’ in there to see Vernon is if my commanding officer tells me to let you in.”
She glowered, furious at her public reaction to being grabbed, furious at their disregard of her authority, and furious at not being trusted.
Dorian put a hand on her back. “Come on, K. If you push it, you are going to wind up in a C-Branch detention center where no one will ever find you. Anything you say will just make it look more suspicious. Evan needs you.”
The name washed over her shoulders like ice water. “I have reason to think she might be under an external influence. If you see anything unexplained going on here, please call us.” Kirsten backpedaled into the elevator, not taking her eyes off Gerard until the doors closed. Alone with Dorian, her face softened. “I hope I’m wrong about this.”
He seemed to gaze through the wall at the Marines. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”
ind whistled through the trees of Sanctuary Park. Kirsten shivered more from the sound than from feeling cold. The dancing pattern of moonlight, interspersed between leaf-shaped shadows, lent a foreboding solitude to the night. A young woman in glowing makeup with brown hair came around a bend in the false bricks, leading a man twice her age. Silver material wrapped about her; a garment just tall enough to cover her breasts with a narrow strip of cloth. Her skirt was transparent, offering a plain view of lacy violet undergarments.
At the sight of a uniform leaning on a tree, the girl skidded to a halt and reversed course, dragging her client out of sight. Kirsten shot a guilty stare at the ground to her right. Dorian edged closer.
“Something wrong?”
She did not look up. “The only reason that isn’t me is I’m psionic.”
He pushed on her arm. “Your logic is flawed. Stop trying to depress yourself.”
“Flawed?” She glanced at him after taking note of Theodore’s presence in the distance. “How so?”
“The most glaring problem is if you weren’t psionic, your mother wouldn’t have tortured you. You’d probably be out of university by now at some boring job. The second issue is the government does help street kids, even non-psionics. The ones you see here wanted to stay.”
“They ship them off Earth,” said Kirsten, frowning.
Dorian looked around at the city. “Are you so sure it’s a bad thing?”
Theodore paused amid a group of university students passing a narco-inhaler around. He took it in turn, drawing a breath off it as they all stared at the floating device. Kirsten smirked at him as he went from solid looking to ghostly in her eyes.
“Yeah, that’s the shit,” growled Theodore through a long exhale.
One man fainted; the rest scrambled off in random directions. He laughed as he let his manifestation fade and dropped the drug delivery device on the chest of the unconscious man. Curly black hair wafted in the breeze as he glided to where Kirsten stood giving him a disapproving frown.
“What?” He leaned back on his heels while his pocketed hands rose a bit in a lazy version of a shrug. “They’re in my park at night. Fair game.”
Kirsten shoved herself away from the tree she had been leaning on. “You shouldn’t do that to people. You could kill someone.”
“They weren’t old ‘nuff to have heart attacks. Sides, they’ll blame the Zone4.” He groaned. “Such a shame I died before they invented all these wonderful chemicals.”
“If you hurry this along, there’s a prostitute over there.” Dorian waved to the distance.
“Bitsy?” Theodore rolled his eyes. “She’s boring. Just lays there, no energy.” He winked at Kirsten. “Bet you’d be a lot more energetic. Quite a few years of pent up frustration waiting to come out.”
The intent to make her feel awkward backfired. The lash draped out of her hand.
“Whoa…” Theodore raised his hands. “Sorry, girl. Forgot it was that time of the month. What happened to your sense of humor?”
“A couple of Marines,” said Dorian.
“Oh, my.” Theodore swiped wet hair off his face, black-lipstick grin widening. “Share the details?”
Her face went crimson. “You’re a damn pervert, Theo.”
He rendered a formal court bow. “Merci pour le compliment, je suis honoré.”
She released the lash, darkening the area. “Just a conflict of jurisdiction. What did you want, anyway?”
“The Kind seeks your assistance, girl.” Theodore stepped back with his left foot, waving his arm at a line of people that had appeared out of nowhere. “Selenah has seen the next attack.”
“Selenah?” Kirsten asked, tilting her head.
“Perhaps one of the oldest of our number.” Theodore stuffed his hands once more into the saturated pockets of his green trench coat. “Colonists killed her for being a witch.”
“Which colony?”
“Plymouth,” said Theodore, grinning.
“Never heard of it. What planet is it on? Is she here?”
Theodore laughed; some of The Kind shook their heads in dismay at the ignorance of youth.
“It’s not important, and no. She’s with her mortal remains in the Beneath on the east coast. She speaks through the mists. One will be claimed. He is a soul of some age, however stagnant. He has kept to himself, not developed his strength.”
Kirsten lifted both eyebrows. “So you want me to hunt down this old lonely ghost and wait for something to attack him?”
“You are their chosen, Kirsten.” An older man with the bearing of a politician and the body of a weightlifter advanced from the group of Kind. “Yours is not only to protect the living from the restless dead. Your duty extends to protect those of us who wish to exist in peace. A hunter walks among us, girl. A beast of darkness that feeds upon souls.”
“You’re laying it on a little thick, Pops.” Theodore chuckled.
“Just a tad,” added Dorian.
“Still, the governor’s got a point. Abyssals are bad for both living and dead. This one’s a devourer, kid.” For once, Theodore’s larger-than-life presence seemed small. “We need yer help.”
She looked over the dozen or so spirits, finding the change in era of their clothing both intriguing and sad. “Okay. It’s hard enough to track those things down. If you think you know where it’s going to be, I have to take the chance. Where?”
“Sector 3177, rather under it.”
An older-looking female ghost among The Kind grumbled about it no longer being called Beverly Hills.
“The Beneath?” asked Kirsten, sagging into a slouch. The memory of the slime puddle she fell into on her last trip came back, causing a shiver.
“Ayep.” Theodore flung his hands to the sides in another casual shrug, tossing water. “Tonight, probably within an hour.”
“Great,” she said, jogging t
o the car with an exasperated sigh.
“Some warning is better than none.” Dorian materialized in the passenger seat around his voice.
“I hope this one’s weaker than Charazu.”
His eyebrows flared. “Me too.”
Kirsten grasped the pliable, rubberized handle at the center of the armored hatch, staring at the round-cornered square that blocked entry to the Beneath. She keyed in the police access code and a red square of light turned green, tinting her face to a matching hue. Curious eyes glimmered in the shadows, as tempted by a solitary woman as they were afraid of her uniform. A deep breath carried the metallic flavor of grey zone neglect.
“Too many bad memories down there?” asked Dorian.
She squeezed the rubbery part of the handle, activating the pressure-sensitive control. Pins popped away, freeing the panel to lift on a hinge. A wash of humid, warm air came over her, replacing the industrial taste with something closer to putrescent organic matter.
“I always thought about Mother when I thought about The Beneath.” She slid through the hole and down a metal ladder, pulling the hatch closed via the handle on the bottom. Her voice echoed in the dim shaft. “I barely think about her now, just how foolish I was for not going to the police right away. I thought they’d take me right home to her. I didn’t think they’d believe me.”
Dorian’s voice lacked echo; the sound he made existed only to her, not to hard metal walls. “You wanted to hide from a world you didn’t think wanted you.”
She leapt the last two rungs of the first ladder and jogged to the edge of a catwalk, where she proceeded down a longer one leading to the bottom of the city plate interior. “I was terrified she would find me.”
“How do you want to handle the Discarded this time? Same as last?”
Twenty-five meters below the city, Kirsten paused at the base of the ladder, standing on the lower plate surface. She looked around at the array of girders, tubes, wire bundles, and small square utility lights that formed a virtual starscape. “We shouldn’t run into any here, this area has a colony. I used to steal food from places here.”
Division Zero: Thrall Page 7
